The Lion's Eye (Ilario, Book 1)
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Abandoned and alone, the fosterling Ilario grows up as the King's Freak, surrounded by all the pomp, intrigue, and danger of the Iberian court. Fleeing a failed treacherous attack, Ilario crosses the sea to Carthage, where the mysterious Penitence shrouds the sky in darkness. There, a strange and awful destiny awaits the would-be painter, one that spans continents and kingdoms.
Filled with intrigue, sex, and mystery, Ilario: The Lion's Eye is a stunning tale of secret histories and self-discovery. The adventure continues in Book Two: The Stone Golem.
plausible tale for Neferet’s Florentine. ‘You.’ Leon’s hazel eyes shone bright with two catch-lights from the sunny window. ‘There is no “brother”. You disguised yourself as a man to work in Masaccio’s workshop, didn’t you?’ I managed to reply without hesitation. ‘I wore men’s clothing in Masaccio’s workshop, yes.’ That much is certainly true… ‘You will excuse me.’ Leon’s voice held subdued excitement. ‘I’m here on business, but I saw you, and was suddenly sure…’ He had a roll of papers
under the Egyptian’s influence!’ ‘I said nothing to Leon that wasn’t true!’ ‘But you said it so he’d hear a lie!’ ‘You recognised that,’ I said mildly, ‘so I blame Rekhmire’, because mercenary commanders are blunt, unsubtle, unpolitical animals…’ He laughed, hard enough that he choked. ‘Ah, you have been talking to Carmagnola. The man’s as much a conspirator as any damn courtier–we’re better off out of here!’ I could only agree. ‘Ilaria!’ My foster father Federico reappeared. ‘You’re not
Machines Lost Burgundy A Secret History Carthage Ascendant Golden Witchbreed Copyright This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ILARIO: THE LION’S EYE. Copyright © 2002, 2006 by Mary Gentle. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the
Anagastes grumbled something to the effect that no man had ever seen a poor Alexandrine yet, and that he, Rekhmire’, might have waited until the morrow, and that local magistrates got no rest. Their tone was one I have often heard between patron and client in the court of Taraco, when not too much obligation separates the social ranks. Does this house also have a library in which I would have found myself copying scrolls? ‘Lord Rekhmire’!’ I called sharply. ‘May I speak to you?’ Rekhmire’
about the Paziathe family. It was twelve long hours, well into the evening, before I could get away to meet Sulva again–and then it was her father I found myself speaking with, not her. That didn’t come until the following morning. ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’ I hardly dared look down into her face, that held the round newness of youth and too much knowledge of suffering. Sulva gripped my arm for support as we walked. She lifted her head, pretending a wicked glint in her smile. ‘No–not