Horses of Fire

Informationen zum Autor A. D. Rhine is the pseudonym of Ashlee Cowles and Danielle Stinson. The authors are united by their military brat upbringing, childhood friendship spanning two decades, and love of classical literature. Ashlee holds graduate degrees in Medieval History from the University of St. Andrews and Theological Studies (with an emphasis in the Ethics of War and Peace) from Duke University. Danielle holds a Master of Arts in Law and Diplomacy from Tufts University. Their adult debut Horses of Fire is the book they have always dreamt of writing together. Klappentext Behind the timeless tale you know is the captivating story you never heard: a sweeping epic in which Troy's strong, yet misunderstood women take center stage in the most famous war in history. A harrowing novel of palace intrigue, the transcendent bond of female friendship, and the everyday bravery of invisible heroes in times of war. Leseprobe 1 Andromache The boy is lost. And so is his mother. I can tell with one glance. With a warrior this young, there is only ever one reason for such a clean spear wound. A neat hole right between the shoulder blades. Slowly, I roll the stiff corpse back onto the stone slab until he lies face up, eyes unblinking. Across the room, I meet his mother's raw, wild gaze. Her hands fidget anxiously. There is no hiding what I've seen. She knows that I know. The primal wail that follows is like no sound I've heard, and yet I've listened to a million variations of the same tune. Every mother's cry of lament is her own. As unrepeatable as each new life she carries. Only this woman's groans speak of a secret. A song of betrayal. Of cowardice. Shame. I take a step back from the washing slab, letting the wet cloth in my hand hit the floor with a soppy splat. "Please, Harsa Andromache. I beg you." The mother throws herself at my feet, arms wrapped around my calves. She thrusts the rag back into my hand, closing my fingers before returning unceremoniously to her seat at the other end of the slab. There she presses her tear-stained cheeks against the soldier's feet. The part of him farthest from the light that once filled her boy's eyes. For that is what he is. A boy. Large for his age but younger than a soldier should be. I may not have sons, but I have washed enough of them to know what fifteen summers looks like. This child is at least a year shy of the minimum age for serving in Troy's army. Not that most captains care to check so long as he can carry his shield upright. "He wanted to follow his father and brothers. For Prince Hector. He was . . . too strong . . . I, I couldn't stop him." The woman's explanation unravels into sobs. "I've given a husband and two sons for Troy already. Will you deprive me of my youngest even in the afterlife?" My throat tightens. I open my hand. The flax-colored cloth is now pink in most places, a rusty red in others. No one in Troy, not even Hector, expects me to cover myself in blood that stains my nail beds brown. But that is exactly why I do it. I want to get my hands dirty. When I muster enough courage to look into the eyes of the desperate, childless widow again, I see that she is far from old. Despite her tears, the firm line of her mouth says she would do anything to guarantee her son's safe passage across the Great River. My eyes land on the knife at the edge of the slab an instant before she lunges. I am fast, but she is faster. The mother brings the blade to her own quivering throat before I can exhale. "If he is condemned to wander, then I will wander with him." Her eyes blink fire. A thin, crimson drizzle travels to her collarbone. "Have you heard me issue such a condemnation?" I ask calmly. The mother's gaze flickers. Her grip on the knife handle loosens slightly even as her v...

Autorentext

A. D. Rhine is the pseudonym of Ashlee Cowles and Danielle Stinson. The authors are united by their military “brat” upbringing, childhood friendship spanning two decades, and love of classical literature. Ashlee holds graduate degrees in Medieval History from the University of St. Andrews and Theological Studies (with an emphasis in the Ethics of War and Peace) from Duke University. Danielle holds a Master of Arts in Law and Diplomacy from Tufts University. Their adult debut Horses of Fire is the book they have always dreamt of writing together.

Klappentext

“One of those singular books that pulls readers into a completely immersive world with a dazzling story and characters so deftly drawn that you can’t help but ache for them.”–New York Times bestselling author Lisa Maxwell

I know the stories they will tell. I’ve heard the echoes of their songs—songs that will outlive us all. But this song is not theirs. It is mine.
 
Behind the timeless tale you know is the captivating story you never heard: a sweeping epic in which Troy’s strong, yet misunderstood women take center stage in the most famous war in history. 
 
Andromache is cast as the doting wife of Prince Hector, yet her Amazon warrior name means “battler of men.” The only one with the cunning to outwit the invading Greeks, she must gather a band of outcasts and become the military commander she was born to be before the life she and Hector have built is reduced to ashes. Rhea is a war refugee and a horse whisperer who finally earns a place and sense of belonging in Hector’s stables. To save her new home, she must become an unlikely spy and face down a forbidden love that will test all her loyalties. Helen is blamed by all for starting the Trojan War, but no one knows her real story. To escape her tormentor and foil a plot to undermine Hector, Helen must risk everything by revealing her true face to the one who despises her most.
 
Set in the wider landscape of the late Bronze Age collapse, this realistic and immersive Troy is a perilous battleground for warriors and politicians alike, not a playground where the fate of men and women make sport for gods and goddesses. The first book in an epic duology, Horses of Fire is a harrowing novel of palace intrigue, the transcendent bond of female friendship, and the everyday bravery of invisible heroes in times of war.
 
The women of Troy are threads spinning on a single loom. Can they reweave the tapestry of fate?

Leseprobe
1

Andromache

The boy is lost.

And so is his mother. I can tell with one glance.

With a warrior this young, there is only ever one reason for such a clean spear wound. A neat hole right between the shoulder blades. Slowly, I roll the stiff corpse back onto the stone slab until he lies face up, eyes unblinking. Across the room, I meet his mother's raw, wild gaze. Her hands fidget anxiously.

There is no hiding what I've seen. She knows that I know.

The primal wail that follows is like no sound I've heard, and yet I've listened to a million variations of the same tune. Every mother's cry of lament is her own. As unrepeatable as each new life she carries. Only this woman's groans speak of a secret.

A song of betrayal. Of cowardice. Shame.

I take a step back from the washing slab, letting the wet cloth in my hand hit the floor with a soppy splat.

"Please, Harsa Andromache. I beg you."

The mother throws herself at my feet, arms wrapped around my calves. She thrusts the rag back into my hand, closing my fingers before returning unceremoniously to her seat at the other end of the slab. There she presses her tear-stained cheeks against the soldier's feet. The part of him farthest from the light that once filled her boy's eyes.

For that is what he is. A boy. Large for his age but younger than a soldier should be. I may not have sons, but I have washed enough of them to know what fifteen summers looks like. This child is at least a year shy of the minimum age f…