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About The Fiddler of Dawn and Dusk by Kathryn J. Avila
Title: The Fiddler of Dawn and Dusk
Author: Kathryn J. Avila
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Camilla Vargas, gifted violinist unwilling to ever play again.
When I said I wanted to start over somewhere new, being pulled into a world of monsters and magic is not what I had in mind. Caught in the grips of a faulty spell, my only hope of getting home is picking up a violin and completing a goddess’ quest. Add to that a handsome but less-than-willing, divinely appointed bodyguard, and this whole fiasco runs the risk of ruining my new life plan.
But maybe that’s not so bad.
Valmong, prodigy cleric ignoring the voice of his patron god.
When Tenebrin’s voice rings in my mind, I’m usually better at tuning him out. But he’s persistent, and as a cry rings out through the trees, I can’t ignore the order to help. Camilla is odd — for a bard — refusing the violin that’s clearly hers and unfamiliar with the magic she can wield. Her quest for Claritas’ Insight will probably get me killed, but the longer I’m with her, the less I care.
I just want to keep her safe — even if it means I’ll never see her again.
Excerpt from The Fiddler of Dawn and Dusk
© 2022
Katheryn J. Avila
Camilla
Valmong slides one hand into my hair beneath the hood as the other settles on my lower back. My heart thunders in my chest, adrenaline spiking my anxiety a few more notches. His fingers graze my neck, a spot near my jugular where I’ve always been ticklish, and I gasp. He deepens the kiss, the embrace turning intimate as I shift in his arms, my hand sliding along the scar on his jaw. Something wraps around my waist, and it takes me a second to realize it must be his tail.
If not for the fear, I could almost forget it’s an act. His lips are soft, his touch gentle. I could get lost in this kiss, if I let myself.
Valmong’s grip loosens, the pressure of his lips growing lighter, until he’s pulled away enough to speak. “He’s gone.”
The air inside the room is lighter than it was, and the crowd has gone back to the generally jovial atmosphere from before. As the band’s music picks up again, I let myself sigh a breath of manic relief. I’m suddenly glad for the mask, knowing how flushed my cheeks must be. And I’m still in his lap, his tail anchoring me in place.
I don’t react right away, too distracted by his proximity, by the way the tavern’s light plays with the gold flecks in his eyes. We both realize we’re staring at the same time, and embarrassment flashes across his face. His tail falls away, and I scramble to my feet.
“I-”
“We shouldn’t linger.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting to the door. “If we’re heading back to the temple, we need to go now.” Valmong tosses a few coins on the table and makes his way through the crowd. I struggle to keep up. As soon as we’re through the door, though, he notices my slower pace and takes my hand. “Stay close. They’ll still be looking.”
The sky has grown orange and pink, the night probably an hour or so away. Around us the crowd continues to party, oblivious to the anxiety and adrenaline pumping through me. Mingling among the revelers are clerics, easily identified by the now familiar robes. A few in black have joined the festival, but it’s impossible to recognize them. They all have their hoods up, and like everyone else, their faces are covered with masks. Their voices carry over the crowd in a steady chant that rises above the music.
“What are they saying?”
Valmong doesn’t need to look to know what I’m asking about. “It’s a prayer, initiating Tenebrin’s portion of the festival.” I want to keep watching, but Valmong pulls me through the crowd as the chanting gets louder. “Hurry — the temple will close soon.”
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About Katheryn J. Avila
Katheryn is a software engineer in the Philadelphia area, writing fantasy and paranormal stories when she’s not fighting technology. In 2013, she graduated from King’s College in Pennsylvania with degrees in Computer Science and Professional Writing — so she’s always writing, be it software or fiction. She lives with her husband, Eric, and their furbaby, Ada.
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