Deridia Series by Catherine Miller

Dishonourable. Unwanted. Outsider. Such are the slurs cast upon Rykkon, however undeserved. As the only village healer, his people cannot cast him out entirely, but there is little comfort in such a life when he has long known that no mate from his clan would willingly join with him. It is a lonely fate, but one Rykkon has learned to accept. That is, until one tense exchange between his people and the humans brings him an offer he simply cannot ignore. The humans are not their slaves... moreDishonourable. Unwanted. Outsider. Such are the slurs cast upon Rykkon, however undeserved. As the only village healer, his people cannot cast him out entirely, but there is little comfort in such a life when he has long known that no mate from his clan would willingly join with him. It is a lonely fate, but one Rykkon has learned to accept. That is, until one tense exchange between his people and the humans brings him an offer he simply cannot ignore. The humans are not their slaves. Nor their property. Nor of any great concern. But neither are they free. It is by the provisions of the Arterians they scrape out a sorry existence in the Wastes, and by their goodwill alone that they continue to survive. Scavenging for hasart beetles under the two suns is the only life the desperate colonists have known since their ancestors first landed on the desolate planet. It was all they knew. It was all they hoped for. Until one day, a young female dares to ask for more. --- “Wait.” The entire group stilled, staring at him as he continued to regard the female. She glanced up sharply, her brow furrowed and her gaze cautious. As right it should be. “I will take you for a mate.” less

Gullible. Foolish. Weak. She had always done as she was told. She dug in the sands until her fingers bled so that her people could have something to barter. She packed up her sparse belongings without complaint when it was time to flee the Wastes, leaving behind the only home she’d ever known, and the site of the bittersweet memories she carried of her lost family. It was easier that way, to obey and not to question, knowing her own judgement to be faulty... moreGullible. Foolish. Weak. She had always done as she was told. She dug in the sands until her fingers bled so that her people could have something to barter. She packed up her sparse belongings without complaint when it was time to flee the Wastes, leaving behind the only home she’d ever known, and the site of the bittersweet memories she carried of her lost family. It was easier that way, to obey and not to question, knowing her own judgement to be faulty. But when her people learn that the exchange for living on alien land and securing their safety is the price of one of their unclaimed women, the limits of her compliance are tested, as she is given in marriage to a man she does not want from a species and clan she does not know. Only to discover that he feels precisely the same about their ill-begotten trade. --- She was a Marzon now. And she had no idea what that meant, other than giving up her clothes, her home, her people, all for a man who like to scowl and grunt and sigh. “By what name shall she be called?” Sladec asked, and she eyed him with confusion. She opened her mouth to answer, to finally inform them both that she most certainly had a name and it was important, no matter what Machrus had said, but the voice that gave answer was not her own. But came from her husband instead. “Renna. Now wife of Machrus of Krahl.” --- (Please note that this is the second in the Deridia Series. While reading them in order is suggested, each novel can stand alone.) less

Slow. Useless. Failure. Ness had always tried to do as the masters told her, tried to fulfil her expected purpose within the time allowed. She was a thrall and nothing more. Every pain was a lesson, every hurt was for her betterment. And someday, perhaps, she could earn honour enough to serve the Narada in a household... moreSlow. Useless. Failure. Ness had always tried to do as the masters told her, tried to fulfil her expected purpose within the time allowed. She was a thrall and nothing more. Every pain was a lesson, every hurt was for her betterment. And someday, perhaps, she could earn honour enough to serve the Narada in a household. But when the masters tire of her repeated failures to produce the allotment required of her, she is chosen, not for the death she expects, but to serve as payment to a people she has never seen, whose ways are strange and utterly impossible for her to accept. Taken in by a man who claims that he is not her new master, she is troubled when he does not comprehend the defective nature of the thrall he has been given, and how unworthy she is to be in his service. And, perhaps even more concerning, his persistent belief that she is no slave at all. --- The fingers at her chin were gentle as they coaxed her face upward. His fingers were thick and blunt at the ends, lacking in sharp claws or other obvious natural weaponry. But there was strength there as well, and she did not doubt how much harm he could inflict if he so chose. He said nothing, only looked, and though it was difficult with him so close to her, she managed to keep from glancing up at his eyes directly. She would prefer not to be hit again by the master if she could at all help it. “Well?” the master asked, his voice tinged with impatience. “Do we have an accord?” “Olivar,” this Bendan entreated again. “We cannot possibly bring her with us.” “Yes,” the man objected, rising to his feet. “We can. You may consider her a part of my share.” He was going to take her? She would be... his? --- (Please note that this is the second in the Third Series. While reading them in order is suggested, each novel can stand alone.) less

Used.Despised.Unwanted.For the whole of her life, Linora had tried to do as she was told. Guided by her sisters, she had followed her father’s direction, had worked tirelessly at the trade of his house as she bettered her skills in stitch-craft, had learned to mind her tongue and keep her thoughts to herself. And one by one her sisters were arranged into marriages. Leaving her entirely alone... moreUsed.Despised.Unwanted.For the whole of her life, Linora had tried to do as she was told. Guided by her sisters, she had followed her father’s direction, had worked tirelessly at the trade of his house as she bettered her skills in stitch-craft, had learned to mind her tongue and keep her thoughts to herself. And one by one her sisters were arranged into marriages. Leaving her entirely alone.Until an evening of cards and strong drink leads her father to a terrible offer—one that would see her shamed and censured by all.But there is a foreigner amongst her kind, strange in appearance and in manner. With a warmth in his eyes and a confidence that beguiles and unnerves her. And who offers an entirely different accord. less

Dutiful. Diligent. Meek. Vilya knew well what was expected of a daughter of Yarrow. To keep her eyes lowered, her words soft, her hands committed in their work. And if it meant keeping their father appeased and her sister safe, then it was worth each swallowed word, each night spent in the too-low light fulfilling orders to fill her father’s purse. She thought her course was steady. Simple. Until their once-sequestered city is opened to outsiders... moreDutiful. Diligent. Meek. Vilya knew well what was expected of a daughter of Yarrow. To keep her eyes lowered, her words soft, her hands committed in their work. And if it meant keeping their father appeased and her sister safe, then it was worth each swallowed word, each night spent in the too-low light fulfilling orders to fill her father’s purse. She thought her course was steady. Simple. Until their once-sequestered city is opened to outsiders. Until an alliance is sought, with the promise of much needed goods and trade. And the only thing the Marzon ask in return... A bride to solidify the agreement. And when she learns of her father’s intention to give her younger sister to these strangers... She knows she would risk anything to spare her. --- “And what is it you are suggesting?” he asked at last, his voice low and dangerous. “That I rescind my house from accepting the honour it is due?” Vilya did not blink. Did not hesitate. He had asked for her eyes and she gave them, open and earnest. She would lose her sister regardless. Would not be there to help shield her, to teach her what she would need to know to navigate their world. She was the elder of the two. And it was her privilege and her duty to do what she could to protect the younger, the more vulnerable. Her right to claim, regardless of what it might mean for her instead. She could not know what would happen to Linora. To herself. But there would be hope for better things. And that... That would have to be enough. “Give me instead.” less

Impudent.Headstrong.Selfish.Arla knew many things. She knew how to keep a tidy workroom. How to infuriate her elder sister. How to put a smile on her mother’s face when there had been only tears. How to anger her father when she couldn’t seem to master her tongue or her temper.She was supposed to want to be a wife someday. To smooth away the more difficult parts of herself until she was pliable and meek. Desirable.But all Arla wanted was a friend... moreImpudent.Headstrong.Selfish.Arla knew many things. She knew how to keep a tidy workroom. How to infuriate her elder sister. How to put a smile on her mother’s face when there had been only tears. How to anger her father when she couldn’t seem to master her tongue or her temper.She was supposed to want to be a wife someday. To smooth away the more difficult parts of herself until she was pliable and meek. Desirable.But all Arla wanted was a friend. Someone that wasn’t sister, or mother, or father. Just a friend to call her own. And then she found... Him.-x-She could not decide what to make of him. This strange boy who seemed not to realise she was a girl. Who treated her like... She did not know what.“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning toward her and nudging her lightly with his shoulder, as if to claim her attention once more.“Arla,” she answered, realising too late she perhaps should have given him a false one.He smiled softly. “A pretty name,” he declared, and a strange sort of warmth filled her belly to hear him say so. “I’m Osin,” he added, then wrinkled his brow a little. “Well, Osin’morn, but nobody really uses it.” She was staring at him again, and he darkened about his ears, and turned back to look at her. “What?”“I...” she swallowed, and rubbed her hands along her skirt. “I’ve never been given a male’s name before,” she answered, feeling all jumbled to admit it. He should know that. Surely there were rules that he must learn as well. About not touching a girl on her shoulder. Of titles and half-names, and not looking one another in the eye and...Oh.” He glanced toward the crumbling wall, his mouth turning downward ever so slightly. “I’m always doing things wrong,” he confessed. “Ahme tries to teach me manners, but she says they fall out just as quickly as she puts them in.” He huffs out a breath and leans his head against the trunk of her tree—not her tree—with enough force that she was certain it must have hurt him. “Why can’t you have my name?”Arla opened her mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t know.” Cynestrine would know. She was always better at remembering, never felt to question every little custom that Ahme tried so hard to teach.“I’d like you to have it,” Osin insisted, “Since you let me have yours.” less

Chained.Forgotten.Wilful.Proven useless in the breeding rooms, Gwynn is relegated to the tunnels for punishment. Left to toil—or maybe to die, if no master returns for her. If only she could let herself.A desperate escape, the barest taste of freedom.Only to find herself ensnared by another. Not as a thrall. Not as a drone.But as something else entirely.-x-He was helping her. Again. He wanted the best for her, even if her nerves made it difficult to eat as quickly as she should... moreChained.Forgotten.Wilful.Proven useless in the breeding rooms, Gwynn is relegated to the tunnels for punishment. Left to toil—or maybe to die, if no master returns for her. If only she could let herself.A desperate escape, the barest taste of freedom.Only to find herself ensnared by another. Not as a thrall. Not as a drone.But as something else entirely.-x-He was helping her. Again. He wanted the best for her, even if her nerves made it difficult to eat as quickly as she should.“All right,” she murmured, unable to bring herself to look at him, her fingers tangling in the fur in her lap since he’d deprived her of her previous distraction. “So you were waiting for one of us. A slave.”“No,” Gesper corrected, his voice firmer than it had been. “I already told you that is not your position here.”Her mouth formed a firm line and she made her eyes meet his. “If you did not come for a slave, then what did you come for?”He held her gaze, but there was something in him that betrayed his unwillingness to speak it.But he was going to. For her. Because she insisted.It was a foreign power she seemed to possess. Maybe that was simply the magic of today, and tomorrow it would flee from her again.But not yet. And so he made himself answer. Grim-faced and reluctant.“A wife,” he answered. “I came for a wife. And I found you.” less

Wife.Daughter.Warder.There was a shift in the mountain. Where once creatures would ascend to the peak for the winter, now they hunted. With venom and claw, warders fell.Others of her kind had settled. Wives, mothers, they flourished in their freedoms. While Gwynn struggled with the worry, the strain that came from lonely nights without news of her husband’s wellbeing.A bargain. An entreaty. To train as a companion when the missions grew longer. To no longer be left behind... moreWife.Daughter.Warder.There was a shift in the mountain. Where once creatures would ascend to the peak for the winter, now they hunted. With venom and claw, warders fell.Others of her kind had settled. Wives, mothers, they flourished in their freedoms. While Gwynn struggled with the worry, the strain that came from lonely nights without news of her husband’s wellbeing.A bargain. An entreaty. To train as a companion when the missions grew longer. To no longer be left behind.And if she should find some remnant of her kind, a hint of their history, then was that so very wrong? Of a people that were not merely slaves, but explorers. Whose ships traversed the stars themselves.She would be like them. Would see the world long denied to her, her husband by her side. Because the mountain was theirs.Wasn’t it?-x-He tried to open his eyes to look at his hands. Failed.Didn’t matter anyway, as there was yet more cloth covering his eyes. A waste. He was dead anyway. A corpse that still had the misfortune of drawing in breath. Of possessing a heart that still beat.He drew in a ragged breath. It should have hurt. But it must have been another potion. The one pulling him toward the dark. Promised rest and healing if he would succumb. There was no healing from this. No mending. Honeyed words from those who had never burned. He opened his mouth.A cry. A scream. Yet he made no sound. Couldn’t. Not to tell. Not to warn. Of what had come to their mountain. What he’d seen. Before...Well. Before. less

Emmaryn was to wed that day. To choose a man selected specifically for her, the arrangement a blessing to all of her kind. She had only wanted a moment in the Grove, to remember her parents and settle her anxious heart. She was not supposed to leave the safety of the Spiral on her own. And yet… she did. Someone was waiting. With intentions contrary to all of their ways.Elrik had tired of being alone. He’d forsaken his people, scarred and betrayed, with all their talk of sacrifice... moreEmmaryn was to wed that day. To choose a man selected specifically for her, the arrangement a blessing to all of her kind. She had only wanted a moment in the Grove, to remember her parents and settle her anxious heart. She was not supposed to leave the safety of the Spiral on her own. And yet… she did. Someone was waiting. With intentions contrary to all of their ways.Elrik had tired of being alone. He’d forsaken his people, scarred and betrayed, with all their talk of sacrifice. He wanted something for himself. Someone . And he would have her. It would be the worst thing he had ever done. And he would spend the rest of his life more than willing to atone.-x-“Your ceremony,” the warder repeated back, the words slow. Careful. “For your selection.”She shifted again, ducking her head slightly. “Yes,” she confirmed quietly. “Although... I should not talk about such things with you,” she continued, trying to add a hint of apology to her tone. It would be painful, wouldn’t it? To speak of such matters when he would never have been eligible to witness a woman’s selection?Her cheeks were cold. She hadn’t noticed before, not when she’d been too consumed with her own thoughts, but she could not deny it now. Not when her skin was prickling with awareness of just how he was looking at her, and she was suddenly filled with a dreadful trepidation. Another step back. He was blocking the path that twined through the Grove, but she would manage. Surely she was wrong. Warders were men of great honour. She was simply overwrought, that was all. Misinterpreting his intentions.“And why is that?” he asked, as calmly as ever.She rubbed her hands down her cloak, feeling the slight rasp of fine wool against her palms and it comforted her. “It’s rude, isn’t it? When... when you’re... a warder,” she finished lamely, trying to glance up at him with a look of apology. She did not know how to talk to one of his kind, had never been given cause to practise, and she thought she was doing a poor job of it indeed.“Am I?” less

Bound Back CoverStubborn.Impossible.Half-blood.Wren had not been asked to be born outside a mating bond. She had not asked for wings too small to fly. To be used as a cautionary tale to growing fledglings not to succumb to human temptation, since she might be the unfortunate result.She only wanted a quiet life. On the small acreage she shared with her assortment of creatures. Some wild. Some not. To be allowed to sell her wares. To keep out of trouble—a threat to none.She hated the market... moreBound Back CoverStubborn.Impossible.Half-blood.Wren had not been asked to be born outside a mating bond. She had not asked for wings too small to fly. To be used as a cautionary tale to growing fledglings not to succumb to human temptation, since she might be the unfortunate result.She only wanted a quiet life. On the small acreage she shared with her assortment of creatures. Some wild. Some not. To be allowed to sell her wares. To keep out of trouble—a threat to none.She hated the market. Where gossip ran rampant, where looks were rarely friendly. But it meant coin for her suppers, and grain for her animals, so she went at every moon.Until an accident leaves her bruised and bloody.And her rescuer seems to be determined to make amends for his part in it.Above all else, Wren never asked for a mate.But he did.-x-It all happened so quickly.She made it free of the stall, but the log itself was thick that she had no way to jump over it, only try to escape around. But it crashed into the stall beside hers and there was nowhere to go.Her wings moved of their own accord, the instinct strong even if it was impossible to accomplish. They were useful for quieting a fall, but she jumped as best she could, knowing it was not nearly enough.She felt the scrape of bark against her leg, cutting and rubbing and burning and she waited to be caught beneath, for it to break and shatter bone as she was pressed between the log and the cobbles.But something caught her around the middle, pulling her upward as she drew her legs up and over.“Worse than a fledgling,” came from behind her, the voice low and angry.It shouldn’t have hurt. Shouldn’t have stung. But it did.The last log settled and with it the chaos as merchants descended from the skies, furious at their losses.The man eased her down, but she could not bring herself to look at him. “Are you all right?” he asked at last, and she shrugged.Yes. No.Did it really matter? less

Friend. Dreamer. Desperate. Firen tried to be content waiting for her mate to appear in the marketplace. She was patient as inspected each of her neighbours, ever hopeful the bond would settle into place. But even she had her limits. And when her youngest sister brings home her mate, full of joy and just a bit of smugness at her elder sister’s misfortune, Firen loses what remained of her endurance. She would find him. She would bind him to her... moreFriend. Dreamer. Desperate. Firen tried to be content waiting for her mate to appear in the marketplace. She was patient as inspected each of her neighbours, ever hopeful the bond would settle into place. But even she had her limits. And when her youngest sister brings home her mate, full of joy and just a bit of smugness at her elder sister’s misfortune, Firen loses what remained of her endurance. She would find him. She would bind him to her. And he would be glad of her boldness, wouldn’t he? It was her parents’ fault, really. Made mating seem easy. As natural as the wind fluttering through her feathers. She was wrong. -x- “Your name,” he murmured at last, and she relaxed into his hold. Liked the way he bent her a little too far backward, so she had to trust him to keep her balance. “Firen,” she answered, more pleased than she could say that he was speaking to her. He had a pleasant voice, low as it was. As if he was keeping it just for her. “Lucian,” she repeated, because she remembered that part. Remembered that it had meant nothing in that moment, and yet now... He grunted, and she wondered if she’d been mistaken, but he shook his head and studied her eyes a moment longer. Then stood. Released her. And she was sorrier than she could say for their contact to end. But it didn’t have to, surely. And she didn’t have to ask, did she? If she was welcome because of course she would be. Because the bond would sing as it did for her. Would tell him how pleased she was to finally, finally meet him. To speak for them while they muddled through these first moments together. She took his hand. Adjusted her hold just so until her fingers settled naturally through his. And she could not help the beaming smile as she glanced up at him, only a touch dismayed that he was watching it all with bemusement rather than pleasure. It was enough for her to pause. To feel a clutching, horrid chokehold on her throat. “You do feel it, don’t you? That... I am yours?” Another of his piercing looks. The ones that were too sharp and might have seemed almost menacing if not for the swirl of satisfaction that he was looking at her. “Yes,” he answered, his voice too tight and a tinge of something unpleasant that she dared not put to name. less