Thank you so much to Misty and Vicky, and all at the wholeshebang, for helping me celebrate the release of my latest book,
Marked for Magic, published by Lyrical Press, a Kensington Imprint, on the 28th of April 2015.
I decided that as palmistry was the initial inspiration for this fantasy romance I’d offer you and the readers a little something on palmistry marks.
This image is of the main lines most people have on their palm:
1: Life line – 2: Head line – 3: Heart line – 4: Girdle of Venus – 5: Sun line – 6: Mercury line – 7: Fate line
These main lines above and their meanings are fairly well known, but the lesser lines are not quite so well understood and it was these I was studying when I got the idea for Marked for Magic.
For this post I have chosen The Star. This mark can appear on any part of the palm and most usually denotes good fortune. If it appears in some specific places such as on the mount of Mercury, the fleshy pad beneath your little pinky finger it signifies success in business and science. If the star appears on the mound beneath the Jupiter finger it shows the person will be honourable and respected for their success. If you find a star on the fleshy pad on the percussion side of your hand opposite your thumb, the mount of the moon, they you will be successful through creative endeavours.
The star is one of the most fortunate marks to possess.
Thanks so much for reading. I’d love to know if any of you discover somewhere on your hand. Let me know.
The witch mark on Nin’s hand is a curse. She has no magic powers, whatever the lore says. But the village believes. The old crone’s wisdom is to see her banished. Ragged and hungry, she must serve the Mage. Alone in his tower, she is his chattel. But Mage Thabit is not what Nin expected—the bright green eyes and supple form under his cloak are not the stuff of nightmares, and kindness hides in his brusque heart. Thabit senses that Nin is more than she seems, too. When true nightmares haunt the land, it is precisely her elusive powers that might deliver them…
He woke with the dawn, listening to the peaceful sounds of earth and sky as he dressed. On the stairs, he heard movement from the kitchen. Nin, too, woke early, it seemed. Surprised to find the fire burned high with golden red flames, he paused in the doorway.
She stood, bent at the hearth, busily stirring a wooden spoon in his smallest cauldron.
“What are you doing?
She looked up with a tentative smile. She had bathed, for her face glowed clean. The golden shimmers caused by the firelight on her fair hair increased his surprise.
“I found a bag of oatmeal at the back of the cupboard. It’s porridge. Do you have any honey?”
The hopeful glint in her eyes made him laugh. Years of experience and learning all slid away, and he couldn’t help but smile with her. He liked honey, too, but the jar had been empty for weeks. “No, Nin, I don’t. Perhaps we can trade for a pot of it in the village.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t go back. They’ll kill me. Agnes swore they would kill me if I ever went back.” Her dark, fearful eyes locked on him as she moved her hand toward the pot.
Before he could warn of the heat, she yelped with the burn. He strode over, took her hand, and dragged her across the room to thrust her palm into the full water bucket. “I may leave you behind, after all,” he said. “Not that you should fear them, only because of what you might do.
She bit her lip.
“If you accompany me to the market, believe me, not one of them will lay a hand on you. When they sent you here, Nin, what did they say would happen?”
The red flush on her cheeks confirmed his suspicions, while her closed eyes suggested more. “Tell me if you can,” he said. “I will stir the porridge. Leave your hand in the water until the burn feels cool.”
“I’m lost to them,” she murmured after a minute or two. “I’m marked with the sign. No matter what I do, it will find me out. I can’t live among them. I’m…”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes.”
She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m meant for you.”
Her words came slow. He sucked in a deep breath at her obvious meaning. Surely, they had spared her the more lurid of the old legends. He studied her, sensing the pain in her hand did not cause her sorrow. How could they?
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About the author.
Daisy Banks writes sensual and spicy romance in the Historical, Paranormal and Fantasy genres. She is an obsessive writer and her focus is to offer the best tale she can to readers. Daisy is married with two grown up sons. She lives in a converted chapel in Shropshire, England. Antiques and collecting entertain Daisy when she isn’t writing and she occasionally makes a meal that doesn’t stick to the pan.
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