Unveiling a World of Imagination: Just a Sip Saturday - Fiction Sampler

Here's just a taste of an excerpt from a book I have been working on. Hope you enjoy it!

Illessa drummed her manicured fingers with agitation against the sculpted cherry wood arm of her chair. Tap, tap, tap. She glanced at the clock, she'd been waiting for an hour. The smell of old paper and pipe tobacco drifted toward her. Her eyes scanned the room, but amongst the lined shelves bursting with leather-bound tomes surrounding her, she found no source. Invading the rest of the study was a polished wooden desk with ornate legs elegantly curving toward the floor. The rhythm of her fingers intensified along with her impatience. We're going to be late if he doesn't hurry up! With a huff, she stood fidgeting with the clasp at her throat. This cloak is choking me! At last, the clasp released and she placed it over her chair as she rubbed her throat. Not that she was in a hurry to go before the tribunal, but how would it look if they were late?

Soon the tribunal will end and she is on her way to Sudrane. Scratching her arm lightly as she shivered measuring her footsteps around the small room. The sound of her steps echoed on the wooden floor, except when she strayed into the carpeted areas. Where was Rook with those papers he promised? I don't wanna think of what will happen if he doesn't have them! Her pacing having brought her to the desk she sat carelessly in the chair before it with a sigh. Her eye caught the line of the bottom drawer halfway open. Entertaining herself she opened the drawer. A bottle half full of scotch and a single glass were the only occupants. In the drawer above it, she found it filled to the brim with slips of paper for random items purchased and used quills. On the opposite side, the only drawer squealed when she pulled it open. A letter fell to the floor, as she bent to retrieve it she noticed it bore her name written in the neat, delicate script of Rook.

Eyes darting to the door she waited a moment before tearing into the thick, creased paper. It is his own fault. If he didn't want me to read it he shouldn't have left her in his study so long. Pausing a moment she let her eyes roam the page, while she deliberated. Why would there be a letter addressed to her? What could Rook not say to her face that he put in the letter? She bit her plump bottom lip until she could stand it no longer.

Dearest Illessa,

I've often wondered when I could eventually bring myself to tell you this truth. If you are reading this I have met my demise and my successor has sought you out. Through the years we've come to know each other intimately. I've enjoyed our friendship since it began so many years ago in your tiny mining village of Marcona. When you served me ale, it wasn't the first time we had met. In truth, we met seventeen years before on the day of your birth. I was present because the father was always present at the birth. Please forgive my absence. I'll never forgive myself.

Your Father,

Reginald aka Rook