Prophet (Books of the Infinite)
R. J. Larson
Language: English
Pages: 352
ISBN: 076420971X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"This tale captured me and held me hostage to the very last page. Breathlessly waiting for the next book."--Donita K. Paul, author of The Dragon Keeper Chronicles and The Chiril Chronicles
Ela Roeh of Parne doesn't understand why her beloved Creator, the Infinite, wants her to become His prophet. She's undignified and bad-tempered, and at age seventeen she's much too young. In addition, no prophet of Parne has ever been a girl. Worst of all, as Parne's elders often warn, if she agrees to become the Infinite's prophet, Ela knows she will die young.
Yet she can't imagine living without Him. Determined to hear the Infinite's voice, Ela accepts the sacred vinewood branch and is sent to bring the Infinite's word to a nation torn apart by war. There she meets a young ambassador determined to bring his own justice for his oppressed people. As they form an unlikely partnership, Ela battles how to balance the leading of her heart with the leading of the Infinite.
A Body in the Bathhouse (Marcus Didius Falco, Book 15)
Harry Houdini: Prince of Air (The Treasure Chest, Book 4)
Pearl Buck: Jewel of the East (The Treasure Chest, Book 3)
The Hidden Gallery (The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place, Book 2)
down the branch, and gently nudged Tzana awake. “Climb down, silly! You were supposed to tell me when the shadows became almost too small to be seen.” “Like me?” Tzana mumbled drowsily. “Amar said I was almost too short to be seen.” “Well, Amar was wrong!” How dare he! If she hadn’t already called off their future wedding, she would have called it off now. Tzana tugged at Ela’s sleeve. “I need a drink.” “Of course you do.” Relieved to push aside thoughts of the traitorous Amar, Ela offered
imagine walking anywhere without toppling over. “What do you need to discuss?” “So many things—I should have written a list. Wait. Drink this first.” She offered Ela a delicately carved white stone cup. Still lightheaded, Ela held herself up long enough to drain the cup of broth—and to notice she was wearing a clean robe. Tek Lara’s orders, no doubt. Finished, Ela sank back against the pillow, fighting the impulse to close her eyes. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. The broth, the robe,
answer then, Lan Tek? Negotiate to avoid war?” Taken aback, though he should be used to the king’s impetuous turns by now, Kien recollected himself and smiled. “Yes. That is my advice. Reinstate me as ambassador. Send me to more appropriate quarters and let us begin formal negotiations with the Tracelands.” Tek An scoffed. “You have no need to leave your current residence for us to accomplish these tasks. Tomorrow, we will send you writing materials and instructions.” “Dictation is not
many Tracelanders died in this battle?” “You claim to be a prophet. Don’t you know?” “I know you don’t know, sir. But never mind. I’ll tell you. None. Not one of your men died—though a few are wounded and will recover.” The Tracelander cast a look at one of his aides. The man nodded. “She’s correct, sir.” Ela didn’t wait for the general to respond. “How many from Istgard died, sir?” The general glanced at his nearest attendant. “With permission, general,” the aide offered, “we’re still
will guarantee your own safety, Wal, but—excuse me—I will not.” Wal jumped to his feet. Agile. Kien had to allow him that much of a compliment. The man was also determined—admirably so, when he wasn’t being annoying. As he was now. “Sir! I promised your father I would advise you. . . .” Wal hesitated, like one who has said too much. “Advise me? Concerning what? My youthful foolishness? My failures in etiquette?” Wal turned away, not denying Kien’s words. Kien glared. So Wal finally admitted