14 Mar Cynthia Ripley Miller: A Sword Among Ravens The Coffee Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalMystery #AncientWorld #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @CRipleyMiller @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: Cynthia Ripley Miller

It is my pleasure to feature Cynthia Ripley Miller as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from March 8th — March 19th 2021. Cynthia Ripley Miller is the author of the Romantic Historical Mystery novel, A Sword Among Ravens (The Long-Hair Saga series), which was released by BookLocker Publisher on 9^th December 2020 (267 pages).

Below are highlights of A Sword Among Ravens, Cynthia Ripley Miller’s biography, and an excerpt from her book.

HIGHLIGHTS: A Sword Among Ravens

A Sword Among Series

(The Long-Hair Saga series)

by Cynthia Ripley Miller

In a grave, on the edge of a Roman battlefield, an ancient sword has been discovered. Legend claims it belonged to King David of Israel and carries a curse—those who wield it will tragically die—but not the chosen.  

AD 455. Arria Felix and her husband, Garic the Frank, have safely delivered a sacred relic to Emperor Marcian in Constantinople. But now, Arria and Garic will accept a new mission. The emperor has asked them to carry the sword of King David of Israel to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem where Arria will dedicate it in her murdered father’s memory.

As Arria and Garic travel into the heart of the Holy Land, they face many challenges and dangers. Their young daughter is missing then found in the company of a strange and suspicious old monk. A brutal killer stalks their path. And a band of cold-blooded thieves is determined to steal the sword for their own gains. But when Arria confronts the question of where the sword should truly rest—old friendships, loyalties, and her duty are put to the test like never before. At every turn, Arria and Garic find themselves caught in a treacherous mission wrapped in mystery, murder, and A Sword Among Ravens.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU • Barnes and Noble • Kobo

AUTHOR BIO: Cynthia Ripley Miller

Cynthia Ripley Miller is a first-generation Italian-American writer with a love for history, languages, and books. She has lived in Europe and traveled world-wide, holds two degrees, and taught history and English. Her short fiction has appeared in the anthology Summer Tapestry, at Orchard Press Mysteries.com, and The Scriptor. She is a Chanticleer International Chatelaine Award finalist with awards from Circle of Books-Rings of Honor and The Coffee Pot Book Club. She has reviewed for UNRV Roman History, and blogs at Historical Happenings and Oddities: A Distant Focus and on her website, www.cynthiaripleymiller.com

Cynthia is the author of On the Edge of Sunrise, The Quest for the Crown of Thorns, and A Sword Among Ravens, books 1-3 in her Long-Hair Saga series set in Late Ancient Rome, France, and Jerusalem. Cynthia lives outside of Chicago with her family, along with a cute but bossy cat.

Social Media Links:

Website • Facebook • Twitter • Pinterest • Amazon • Goodreads

EXCERPT: A Sword Among Ravens

Excerpt from Chapter XI: Two Are Better Than One

AD 455: PALAESTINA, Jerusalem

HE

(Nemesis)

He sat alone. On the tree branch above him, a tribe of sparrows twittered. Their lush, rust-brown feathers and freedom struck him as beautiful. He often wished he could catch a bird and keep one. When he was a boy, he once held a she-dove. The tranquil bird cooed softly. He had contemplated the dove’s lucky existence but immediately felt sad. Soon his sorrow turned to envy. Anger filled him, and a sudden and powerful urge overcame him. What right did the dove have to be at peace—when as children, he and his younger brother were made slaves to a patch of farmland as fickle as the weather and the world around them? His father, mean and ornery, spending what little they had on drink. His broken mother, taking her husband’s beatings, letting him beat them. Why should anyone feel happy when his life reeked of misery? Twist the dove’s neck, shut her up, a voice whispered in his head. And Nemesis obeyed. Snap. An unexpected satisfaction glowed inside him. It had been so easy.

He met a girl when he grew older. She also had a beauty about her; she reminded him of the dove. Soft with milky skin, her hair smooth and fine. He first noticed her on one of his trips alone to market. She stood behind a table, filling a basket with apricots from a sack at her feet. As he pushed his cart laden with turnips and leeks past her family’s fruit stand, he stole a glance and was smitten. That was a glorious summer.

Each time he returned to the market, he would look for her and nod as he passed by. A pink flush on her cheeks, she always smiled back. After selling his produce, he’d stow his cart behind a stack of boxes, not far from her father’s stand. Hiding, he watched her, sometimes for hours—as he did the birds. Her fragile bones and glowing skin, the way she turned her head on a long, slender neck, her vulnerability and innocence all consumed him. He wanted to speak with her, hear the soft tones in her words.

But people and merchants surrounded and kept her from him. Bitterness found a pit in his stomach. His heart seethed in the hollow of his chest. Once, he followed the girl home and hid in a line of bushes near a window. When night settled, he peered through the lighted opening. Her parents and brothers sat around her with happy looks on their faces. Envy smoldered in him, and he hurried away. Here was not the time or place. He would wait and watch.

One sultry morning, when she tended the fruit stand alone, Nemesis stopped and spoke to her. He acted the customer and bought her figs—no point in being noticed. But when she placed the fruit in his basket, he whispered that she should meet him outside of town, later in the afternoon when most everyone rested.

She blushed, her eyes shining, and nodded her acceptance. She met him as planned, and he talked to her sweetly and held her hand. He told her he had a secret place with a view beautiful enough to melt a heart. Would she see it with him? She agreed, and he brought her to the tall juniper tree at the top of a ravine where a river ran below.

The day glimmered with light and heat. The sky reflected the blue in her eyes. He made a blanket of ferns cut with his knife from the bushes around them. They spread out like a willowy fan. “My lady?” he said, smiling, offering her a hand. She giggled and cooed, “My lord,” and wrapped his fingers in hers.

They sat, and he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and full, almost sweet to the taste, and she smelled of figs and brought him peace. She kissed him back.

But the memory of the dove rose in his mind.

His heart, a moment ago so full and open, snapped shut. Fear and desperation filled him. Nemesis grabbed the girl tighter. She squirmed against him, but he fought to hold her—to possess her and her tranquility. She twisted harder. Anger flashed through his body and throbbed at his temples. The voice inside whispered again. What right does this farmer’s daughter have to refuse you? He frowned. Why would she deny him a moment of joy found in his brutal world? A world sunk in poverty and ruled by a cruel father.

A dark and primitive growl rose in his throat. The blood in his veins boiled. Nemesis desired the farmer’s daughter, and he would have her. This time, he’d be the strong one. Dominate, possess something of his own—even if only a girl. 

She clawed and fought against him. He grabbed her wrists and subdued her. The gentle dove cried out, but he pushed to his feet and pulled her fragile body with him. She almost struggled free, but he grabbed her from behind. Wrapping an arm around her neck, he locked her against his panting chest. A plaintive, agonized wail burst from her lips upward toward the sky.

He hesitated and took a breath. Resist! He thought. Stifle your anger—find mercy. Fight the voice inside. Let her fly away this time—and not die like the dove.

He dragged her to the edge of the cliff. As his arm grew tighter around her neck, she choked. He thought he heard her gasp, “Noooo . . .” It didn’t matter. Her savior, he lifted her like an offering, and with all his strength, he tossed her into the air. Nemesis waited for her to soar upward and glide on the wind. Instead, she plummeted downward like a wounded bird. Her arms stroked the air, her long, brown tresses rippled behind her. He turned away.

In a few seconds, a splash vibrated on the breeze. He kicked at the ferns, destroying their nest. A brooding disappointment welling in him, he walked back toward town. He had lost another dove.

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