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First Plane Trilogy

I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn. Sibling Rivalry I loved my sister with all my heart, but there were times like these when I hated her, too. I tried very hard not to allow the reality of being Syd’s little sister weigh on me, but it was so difficult when my entire life was about scrutiny, either from those who couldn’t wait for me to screw up, or from my family who watched with barely-concealed concern. Everyone waited for me to crack under the pressure. The next person who compared anything I accomplished to what Syd would have done was going to perish in flame and agony. Meira might sit on First Seat, but her initial four years as Ruler haven’t been as easy as she thought they’d be. Thanks to her father’s new policies, Meira’s power has been diverted away from Ruler and into the hands of her Second Seat and grandfather, Henemordonin, as well as the greedy and grasping court of Demonicon. Struggling to regain control while being constantly bullied and tormented, Meira faces a fresh concern—a cult of mysterious demons has risen in the outer planes, preaching love and peace, finding followers where no religion has ever succeeded before.

Patti Larsen · Fantaisie
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84 Chs

Chapter 59: Antidote Hopes

RULER

Book Three of the First Plane Trilogy

The hunched and twisted little demon bent over, one unmarred hand clasping a glass vial of pale purple liquid. Sloshing

accompanied a counterpoint of low moaning rising from the emaciated demon half-conscious on the slab bed. I held myself

very still in the chill air of the cell as Portlish, the nectar cook, tipped the vial over Rameranselot's lips and

allowed the thick stream to pour, mist swirling from the mouth of the bottle, between his parched lips.

My thick, black fingernails dug into the palms of my hands in the effort it took not to lunge forward and knock the cook

aside, to protect the demon I loved from more torture. Because it was torture, plain and simple. Every dose of the newest

attempt at an antidote Portlish tried to create ended in the same result-agony for Ram and utter failure.

And yet, I couldn't bring myself to lose hope. As Ruler of my people, I had to believe there was a way to save not only