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Monk of Death: The Lords' Gambit Series, #2
Monk of Death: The Lords' Gambit Series, #2
Monk of Death: The Lords' Gambit Series, #2
Ebook238 pages3 hoursThe Lords' Gambit Series

Monk of Death: The Lords' Gambit Series, #2

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Four estranged lords. Two feuding kingdoms. And one mortal, destined to lead them all.

A Life of Service And Deceit

Kritinia's pilgrimage was never supposed to end with Death. After living her entire life disguised as a boy at the lord of Light's monastery, Kritinia's sacred journey was to end with her official initiation into the order of Royal Warrior Monks.

Uncover a Dark Secret

Finding the lord of Light's capital city besieged, the unwitting monk stumbles into an eternal battle between the lords of Light and Dark, and at the mercy of the lord of Death himself. He knows the deepest, darkest secret of her lineage; a secret he intends to possess.

She Never Meant to Marry a Lord... or Become One Herself

Caught in the crossfires of a war older than her kingdom and forced into a marriage with Death, only Kritinia's ascension to lordship will finally put the bitter feud between Dark and Light to rest.

But can a mere monk, whose life is built on secrets, lies, and death become the lord of Life?

You've never read a mythological fantasy quite like this dark epic by USA Today Bestselling Author Katherine D. Graham! Dive into this world of lords, love, and life today!

**This is not a standalone novel, though each book in the series follows a different main character. Volume One (Oracle of Life) is available now.**

LanguageEnglish
PublisherKatherine D. Graham
Release dateFeb 20, 2023
ISBN9798215047088
Monk of Death: The Lords' Gambit Series, #2

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    Monk of Death - Katherine D. Graham

    More Books by USA Today Bestselling Author Katherine D. Graham:

    The Vow That Twisted Fate: A Stand-Alone New Adult Epic Fantasy

    ( https://buy.bookfunnel.com/2ho86308q0 )

    The Splitting Worlds Series:

    Splitting Worlds: A Five-Volume Collection of Novellas

    The Duets of Dusk and Dawn Series:

    The Slayer Queen

    The Lords’ Gambit Series

    Oracle of Life: The Lords’ Gambit Series Volume One

    ( https://books2read.com/oracleoflife )

    Vanguard of Justice: The Lords’ Gambit Series Volume Three

    ( https://books2read.com/vanguardofjustice )

    Chronicler of War: The Lords’ Gambit Series Volume Four

    ( https://books2read.com/chroniclerofwar )

    Read more about each of the books above on Katherine’s website: https://www.katherinedgraham.com/

    With Thanks...

    To Jenny: When I wrote the very first draft (in a paper notebook with pencils), it was your strength and enthusiasm for following dreams that inspired me to pursue something I loved.

    To the readers who want to someday hold their own worlds in their hands: may your dreams find their way out of your heart and into someone else’s soul.

    To Jammie, who cares so much for others that you shine your light even from darkness. May that light never dim.

    To Fu-chan, who blazed ahead in her dedicated reading of this novel even if there was no certainty of the ending she so desperately wanted.

    And to my amazing husband, Jikyo, who always saw something special in Monk of Death

    The Great Treachery

    Blood splashed across the white marble steps leading up to the lord of Light’s monastery. Doubling over, the queen of Light grasped her quivering, protruding stomach and held her breath to keep back a scream.

    Two short steps ahead of her, the bright red ribbon marking the threshold of the main monastery gate mocked her. Shadows crept toward her from behind. The lord of Dark’s ghouls homed in on the blood of their deceiver, revealing the true nature of the life she bore.

    Throbbing pain radiated from her lower back, seizing her stomach like an unrelenting vise.

    Two more steps, she pleaded both to the babe, who needed to wait for safety to enter this world, and to herself, who needed to find the strength to finish what she’d begun.

    A brown-robed man appeared on a distant balcony.

    The bells! Ring the bells! she heard him cry.

    A single step up ripped the air from the queen’s lungs. She could barely stay upright. Nausea washed over her as the sweat on her arms chilled her in the breeze.

    Bells tolled in the tower above, rousing the holy men from their peaceful dreams to face the queen’s waking nightmare. A hunched ghoul with the body of an oversized, balding feline hissed at her, swiping at her skirts. Its transparent claws passed through her leg as nothing more than smoke, and it startled backward with a low growl.

    That’s right! she wanted to shout at the creature who now knew she was of the darkness. I’m not who they think I am!

    Another wave of pain brought her to her knees. The monks’ footsteps pounded the pavement. Chipper songs of the earliest birds rang out all at once—a choir for the lord of Light’s servants. The songs turned the queen’s stomach, and she wrenched her gaze to the skies.

    The darkness of night was fading to a faint blue. Whisps of white clouds trailed above in disquieting calm.

    M’lady! an old man’s voice cried from just inside the gate.

    Shadow creatures reared to lunge for the monks, should they take one step outside their protective barrier. The red ribbon separated the two worlds that were never meant to mix. And yet without the safety the light offered her daughter, the only true heir of Predoni would perish at birth.

    The queen’s head fell, along with her hope. These men couldn’t help her if she didn’t find a way up that last step before sunrise. They couldn’t cross that accursed ribbon, but she didn’t have the strength to go on.

    Lord of Light, this is your child, too, she whispered, hating herself for the treason in her words. If you will this babe to live, help me!

    For a moment, everything stilled. The birds’ songs choked off mid-melody. The breeze fell flat. The monks froze, reaching for her. Around her, purple light shimmered like waves, enclosing her in an aura of stillness. A tall man in a shining white robe and hood approached from inside the monastery gate, pausing just under the entryway.

    She is much more than you know, Moira, the man said, holding his hand out to her.

    Raising trembling fingers, she laid her soft palm in his calloused one. She dared not look at his face. The golden ring on his outstretched hand, emblazoned with a tree in full bloom, spoke volumes. This was the lord of Light himself.

    He grunted as though injured when she touched him, but pulled her to her feet all the same. Sparks shot through her as he tugged her upright and drew her across the ribbon. Only a breath away from her, the lord leaned down until his cheek brushed against hers. She froze, every hair standing on end at the proximity to the being she was sworn to hate most.

    All is forgiven, he whispered in her ear, citrus lingering on his breath. But consequences weigh heavier than you know.

    Before she could respond, the purple aura around her faded into the pale blue sunlight of dawn. Behind her, the lord of Dark’s creatures vanished. In their place, ghastly creatures with ghostly green skin, spikes, and horns ambled up the steps toward the queen.

    Unlike their nighttime counterparts, these could do very real damage to her very quickly. Had crossing the ribbon saved her?

    M’lady!

    Relief washed over her as an Elder Knight of the holy order ran to her aid. A white sash around his thin waist displayed his retirement from the only militarized sect of the temple, though his wizened eyes and wrinkled face were indication enough of having completed his military service.

    You there, squire! the gentle old man shouted after assessing the distraught queen’s situation. Clear a bed and summon the other Elders!

    Seizing the queen around her waist, the Elder lifted the laboring woman with surprise ease for such a seemingly frail man—and one of over seventy springs, from the looks of him.

    Her eyes darted frantically to the creatures of light just outside the ribbon. To her surprise, they—like the ghouls of Darkness—did not cross into the monastery grounds.

    Where are your guards, m’lady? the Elder asked as he brought her safely inside the monastery’s walls.

    Dead. She grimaced.

    She knew the Elders needed an account of their missing King’s Guard, the most skilled of the Elder Knights’ order. As another contraction seized her, though, the pain was all she could focus on.

    In minutes, the Elder leaned her against a plain, small bed draped in a pristine white sheet. The room bustled with younger monks and Elders, all buzzing about things the queen couldn’t focus on. Building pressure between her legs announced the impending arrival of her firstborn child.

    A second, older Elder with balding white hair placed a comforting hand on her back, leaning forward to look her in the face.

    Yer doin’ well, Majesty, his calm voice soothed her. We may not be midwives, M’lady, but we’re no strangers to births. Breathe now. That’s right.

    With an Elder on each side, she barely noticed a third Elder rushing the younger monks from the room and barking orders for things like clean towels and warm water.

    The queen screamed as her babe fell safely into the arms of a fourth Elder, who smacked the newborn’s buttocks twice. A choking cry broke out in the otherwise silent room. The Elder carefully handed the child up to meet its mother.

    Sobbing, the queen looked down into the face of the only loved one left in her life. Long pale lashes blinked up at her from a bald, round face. On the babe’s right shoulder, a tiny golden sun caught the candlelight and glistened, almost as though it was metallic. The sight of it relieved the queen’s heart for the second time in the past hour.

    The mark! It’s the lord of Light’s heir! the Elder who’d met the queen at the gates announced.

    Cheers erupted through the room.

    Beaming, the queen turned to show her newborn off to the others, her knees shaky but adrenaline renewing her strength. The Elders poured over the heir of the throne and lord they served, ecstatic to meet the first heir to be born in almost fifty years.

    Wait!

    The Elder who’d cleared the room of younger monks pushed his way over to the child.

    His face grew pale, bringing panic to the queen once again.

    It can’t be, the Elder whispered, reaching out to touch the child, but stopping just before making contact with the baby’s head.

    What’s wrong? the queen asked. Is something wrong?

    The Elder could only point a shaking finger at the back of the baby’s other shoulder in response. One look stilled the queen’s breath.

    A small, silver star glistened in the light.

    The great treachery, the pale Elder whispered, stepping away with hands raised.

    Lords have mercy on us all.

    Chapter One

    Adept Page Kritinia’s broom fell, forgotten, from her hands. Beyond the abbey walls, the Woods of Darkness looked anything but dark. They were almost aglow with an iridescent golden light. Smooth window glass was cold beneath her calloused fingertips, and she knew she’d have to wash her fingerprints off later, but she didn’t care. For twenty springs she’d lived on the edge of these woods. Never, not even once, had they glowed.

    Fiddling with the brass lock on the windowpane, she carefully swung the window open and leaned out as far as she dared from five stories above the rocky gorge. Birds soared through the sunny sky, their songs calling to Kritinia. Not for the first time, she imagined their melodies to be promises of fun and adventure if she would only just join them.

    Krit! Come child, snap to it!

    The backs of her knees stung as a cane struck them from behind. Slouching back inside with a jerk, she fought the urge to rub her sore legs. Elder Knight Bartholomew’s scowl would wilt the freshest flower on the spot, but Kritinia was no stranger to his ire. Lowering her eyes contritely under the monk of Light’s scathing gaze, she quickly retrieved her rough, unpolished broomstick from the floor.

    Sorry, Elder, she muttered. The woods, they—

    The elder sighed so loudly that it echoed down the wide stone hallway, cutting her off mid-sentence.

    Even the smallest of tasks is important, and holds the utmost character-building moral value, he lectured, dropping his tone to a whisper. A strange urgency filled his voice—almost a desperation.

    Sweeping and other minor tasks had not been a subject for moral discussion since Kritinia was a child, though other lectures about mindfulness had certainly increased. Elder Bartholomew was a strict man, but not one to do anything urgently. Never planning ahead, the old monk took things in stride as they came up, weathering the worst of storms with a natural grace that only his near-ninety springs of life’s experiences could explain.

    Reaching out a frail hand, the monk took Kritinia’s chin in a surprisingly steady grip and turned it to a pair of large wooden double-doors in the middle of the hallway. Those doors led into the Advising Parlor—the only room in the monastery that she was not permitted to enter.

    "Have you swept the stones of the main hall thoroughly?" Elder Bartholomew asked, stressing the last word and releasing her chin.

    Taking his words and actions as a hint that she hoped she had not misinterpreted, she nodded and stumbled toward the doors. The glowing woods would have to wait.

    Stinging in the back of her knees made walking without a limp nearly impossible, but she held her shaved head high and did not slouch. Even then, she could feel the Elder’s scrutinizing gaze on her back. For twenty springs she had swept these halls, trained in the fields, and taken meticulous care to follow Elder Bartholomew’s every subtle hint and order. He had never steered her wrong, and she would not let him down. Both of their lives were on the line every day, after all.

    Pausing by the doors, Kritinia could make out two voices arguing within. She looked back over her shoulder at Elder Bartholomew and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He really wanted her to eaves-drop?

    The Elder crossed his arms and turned his back to her, startling as he noticed the woods glowing outside. Kritinia bit back the urge to rush back over to him and ask what he thought was happening. Inside the room, the voices fell silent, and for a moment she wondered if they’d heard her somehow. Just in case, she brushed the wicker broom a few half-hearted strokes so she’d truly be busy if they exited and found her there.

    I assure you, Elder, we have little time left at his side, an unfamiliar man finally said from the other side of the door.

    The stranger’s voice cracked, and he blew out a long breath of frustration. Metal thudded against the stone floors within the Advising Parlor, closer and then farther away. Closer and then farther away once again. Someone was pacing the floors, Kritinia surmised. And from the sounds of it, in plate boots. Who would set foot in the lord of Light’s monastery while still donning their full armor?

    Our Order’s role is exclusively to mediate between the lord and His Majesty, an older, croaking voice rasped around wheezes.

    Elder Malic—the senior-most Knight and well over a hundred springs old—did not sound the least bit concerned about whatever had his guest pacing the floor.

    We do not form opinions or take action without the lord’s direction, Elder Malic continued. We are servants of the lord—mere vassals.

    Wood scraped across stone as a chair inside the room was pushed back. Footsteps approached the door so quickly that Kritinia almost tripped over her own broomstick on her way back to the center of the hallway. She barely resumed sweeping before Elder Malic threw both doors open wide.

    The balding, pale-skinned elder pinned his soul-piercing gaze on Kritinia, who blushed despite her effort to remain discreet. She was an Elder Page, the next in line for initiation into the Order as a Monk of Light herself; she was too old to be caught snooping at keyholes.

    Moving aside, Elder Malic beckoned for his guest to lead the way out into the hall. Kritinia’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a familiar, but far more weather-beaten, face. Vinyald—one of the top monks in training when Kritinia first became a novice page almost fifteen years ago.

    Once scrawny and gangly and slightly awkward in his teens, the man who paused before her now filled her with awe. Gone were his once knobby elbows and lean build; a man strong enough to don full plate armor without a hint of fatigue towered above her instead. His young, hopeful face was now wrinkled before its time and tanned to a dark, walnut brown. Flowing brown curls covered his previously bald head. But his brown eyes still twinkled at her the way they used to when she fetched him water pails during his training sessions.

    Half of a smile pulled at his lips, and he crossed one arm across his chest as he gave her a shallow bow.

    My oh my, is this Krit? Vinyald asked, his recognition shocking her. It had been almost ten years since he left the monastery to serve in the capital city. How you’ve grown since I last visited these halls.

    And how much your service has grown you, as well, Knight Vinyald, Elder Bartholomew chuckled, coming to join them.

    The Elder’s eyes twinkled, but his smile was obviously forced. Maybe it was due to all his years in the lord’s service, but he had never hidden his feelings well, despite his age.

    Elder Bartholomew, Vinyald bowed once again. Grace of the winds greets you. 

    Elder Bartholomew bowed in return. And you, my kin.

    Turning to Kritinia once again, Vinyald looked her over from head to toe, but not in the manner her fellow Pages ogled the occasional villager coming to pray. He was searching for something, or evaluating

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