I am delighted to be bringing you an excerpt from Return to the Eyrie by author, Katerina Dunne. This book is the second in the Medieval Hungary series, and is the sequel to Lord of the Eyrie.
The Blurb
Belgrade, Kingdom of Hungary, 1470:
Raised in exile, adolescent noblewoman Margit Szilágyi dreams of returning to her homeland of Transylvania to avenge her father's murder and reclaim her stolen legacy. To achieve this, she must break the constraints of her gender and social status and secretly train in combat.
When the king offers her a chance at justice, she seizes it—even if it means disguising herself as a man to infiltrate the vultures' nest that now occupies her ancestral ‘eyrie’.
Plagued by childhood trauma and torn between two passionate loves, Margit faces brutal battles, her murderous kin's traps and inner demons on her quest for vengeance. Only by confronting the past can she reclaim her honour—if she can survive long enough to see it through.
Return to the Eyrie is an epic coming-of-age tale of a young woman's unwavering pursuit of justice and destiny in 15th century Hungary.
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ISBN: 978 1962465328
Publisher: Historium Press
Formats: e-book and paperback
No. of Pages: 406 (paperback)
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The Excerpt
Margit twined her fingers behind her back and tapped her foot on the straw-strewn floor of the stable. Her eyes fixed on Imre Gerendi—a tall, broad-shouldered man in the fifty-fourth year of his life.
Leaning on the wooden post of his black rouncey’s stall and absently scratching his greying brown beard, Endre’s father took an eternity to respond to her request. “Out of the question!” he said, at last, eyebrows drawn together, his face stern as a judge announcing a death sentence.
Endre drew close to Margit’s ear. “I told you so.”
It might as well have been a death sentence. She clenched her hands and scowled at the man. “Why, Imre bácsi? I wish to learn.” Tears of frustration stole into her eyes. “I must avenge my father.”
The man’s face softened. “I promised your father I’d look after you. I don’t intend to let you come to harm. You’re too headstrong, like your poor brother. Do you forget what befell him?”
Margit’s arms fell to her sides. Her chest heaved as she fought to swallow the lump that rose in her throat.
“Calm yourself, child,” Imre said and patted her shoulder. “You’re my dear friend’s daughter, and I care for you like my own, but—” His eyes met hers. “As the rightful heir of the Szentimre estate, you must wait another two years until you’re wed before we can plead with the king to return your inheritance.”
Two years? How am I ever to wait this long?
Margit’s exasperation raced to her cheeks.
But before she opened her mouth, Imre raised his hand to stay her protest. “Patience, child! We’ll prove your father wasn’t a traitor. I promise. Until then, don’t draw attention to yourself. After all, your cousin and his wily mother may still be looking for you.”
Fuelled by an urge to vent her vexation, Margit poked at Endre’s arm, making him recoil. “So, I must marry him to take back what was stolen from me?”
Imre shot her a reproachful glance. “It was your father’s wish; and the only way you can inherit landed property.”
“Because I’m a girl!” Margit spun around, seething at the injustice.
Just then, a male servant rushed through the stable door, sweating and gasping between panicked breaths. “Master!”
“What is it?” Imre said.
“Three men at the port. Looking for you and the young lady. Hungarian. With accent like yours.”
Imre’s face turned ghostly white. “Transylvanians. From Szentimre, surely.”
“Again?” Margit gasped and grabbed onto Endre for support.
“Take her to the cellar,” Imre ordered his son. “Don’t come out until I return.”
He ran to rally the servants while Endre dragged Margit down the cellar steps.
In the damp underground chamber, she fervently clung to him amidst the pungent wine racks, barrels of tangy fermented foods and smoky cured meat.
Margit shivered in the faint rushlight, her mind reliving her ordeal during a moonlit night, three years prior, when she had fled with Erzsi along the riverbank. A hooded figure seized upon her with brutal strength, the white of his eyes glinting beneath his cowl—an image forever branded in Margit’s memory.
But just when all seemed lost, Imre appeared and drove the man through with his blade. Blood spurted from the stranger’s screaming mouth.
Thankfully, Imre also slew the rogue’s companions and threw their bodies into the Danube to be taken by the currents to the sea, far away in another land.
And now, the enemy had found her again.
The meagre light soon died. Moments dragged like years. The cellar’s dank walls closed around Margit, awakening unspeakable horrors. Who would protect her if those men bested Imre this time? Was she to cower, waiting to be saved or slain?
If only she could fight!
The trapdoor’s grinding flushed fresh terror through her veins. As heavy footsteps descended, Endre shielded her with his body. Breath frozen in her chest, Margit squeezed his arm and peeked over his shoulder.
Lantern light formed menacing shadows on the rough walls until a familiar voice, grave yet reassuring, said, “You can come out.”
Imre’s tunic was stained—with blood, surely—and he still held his sword. “They’ll trouble us no more.”
Later that night, Margit sat on her pallet with knees bent and drawn against her chest, staring into the blackness. The echoes of her terrifying experience still plagued her sore head, awakening a wave of unease.
Forbidden from handling weapons and training, how was she to protect herself?
Imre is concerned I might hurt myself?
She snorted.
What nonsense!
She carried the blood of a strong and brave warrior; a man who had defended Hungary against the Ottoman onslaught time and again. She would not hide like a coward. If she could fight, she would deal with any threat. And she would kill Márton and Anna. Yes, they were her relatives; but they had stolen her land and castle by slandering her father. Perhaps they even had a hand in his death. Margit searched her memory, desperate to remember the night of her escape from Szentimre. Only images of fear haunted her mind: candlelight trembling on the walls of a bottomless shaft; the heavy breaths of frightened people; her face buried in a man’s shoulder; her tears staining his clothes; cold and dampness penetrating her skin. And then the frantic gallop of a horse as she clung to the same man: Imre, her saviour.
Her knees pressed against her growing breasts as she crouched on the thin mattress, raising another dreaded thought. After her first blood three months prior, her body had started to change. This scared her. She loathed the notion of being treated like other noble women: forced into marriage and a lifetime of obedience and childbearing to secure a husband’s protection.
Yes, she was grateful to Imre and Endre for shielding her from the perils of the world. But she would not live like a falcon locked in its mews. There was only one way to avoid that fate. Though she could not become a man, she would do her best to look and behave like one. Having spent so long in the company of those street urchins, she had learned to imitate the male gestures and gait. If Imre had refused to train her, she would practise on her own. And when the right time arrived, she would dress as a boy and escape to her homeland.
Beside her, Erzsi’s light snoring issued from her pallet.
At last!
Margit slid off her own pallet, tiptoed out of the chamber and then down the creaky staircase to the ground floor living area. On the bottom step, she paused and clenched her jaw to chase away a sudden doubt.
I can do this… I must do this.
In the meagre light of an oil lamp, she found Erzsi’s scissors. Silent as she could, she took off her linen chemise and laid it on the table. Naked and shivering, she measured two hands’ width, then cut a strip along the hem. She wrapped it around her bust and tied the ends under her left arm, wincing as the fabric’s frayed edges cut into her flesh above and below her breasts.
Satisfied, she looked down her traitorous body.
I shall not let you grow.
About the Author:
Katerina Dunne is the pen-name of Katerina Vavoulidou. Originally from Athens, Greece, Katerina has been living in Ireland since 1999. She has a degree in English Language and Literature from the University of Athens, an MA in Film Studies from University College Dublin and an MPhil in Medieval History from Trinity College Dublin.
Katerina is passionate about history, especially medieval history, and her main area of interest is 13th to 15th century Hungary. Although the main characters of her stories are fictional, Katerina uses real events and personalities as part of her narrative in order to bring to life the fascinating history of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, a location and time period not so well-known to English-speaking readers.
Return to the Eyrie (published April 2024) is the second book in the Medieval Hungary series, a sequel to Lord of the Eyrie (published in February 2022).
(all media and excerpt courtesy of The Coffee Pot Book Club)
(all opinions are my own)
