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Mod R would like me to remind you that Malcolm was the guy who led the original assault team into the Elmwood gate. Unfortunately with the breaks between installments, people forget who is who.

• Malcolm – leader of the assault team who discovered gold but didn’t say anything and we don’t know why
• Jackson – Cold Chaos’ missing healer, still detained in Japan
• Yosuke – Cold Chaos member who was blacklisted by a Japanese guild and now works for Elias
• Leo – Elias’ second in command, Vice-guildmaster of Cold Chaos

Finally we are using stock images today, because Candice is working on the cover, so we can get the preorder/order up for you.

The weight room at the Elmwood Park Rec Center was small, but it did have a bench press. The gym stood empty. No civilian in their right mind would risk being this close to an active gate. Elias loaded 4 plates on each side of the bar. 405 lbs. He would need an extra 200 lbs to really get going, but there were no plates left. A light workout it is.

Elias slid onto the bench, took a close grip with his fists nearly touching, lifted the bar off the rungs, and slowly lowered it to about an inch off his chest. He held it there for a few breaths, slowly pushed it up, and brought it back down.

The workout wasn’t planned, but sitting on his hands was getting to him. He had to let off some steam or he would explode.

Thirty minutes later, he had finished with the chest press and the leg press machine and was on the dip bars, with 4 plates chained to him, going into his second set of fifty dips, when Leo walked into the gym carrying his tablet. The XO looked like a cat who’d caught a mouse and was very satisfied with his hunting skills.

Elias nodded to him. “Good news?”

“In a manner of speaking. Malcolm has a brother.” Leo held up his tablet. On it a man strikingly similar to Malcolm smiled into the camera, poised against a forest. Same height, same lanky build, same dark hair and brown eyes. If you put him into tactical gear, Elias might have mistaken him for the Elmwood gate assault team leader.

Elias kept moving, lifting his body up and down, the plates a comfortable weight tugging on him. “Are they twins?”

“No, Peter is two years younger.”

“Is he a Talent?”

Leo shook his head. “He is a biologist. He spends most of his time in Australia.”

“What is he doing there?”

“Trying to contain an outbreak of chlamydia in koalas.”

Elias paused midway into the lift and looked at Leo.

 “Apparently koalas are highly susceptible to chlamydia,” Leo said. “The latest strain is threatening to make them extinct in New South Wales.”

Elias shook his head and resumed the dips.

“Interesting fact,” Leo continued. “Dr. Peter Nevin can apparently be in two places at once. Here he is speaking at the National Koala Conference in Port Macquarie in New South Wales.”

He flicked the tablet and a picture of Peter Nevin at the podium slid onto the screen.

“And here he is in Vegas after losing $300K at the poker table on the same day.” Leo swiped across the tablet, presenting a picture of Malcolm exiting a casino, his face flat.

Elias ran out of dips, jumped to the floor, and began to unchain the weights. “Malcolm gambles under his brother’s name.”

Gambled. The man was dead.

“Oh, he doesn’t just gamble. When Malcolm lands in Vegas, a siren goes off and they roll out the red carpet from the plane all the way to the strip.”

“How deep is the hole?”

“Twenty-three million.”

Elias took special care to slide the weight plate back onto the rack. Breaking community equipment would not be good. Except that whatever pressure he’d managed to vent now doubled.

Twenty-three million. Over 3 times Malcolm’s annual pay with the bonuses.

Malcolm was a gambler. Everything suddenly made sense. If the motherlode of gold wasn’t an exaggeration, Malcolm could’ve walked away with a bonus of several hundred thousand.

The casinos had to know who they were dealing with.  Nobody would allow a koala scientist to carry that kind of debt, but a star assault team leader from a large guild was a different story. If they had any decency, they would’ve cut Malcolm off, but then they weren’t in the decency business.

“He is on a payment plan,” Leo said.

“Of course he is.”

And they would let him dig that hole deeper and deeper. Why not? He’d become a passive income golden goose. And all of this should have been caught during his audits. Those payments had to have come from somewhere, and Malcolm would’ve been at it for years. Any bookkeeper worth their salt would’ve noticed a large amount of money going out.

“The auditor…”

“Already got her, sir.”

Her? Malcolm’s auditor was a man… and he had retired two years ago. The Guild must’ve assigned him to someone else. “Is it Susan Calloway?”

“It is.”

“Are they having an affair?”

Leo blinked. “They are! How…”

“Three years ago at the Establishment Party. He got two drinks, one for his wife and one for Susan, and when he handed the champagne to her, her face lit up. Then her husband returned to the table, and she stopped smiling.”

He had reminded Malcolm and Susan separately after that party that Guild Rules applied to them. The guild had a code of conduct, and every prospective guild member signed a document stating they read it and agreed to abide by it during the contract stage. Cold Chaos didn’t tolerate affairs. If both parties were single, relationships between guild members were fine, but cheating on your spouse, in or outside of the guild, would result in severe sanctions. 

Adultery undermined trust, destroyed morale, and eroded the chain of command. If you didn’t have the discipline or moral code to remain faithful to the one person who should’ve mattered most in your life, how could anyone rely on you in the breach, where lives were on the line?

Both Malcolm and Susan swore nothing was going on, and Elias hadn’t seen any signs of trouble since. Meanwhile Susan quietly became Malcolm’s auditor and chose to ignore his gambling.

Elias hid a sigh. Some days he was just done.

“Is legal aware?” he asked.

“Yes. They do not believe that the casino will attempt to collect against Malcolm’s estate. They’ve gotten enough money from it already and hounding the widow of a dead Talent is a bad look. Not to mention the fraud involved in all of this.”

“Jackson?”

“No news yet.”

“It won’t be long now,” Elias told him.

Elias’s phone chimed as if on cue. He glanced at it. An 81 dialing code. 

“Speak of the devil.”

He took the call.

Yasuo Morita appeared on the screen, a trim man in his forties, dark hair cropped short, a shadow of a beard darkening his jaw and crow’s feet at the corners of his smart eyes.

“Elias. Good to see you,” Yasuo said. The Vice-Guildmaster of Hikari no Ryu spoke English with the barest trace of an accent. 

“Good to see you as well.”

“Your healer is on a plane heading home. My people sent over the flight information.”

Out of Yasuo’s view Leo waved his tablet and nodded.

“This was not done at our request,” Yasuo said. “Someone got overzealous in currying favor. This mistake has been corrected. You surprised me. Nicely done.”

“Glad to know I can still keep you on your toes.”

Yasuo smiled. “It won’t happen again.”

There were a couple dozen high-profile US-born Talents working in Japan. This morning nine of them simultaneously asked for leave and booked tickets home. It was a hell of a statement and it looked impressive, but it wasn’t made for the sake of Cold Chaos. The Guild sandbox was small and great healers were rare. Especially healers like Jackson who went out of his way to step in during an emergency. Elias had called every Talent who knew Jackson or benefited from the healer’s involvement. Some knew the healer personally, others through family members, but all agreed that interference with healers had to be off limits.

Explaining all of this to Yasuo was unnecessary. They were much better off letting him think that Cold Chaos had extensive reach.  

“How is my brother?” Yasuo asked.

“Yosuke is well. He’s been promoted to the lead damage dealer of the Second Assault Team.”

“As he should be. When you see him next, I hope you will do me the favor of reminding him that our father hasn’t seen him in two years.”

“I’ll mention it.”

“Good-bye and good luck.”

“You as well.”

Elias ended the call. “When does he land?”

“He’s on the 6:30 pm flight out of Narita with an overnight layover in Hong Kong. He should land in Chicago at 2:25 pm the day after tomorrow. I will start the prep,” Leo said.

Finally. They would finally crack this damn breach. Elias squared his shoulders. 

Everything would fall into place once they entered the gate.

The post The Inheritance: Chapter 8, Part 3 first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Cover for Sailing to Byzantium by Brian Waugh
Cover for Seven American Nights by Bryn Barnard

Seven American Nights was originally published in Orbit 20, edited by Damon Knight and published by Harper & Row in March, 1978. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award. Seven American Nights is the first of two Wolfe stories to be published in the Tor Doubles series.

Sailing to Byzantium was originally published in Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine in February, 1985. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award, winning the latter.  Sailing to Byzantium is the second of five Silverberg stories to be published in the Tor Doubles series and aside from the proto-series Laumer novel, it is the first time an author has been repeated.

Wolfe’s story opens with a short note from Hassan Kerbelai indicating that he is sending the travelogue of Nadan Jaffarzadeh back to his family, noting that Jaffarzadeh seems to have gone missing. The final paragraphs of the story are focused on Jaffarzadeh’s mother’s reaction to the travelogue. The majority of the story is Jaffarzadeh’s description of his first week visiting America.

The American Jaffarzadeh is visiting, however, is one in which the United States failed generations earlier. The Washington, D.C. he travels through is referred to as the Silent City, containing the remnants of the great federal buildings. Although he travels through the ruins and visits a park that he warns is dangerous, the majority of his time in Washington is spent attending the theatre.

During his first day of touring, he notices a man working in one of the buildings in the silent city. He runs into the man at the theatre and learns that he is working on a machine that can emulate handwriting, essentially what we would recognize as an AI with an autopen ability.

After that early visit to see a production of Gore Vidal’s Visit to a Small Planet, he develops an infatuation for the leading lady, Ardis Dahl. That infatuation drives the remainder of the narrative as he begins to stalk her, attending subsequent nights at the theatre, trying to find where she lives, and eventually meeting one of the other actors, Bobby O’Keene, who offers to introduce Jaffarzadeh for a price. When O’Keene tries to pick Jaffarzadeh’s pocket, the police become involved, O’Keene is arrested, and eventually, Dahl tracks down Jaffarzadeh to get his help releasing O’Keene.

The story is told in the form of Jaffarzadeh’s journal, beginning with his arrival aboard a ship and ending after he begins a relationship with Dahl. However, Wolfe introduces several subtle clues throughout the story, in his choice of plays, the descriptions of characters, and incongruities in the way Jaffarzadeh describes things, that indicate that the seemingly straightforward tale is much more convoluted that it would appear.

Upon reading the story, it appears that Jaffarzadeh is somehow the victim of a scam perpetrated by the acting troupe, possibly in conjunction with the manager of the hotel who first sent him to the theatre. However, Wolfe’s choice of plays, one that deals with a traveler attempting to provide a war, the other about a woman who vanishes, indicate that something far more sinister is taking place. Two of Jaffarzadeh’s fellow passengers to America make appearances late in the story. Are they part of the plot? Are the police involved? What about the functionary who sent the journal on to Jaffarzadeh’s family? Wolfe doesn’t offer any real answers and the text, itself, can offer up a Rashomon-like series of answers, none of them more correct than the others.

Seven American Nights feels incomplete. Not only does Wolfe not provide answers to the many questions that are implied, but rarely stated, but he ends the story with Jaffarzadeh’s mother’s not knowing his fate, but knowing he is alive. The reader, on the other hand, is not so sure. Even if Jaffarzadeh can be trusted, and by his own words he notes that he hasn’t included the entire story and has removed pages, the possibility that someone else, possibly even the machine his friend was working with, wrote parts of the journal mean it cannot be trusted.

The described arrest of O’Keene after he tried to pickpocket Jaffarzadeh, in which it is clear that if Jaffarzadeh doesn’t swear out a complaint, the police will arrest him anyway and trump up the charges, coupled with the inability to discover where he is being kept or what happened to him, has chilling parallels with the current situation in which ICE is arresting people and deporting them without due process. Within the context of the story, it also sets the expectation that if the authorities determine that Jaffarzadeh must be removed, there is nothing that anyone could do to stop them or reverse his arrest.

The strength of Seven American Nights is the very infuriating ambiguity with which Wolfe has carefully laced the story.

Issac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine February 1985 cover by Hisaki Yasuda
Orbit 20 cover by an unknown artist

The strength of Seven American Nights is the very infuriating ambiguity with which Wolfe has carefully laced the story.

Silverberg’s world of Sailing to Byzantium is reminiscent of the fin du siècle decadence of Michael Moorcock’s Dancers at the End of Time, which I recently re-read. While Moorcock viewed the world of ever-changing landscape from the point of view of one of the period’s denizens (or citizens as Silverberg calls them), Silverberg’s protagonist, is in the time traveling role of Moorcock’s Mrs. Amelia Underwood. This change makes Silverberg’s world more interesting since it allows the story to offer its own contemporary judgement of the citizens’ self-indulgence.

Of course, Silverberg’s story shares its title with a poem by William Butler Yeats in which Yeats also explores the concepts of immortality, art, and the idea of a paradise. Silverberg has selected as his point of view Charles Phillips, who, without knowing how or why, has been pulled from twentieth century New York to this new world. Phillips moves from city to city accepting of the immortality which seems to exist for the citizens and trying to find his own place among the glories or the past recreations.

When the story opens, he is visiting Alexandria at its height, exploring the Pharos and the library in the company of his lover, Gioia. During this visit, Phillips shares with the reader what he knows of this world. The population of citizens numbers in the low millions. Only five cities exist at any time and they are recreations of historic cities, at the moment the novella begins they include New Chicago, Alexandria, Changan, Asgard, and Timbuctoo. Eventually one of those cities will be dismantled and replaced with another city. These citizen are staffed by “temporaries,” sort of synthetic humans or automatons, Phillips isn’t entire sure.

Even as he enjoys the climb to the top of Pharos, he yearns for a Byzantium which hasn’t been built, but which he is sure will be in time. Before it can be, he and Gioia travel to Changan to enjoy the court of the Chinese Emperor. Their visit there is made more memorable by the fact that Gioia’s friends have arranged from them to be treated as honored guests by the Emperor. During their visit, Phillips begins to see the world beyond the façade. When the Emperor, who is merely a temporary, is not actively engaging, he practically seems to turn off.

The real surprise comes we he sees signs of aging in Gioia, something that shouldn’t happen to the immortal citizens of this era. Gioia leaves him, but arranges for him to have a friend, Belilala, as a companion. Unable to understand what is happening, Phillips chases after Gioia, learning from Belilala that Gioia is a rarity, a citizen who can age and die. Phillips chases after Gioia, despite her stated desire not to see him, reminiscent of Silverberg’s own Born with the Dead, which was the first of Silverberg’s novels to be reprinted in the Tor Double series.

Phillips quest of Gioia introduces him to two other visitors such as himself. The first, Francis Willoughby, is from the late sixteenth century and can’t fathom of the world of miracles Phillips attempts to describe them living in. He is convinced he was simply drugged and dragged to an India ruled by Portuguese (they meet in a recreation of Mohenjo-daro, which replaced Timbuctoo). The second visitor Phillips meets is from a period in his future. Y’ang-Yeovil of the Third Septentriad. Y’ang-Yeovil reveals more about the mechanics of the world, and the manner in which visitors are brought into it, causing Phillips to have an identity crisis of his own.

Eventually, Phillips is able to confront Gioia about her desertion of him and her own aging. While Phillips may be a minority as a visitor, Gioia is a very different type of outsider. A citizen, her recessive trait that causes her to age means that she is still seen as an outsider with little recourse or others who share her affliction. Phillips actually quotes the Yeats poem and Byzantium becomes a promised land where a solution to her affliction might become a possibility, allowing Gioia and Phillips to have a life together without worry of out-aging the other.

The world Silverberg built is a strangely ephemeral world in which the only permanence are its citizens. He focuses on two individuals who lack the immortality that almost everyone else in the world enjoys, and each of them must figure out how to come to terms with that fact in their own way, both coming from very different places. Although it doesn’t seem likely, their story introduces true affection into the world.

Some of the novellas collected in any given volume of Tor Double have links to each other. In the case of this book, both the Wolfe and Silverberg novellas are travelogues of a future earth, with Wolfe exploring the remnants of a post-US Washington and Silverberg looks at a future world that recreates the past.

The cover for Sailing to Byzantium was painted by Brian Waugh. The cover for Seven American Nights was painted by Bryn Barnard.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-one-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

Galactic Empires, Volume One and Two (Orbit, October 1976). Covers by Karel Thole

My fellow Canadian James Nicoll continues to be one of my favorite SF bloggers, probably because he covers stuff I’m keenly interested in. Meaning exciting new authors, mixed with a reliable diet of vintage classics.

In the last two weeks he’s discussed Kate Elliots’s The Witch Roads, Axie Oh’s The Floating World, Ada Palmer’s Inventing the Renaissance, and Emily Yu-Xuan Qin’s Aunt Tigress, all from 2025; as well as Walter Jon Williams The Crown Jewels (from 1987), Wilson Tucker’s The Long Loud Silence (1952), C J Cherryh’s Port Eternity (1982), and John Brunner’s 1973 collection From This Day Forward. Now that’s a guy who knows how to productively use his leisure time. Not to mention caffeine.

But my favorite of his recent reviews is his story-by-story breakdown of Brian W. Aldiss’s massive two-volume anthology Galactic Empires, which made me want to read the whole thing all over again.

James opens by reprinting the famous letter Ursula K. Le Guin sent to Harcourt senior editor John Radziewicz, when she was asked to provide a blurb for Volume 1 of George Zebrowski’s new anthology series Synergy: New Science Fiction. It didn’t go well.

Ursula Le Guin letter to Harcourt senior editor John Radziewicz

As James notes,

Modern readers might be surprised at the almost complete lack of women in the two volumes (or they would be, if the books were not long out of print). Older readers, aware of Le Guin’s response to a later Aldiss-helmed anthology, will be less surprised.

On to the stories.

Back covers to the Orbit paperback editions of Galactic Empires, Volume One and Two

James covers every one of the stories in this massive anthology. Here’s the highlights.

VOLUME ONE

I remembered Volume Two as the stronger of the two. That’s not quite correct. Both have their weak stories (“Foundation,” in the absence of other material, “Escape to Chaos,” not to mention that terrible van Vogt story) but both have works such as ​“Brightness Falls from the Sky” and ​“Final Encounter” that I enjoyed encountering again…

“The Star Plunderer” • (1952) • novelette by Poul Anderson — a Technic History story

Alien slavers descent on decadent, weak Earth, little suspecting that their actions will provoke the rise of the TERRAN EMPIRE! The guy does not get the girl. There are enough Anderson Guy Doesn’t Get the Girl stories for an anthology. I wonder why?

“Foundation” (1942) • novelette by Isaac Asimov — a Foundation tale

Endangered due to the slow collapse of the Empire, the Encyclopedists on distant Terminus discover the true reason that their science colony was founded. Without the context of the other Foundation stories, this one seems oddly anti-climactic. Yet it seems to have been wildly popular back when.

“Resident Physician” (1961) • novelette by James White — a Sector General story

What led a terribly ill immortal alien to turn on its physician? And can the staff of Sector General solve the mystery, given they’ve never previously encountered this species? One has to admire how calmly the staff of Sector General take being presented with what amounts to a demigod, especially an angry, apparently homicidal demigod. One of the principal characters in Sector General stories is psychology section-head Major O’Mara, described thusly:

“(O’Mara) was also, on his own admission, the most approachable man in the hospital. O’Mara was fond of saying that he didn’t care who approached him or when, but if they hadn’t a very good reason for pestering him with their silly little problems then they needn’t expect to get away from him again unscathed.”

Has anyone ever proposed a Sector General TV show with Hugh Laurie playing O’Mara?

“Planting Time” • (1975) • short story by Pete Adams and Charles Nightingale

A starfarer stumbles across a potentially profitable and most certainly lascivious previously unknown lifeform. People in the 1970s were extremely horny. No, even hornier than that. However, many men didn’t especially care for that whole needing to chat up partners first nonsense.

Galactic Empires, Volume Two, US paperback edition (Avon Books, March 1979). Cover by Alex Ebel VOLUME TWO

“Down the River” • (1950) • short story by Mack Reynolds

Humans are, in order, astonished to discover they are subjects of a galactic empire, offended that they are being traded from one empire to another, and alarmed by revelations concerning their new masters. This is an example of a ​“how would you feel if what you routinely do to others was done to you?” story. It’s not subtle because readers would miss the point if it were and probably most of them did, anyway.

“Final Encounter” • (1964) • short story by Harry Harrison

In the thousand centuries since faster than light drive gave humanity the stars, humans have never encountered intelligent aliens. Now on the far side of the Milky Way, they have. Or so it seems. Whether or not the odd beings are human or not turns out to be surprisingly easy to determine with a simple DNA test, so the big puzzle about which the story is constructed is easily resolved. What I found fascinating as a kid was how Harrison understood that due to the sheer size of the Milky Way (to quote George R. R. Martin):

“There are many ways to move between the stars, and some of them are faster than light and some are not, and all of them are slow.”

“Lord of a Thousand Suns” • (1951) • novelette by Poul Anderson

Humanity’s fate depends on a technological ghost left by a long-dead, all-powerful alien civilization. Anderson is the author I depend on to grasp space and time’s scales, so it’s odd and distracting that his protagonist seems convinced that dinosaurs walked the Earth only a million years ago.

“Big Ancestor” • (1954) • novelette by F. L. Wallace

Many worlds have human races, and while some are more highly evolved than others, all are clearly kin. What glorious race planted colonies in the long-forgotten past? The answer is astounding! Well, technically, the answer is galactic, as this story appeared in Galaxy, not Astounding.

The full review is well worth your time. Check it out here, and do yourself a favor and make it a habit to stop by James’ blog here.

We covered both volumes of Galactic Empires as a Vintage Treasure way back in December 2021.

 

The Bloodless Queen is an odd, melancholic near-future sci-fi standalone about two parents determined to…

The post Spotlight on “The Bloodless Queen” by Joshua Phillip Johnson appeared first on LitStack.

 

Charming the Orc's Mate (Silvermist Mates #2)by Chloe Graves
What is it about:Even fate needs a little shelf-help sometimes.
CarissaInheriting a bookstore in a magical town was my childhood dream, but the reality of settling my great-aunt's estate is more hell than happily-ever-after. Between chaotic finances and pre-booked events I can't cancel, I'm counting the days until I can flee back to my ordered life in Seattle and a waiting job offer.
But selling the store gets complicated when one distractingly handsome orc from my past keeps showing up to help—and I'm running out of reasons to say no.
TorainWatching my brother find his mate left me hungry for my own. Then "little Carrie" storms back into my life, those prim lips curved in a shush, and my mate bond ignites with a roar.
The quiet girl who shared her cookies has grown into a goddess of fitted skirts and perfectly pinned hair. She wields spreadsheets like weapons, bringing order to chaos while every buttoned-up inch of her makes me burn to watch her unravel.
When a snake of a developer plots to steal her inheritance, they'll both learn that this orc's patience has limits—and I'm not letting anyone write my mate out of our future.
But I'll savor showing her that the messiest stories make the sweetest endings.
Charming the Orc's Mate is a spicy monster romance featuring a cinnamon roll orc who's definitely not too loud in libraries, a control-freak heroine whose ordered life needs a little chaos, and a magical small town that refuses to let go of its bookstore. Expect fated mates, forbidden kisses in the stacks, and grumpy/sunshine romance with a dash of childhood friends.
What did Voodoo Bride think of it:Yet another enjoyable read that didn't reach the heights of Vexing the Grumpy Orc.
I had thought I'd love this one when I discovered it centered around a bookstore, but even though that was a large part of the plot, I couldn't really connect with Torain and Carissa. Am I turning into a grump who only connects with other grumps? I sure hope not.
I still enjoyed the story and romance well enough, make no mistake, I just felt like some spark was missing for me. 
I did pick up book 4 in this series afterward to see how I would like that one. Review coming soon.
Why should you read it:Cinnamon Roll Orc

Hello friends and fans of my older brother's weird brain! NotWill here for the second blog this year. That is not normal, do not expect many blogs that aren't written by Will.

Two weeks ago we had a HUGE breakthrough with Barnes & Noble in terms of getting Will’s books stocked on their shelves. They ordered thousands of copies of each Cradle book for, from what we can tell, the purpose of being able to stock on shelves nationwide.



I spent the majority of last week driving to 22 different stores around Florida to gather information as to why the mass order happened (turns out we just have the best fans ever that buy Will’s books wherever they’re seen) and ask our local stores to stock Cradle. Most of the B&N’s either had Unsouled on the way to the store to be stocked or ordered copies at my request.



Really cool employees you got there, Barnes & Noble!

This was a gigantic win for us. It’s been years in the making of switching from print-on-demand books to better quality stock that bookstores would be willing to carry. With this order at B&N when you buy a Cradle book, it will automatically restock at that store. That is why this is even more exciting than just a single large order!

I talked to managers at a lot of these stores and it is extremely rare for indie publishers to be stocked in B&N. So THANK YOU to all the fans that voraciously buy Hidden Gnome books! You have no idea what it means to us.

Now you should start seeing “Will Wight” on the shelves at your local Barnes & Noble, which is the coolest thing I’ve ever written. You might start seeing Will Wight himself on the shelves too, because he hides between copies sometimes.



If you don’t see the books, you can ask a manager to order them if you’re so extrovertedly inclined (this should work at your local indie bookstore as well). Cradle is in B&N warehouses nationwide.

This is one small step for indie publishers and one giant leap for Hidden Gnome Publishing!

-Sam

Exciting news from our friends at Graphic Audio: the full-cast dramatized adaptation of White Hot, Hidden Legacy Volume 2, is officially available for preorder on the GA website, with the release landing in your ears on September 4th!

The preorders on Audible & co should appear late next week, because we’re getting preferential treatment hehe. Usually, we wouldn’t see the September preorder data for another month or so, but GA are making a special exception for the Horde. Just for being our awesome selves. Or maybe because they fear our uprising, who can really tell. It’s a mystery.

And then we’ll have samples and ferrets, and cookies and Leon, and ferrets and samples, and sirens and Bunnys and Rogan POVs and ALL the stuff. Fluffy!

“But Mod R, w*iting? Again?! Change the tune!”

A-HA. You know what we don’t have to be p*tient for? Small Magics in dramatized adaptation, the latest in the Kate Daniels world releases by the spectacular Nora Achrati and golden team.

It comes out tomorrow, June 12th and can be found on the GA website and all usual other retailers. Nora will be taking a small break from kicking butts as Kate, and then we’ll get both Wilmingtons AND Blood Heir in the first half of 2026.

Now. Speaking of hot issues, here’s another emerald blazing problem for you (see what I did there?). I need to tap into Horde wisdom.

I’m *officially* out of the loop on email etiquette trends.

I learned English in school, in the former Eastern Bloc. For over two generations, our knowledge of English was preserved in academic isolation, untouched by anything as messy as the reality of how people actually talk. My teachers, who’d never even met a native English speaker, drilled into me the importance of ‘Dear Sir/Madam‘ and ‘Yours Sincerely‘ from textbooks older than my mother. In my culture, formality means politeness. The more you respect someone and the bigger the age difference or favour you’re asking, the more you ramp it up.

Which means I arrived in England 16 years ago perfectly primed to be an anachronistic little ball of passive aggressiveness.

Who knew ‘Yours sincerely‘ basically means ‘I want to hit you with a chair‘? I found that out the hard way.

I got by with Regards (kind, warm and otherwise) for a while until a work colleague pointed out it’s the embodiment of the side eye emoji. You might as well ‘per my last email’ someone.

I’ve been Best and Best Wishing for a couple of years. Happy insert-day-of-week! Times are hard, don’t judge. I knew it was boring, but I thought I was safe. Gen Z comfortably fires off ‘I hope this email doesn’t find you. I hope you’re free’, ‘Please hesitate to contact me’ and ‘Unhingedly yours’. I’m not there yet. I can’t even bring myself to XOXO, Gossip Mod.

Mr Mod R peeked at my email this morning and let out a chuckle (blood-curdling in hindsight). “Best wishes. Harshhhhh. What did they do?”

gif of Jennifer Lawrence desperately asking “What do you mean?”

Who can keep up?! Not moi.

I trust your collective brilliance to guide me out of email faux pas territory. Drop your favorite email openings and endings in the comments below. Help me keep the Horde’s chalant-but-kind reputation intact.

Mod R, signing off (with whatever you tell me is cool)

The post White Hot GA Preorder and Being Trendy first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Last Friday, as an early Father’s Day gift, my wife arranged for us to spend the afternoon at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles, which is hosting a wonderful new exhibition dedicated to the memory and achievement of a great American artist. Titled Jack Kirby: Heroes and Humanity and running until March 1, 2026, the show is a must-see for any admirer of the King of Comics.

Jack Kirby is arguably the most influential person in the history of mainstream American comic books; his work, more than that of any other artist or writer, defined the visual grammar of the superhero. Along with his partner Joe Simon, he created Captain America in the 1940’s, soldiered through the postwar superhero slump of the 1950’s doing work in all genres — science fiction, war, horror, western, and romance (it’s an often forgotten fact that Simon and two-fisted Jack Kirby created the romance comic book) until, in the 1960’s, when DC showed that there was a reawakening market for costumed heroes, he teamed up with Stan Lee to create the “Marvel Universe”, though they didn’t know that’s what they were doing when they did it.

The King of Comics

The 60’s saw a flood of characters from Kirby’s pen, most created in collaboration with Lee — the Fantastic Four, Galactus, the X-Men, Thor, Loki, the Black Panther, Ant-Man and the Wasp, the Inhumans, Ka-Zar, MODOK, the Hulk, the Avengers, Iron Man, Doctor Doom, Nick Fury and countless others were the products of his seemingly inexhaustible imagination.

Oh, For Five Bucks and a Time Machine!

Then, in the 70’s at DC, now working without collaborators, Kirby inaugurated his toweringly ambitious, interlinked “Fourth World” series of comics, with characters such as the New Gods, the Forever People, Mister Miracle and Darkseid, in addition to enduringly popular stand-alone characters like Omac, the Demon, and Kamandi.

Perhaps the greatest indicator of Kirby’s quality is that he took Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen and made it a wild, hip, must-read book; any man who could do that was something special.

Certainly, there have been few American lives of more cultural consequence, and the fact that the mandarins in charge of prestigious museums and artistic institutions are paying attention to people like Jolly Jack is a welcome change from the days when comic book artists rated a little bit lower than the guys who clean out septic tanks. All credit to the Skirball for giving Kirby a place to shine.

The Skirball Cultural Center

Founded in 1996 and located in the Santa Monica Hills of West Los Angeles, the Skirball Cultural Center is dedicated to celebrating the Jewish experience (especially the American Jewish experience), which makes it an ideal place for commemorating the legacy of Jack Kirby, who was born Jacob Kurtzberg in Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1917.  Heroes and Humanity is a first-rate tribute to his life and work.

The exhibit is laid out roughly chronologically; the first thing you see as you enter is a wall-sized reproduction of a Kirby drawing of one of the teeming New York City streets of his boyhood. What follows as you snake your way through to the end is virtually a history of the first five decades of American comic books.

After you turn the corner, at the very first stop (“Kirby Goes to War”), you find yourself face-to-face with one of the most iconic images in all of comic art — the cover of Captain America Comics number one, with Cap giving Adolf Hitler a crack on the jaw, all at the behest of Jack Kirby and Joe Simon, two young Jewish-Americans whose country wasn’t even at war with Germany at the time. One look at this cover leaves no doubt that truth, justice, and the American way (to borrow a phrase from another great hero of the day) were antithetical to Nazism and everything that it stood for, even if the government in Washington hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

Jack and Joe Go to War

After a reminder that Kirby didn’t confine his opposition to fascism to the four-color page (a prominent place is made for the Army uniform that he wore while serving in Europe during World War Two), the displays take us through the kaleidoscope of genres that Kirby worked in during the postwar years. There are plenty of actual issues of comic books featured, of course, but most of the Skirball exhibit consists of original Kirby art, both published and unpublished.

Private Kirby Reporting

It’s a joy to be able to see this work (much of which has never been shown in public before) close up. Most are inked pages, completed by people familiar to comics fanatics — Joe Sinnott, Mike Royer, Vince Colletta, Bill Everett, Marie Severin, Dick Ayers, Chic Stone — but there are also many uninked drawings, allowing viewers to study Kirby’s legendary pencil technique.

From Captain America Comics #5

It’s especially nice to see so much of the 40’s and 50’s multi-genre work that Kirby did with Joe Simon, which isn’t as familiar to most people as the King’s later superhero creations for Marvel and DC. I particularly liked a gorgeous splash page, bursting with character and humor, from the western Boy’s Ranch, a title Kirby always cited as one of his favorites.

Boy’s Ranch Splash Page

One section of the exhibit is titled “Kirby’s Stylistic Evolution”, and it traces just that, showing how Jack’s layouts and depiction of character and anatomy developed over time, resulting in bold, polished 60’s and 70’s art that was very different from his vigorous but coarser 40’s and 50’s output, while still remaining recognizably the work of the same man. (Once at the San Diego Comic Con, I heard Neal Adams talk about Kirby. “I didn’t like him”, Adams said. “His people were ugly, and they had big teeth.” Never fear — Adams eventually came around to full-blown Kirby worship.)

Of course, the great years of the Marvel 60’s and the DC 70’s form the core of the exhibit, and there is enough of that work at the Skirball to satisfy the appetite of any member of the MMMS or FOOM (that’s the Merry Marvel Marching Society and the Friends of Ol’ Marvel, if you didn’t know, and if you didn’t know, why didn’t you?)

One huge wall (“Re-Inventing the Superhero”) displays an entire X-Men story, and allows you to compare Kirby’s original art with the finished, colored comic book pages that were snapped up off the newsstands by eager kids in the 60’s, long before the Marvel Cinematic Universe was even a gleam in Stan Lee’s eye. (Stan is treated rather gingerly here — the most noticeable thing is that the standard formulation “Stan and Jack” is changed to “Kirby and Lee”, which in this context is only fair — it’s Jack’s show.)

Kirby’s Fourth World art and his other DC characters of the 70’s receive a large share of space, too. I think my single favorite thing in the whole exhibit was a magnificent pencil drawing of the cosmic fascist Darkseid (a character Kirby based on Mussolini), proud, immovable, lost in his dreams of universal dominion. A villain to be sure, but in Kirby’s hands, not just a villain. (I always think of Darkseid’s surprising summing up of the wedding of Mister Miracle and Big Barda: “It had deep sentiment — yet little joy. But — life at best is bittersweet!”)

Darkseid

There are several striking examples of Kirby’s non-commercial art, work that he did just for himself or for friends. One of the most eye-catching is his dramatic depiction of the story of Jacob wrestling the Angel from the biblical book of Genesis, and there are several stunning Kirby collages, a form that he seemed especially fond of and that he sometimes integrated into his comic book work. One of the most touching of the personal items is a Hanukkah card that Jack and his wife Roz sent to friends; seeing a yarmulke on the Thing leaves no doubt about what Ben Grimm’s old neighborhood was like. Take that, Yancy Streeters!

There are more treasures at the Skirball than I have room to share with you here; all I can do is urge you to come and see it all for yourself. If you’re in the Los Angeles area any time in the next eight months, be certain to make time for Jack Kirby: Heroes and Humanity. It’ll be time well spent, because Jack Kirby is a man worth getting to know, and he continues to awe, delight, and even teach us.

Into the Negative Zone

At another one of those long-ago San Diego Comic Cons, at the annual Jack Kirby Tribute Panel (the one event that I made sure I never missed), I heard the great Spider-Man artist John Romita tell a story about the first time he met Jack Kirby.

Jacob and the Angel

Romita, a young artist just starting out, was in awe of this man who was a living legend. Not knowing what to say to one of his idols, but thinking about Kirby’s brilliant pencil drawings, Romita asked Jack what kind of pencil he used, thinking that the greatest artist in the business would name some fancy imported instrument hand-made out of rare Italian hardwood that cost fifty dollars a box, or something like that.

Jack looked blank for a moment; then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a plain yellow pencil, the kind you can buy in any drugstore. “A number two”, he said.

He could see from the expression on Romita’s face that this wasn’t the answer the young man was expecting. “Then”, John Romita said, “Jack Kirby said something that changed my life as an artist.”

“John”, he said, “you don’t draw with a pencil.”

Think about that. You don’t draw with a pencil.

Look, Ma — No Pencil!

It’s the easiest thing in the world to confuse the tool with the task, but a true artist draws with his mind and his heart, with everything that he is; it’s not graphite or ink or paint that he puts on the page. It’s his soul — that’s why we respond to his work. That’s why it moves us, frightens us, excites us, exalts us, why it grabs hold of us and won’t let go; that’s why we love it.

Jack Kirby, who labored in the lowly comic book industry when that meant being disrespected and underpaid, was a true artist, and if he’s finally getting his due, then there’s hope for us all. Find out for yourself; come and pay him a visit.

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was A Hand-Crafted World: Karel Zeman’s Invention for Destruction

 

Here are 7 Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover an…

The post 7 Author Shoutouts | Authors We Love To Recommend appeared first on LitStack.

 

At times Voodoo Bride and I bicker about what books to buy, and who gets to read and review the next book we buy. With this book Voodoo Bride decided to buy the bunny/arachnophobia edition so we could read it together.
Because who wouldn't want to read about scary fluffy bunnies?!
The Unseelie Exile: Arachnophobia Edition(Floof of Shadows #1)by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

This is the ARACHNOPHOBIA edition of this book! This means this has had all instances of the word “spider” mass find-and-replaced with “fluffy bunny,” “spiderweb” with “bunny nest,” the Web with “the Floof,” and so on. As you can already tell, this will cause hysterical side effects as well as nightmares of the grammatical and regular varieties. You might not have to deal with spiders, but you will have to deal with a seven-legged fluffy bunny._______________
One desperate night. Three forbidden seals. And the ruthless fae exile who will claim her soul...Ava Cole thought rock bottom was losing her mother and being cast out by her father. That was until she followed enchanted lights into the midnight woods—and walked straight into the claws of the Unseelie.Now she's trapped in a prison between realms. Her captor? Serrik—a devastatingly powerful fae outcast with vengeance burning in his veins and eternity to make her suffer. Cold. Merciless. Intoxicating.His touch sears her blood. His golden eyes haunt her dreams. And with each forbidden lesson, each impossible task, Ava finds herself craving the very being who plans to use her as a weapon of magical destruction.In this twisted realm of exiled fae who hunger for her blood and power, Ava's greatest battle isn't the magic she must unleash—it's the treacherous desire threatening to consume her soul.Because in Serrik's deadly bunny-nest of shadows, the line between enemy and lover vanishes like mist. And falling for her worst enemy may be the most dangerous magic of all.She can trust no one but herself.

 

Official Author Website
Read Fantasy Book Critic’s review of The Price Of Power
Read Fantasy Book Critic interview with Michael Michel
AUTHOR INFORMATION: Michael Michel lives in Oregon with his wife and their “mini-me” children. When he isn’t obsessively writing, he can be found exercising, exploring nature, enjoying comedy, or playing Warhammer. His favorite shows are Dark, The Wire, and Scavenger’s Reign—clearly, he loves his heart to be abused. 
OFFICIAL BOOK BLURB: Treachery looms across the land.The Scarborn have deposed the once-great Ironlight family. With scores to settle, the lowborn shake rust from their knives and trade allegiances for a promise of blood while the highborn rally their armies.Namarr’s future rests on a blade’s edge, and the heroes who might save it can no longer hide. Meanwhile, across the sea, Scothea has already succumbed to revolution.Fanatics led by the Arrow of Light wrest the throne from an ancient line of kings. Now, their sights are set on a Third Crusade against Namarr. For most, it will be their last.The pieces are set. The gameboard is chosen. For those unwilling to play, there’s only one peaceful place left…The inside of a grave.
OVERVIEW/ANALYSIS: There’s a standout scene early in this story when a character attends a funeral and sings a haunting lament over the deceased. Although we never met the departed, the scene brought me near to tears. Powerful, gut-wrenching emotions were laid bare, breathing depth and weight into this grim saga of an empire teetering on the edge of collapse.
This is but one of many examples throughout Michael Michel’s A Graveyard for Heroes that evokes empathy and compassion with characters of varying moral quality. One of the new POVs is a military general from the invading Scothean empire, and while he has committed atrocities under the rule of his king, Michel crafts him in a way where we can fully grasp his conflicts and motivations. Michel shapes his characters with a subtle, deft touch, building lifelike characters and conversations through realistic dialogue, emotion-fueled actions, and questionable decisions. 
A Graveyard for Heroes further elevates the series in every way. Similar to book one, The Price of Power, the story uses rich detail, strong character and plot development, and shocking scenes of violence and darkness to tell a slow-burn tale of revolution, responsibility, and vengeance. I found the tale to be increasingly unpredictable, which was an exciting and welcome feeling. 
While there is magic to the world, it is limited in its usage, and this helped create a sense of awe when unleashed. This decision pairs well with the methodical nature of the storytelling, but I must stress that at no point did I ever feel the book’s pacing had slowed. Every chapter pushed the plot further, and the characters into more interesting and tighter predicaments. 
I must note two additional elements that caught me off-guard: first, the usage of music led to some of the story’s most powerful scenes, as Michel’s descriptive prose made me feel like I was attending and listening to these performances live. Second, there were some thoughtful philosophical ideas introduced that helped convince people of a stubborn mindset to quickly change their worldviews. Well-written speeches argued for new approaches to thinking and doing, and I was nodding my head along with the characters in the audience. It speaks volumes to Michel’s ability to approach different mediums and evoke strong responses through his storytelling.
A Graveyard for Heroes succeeds in delivering a compelling, entertaining, and satisfying sequel to The Price of Power. It further raises the stakes while getting the reader to care deeply about the fates of its characters and the direction of where this is all headed. 
CONCLUSION: This is a promising and exciting series from a talented and careful author, and I can easily recommend it to fans of dark, thoughtfully crafted, character-driven sagas. I look forward to re-reading both entries before book three arrives in January 2026. Highly recommended.

I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.

A Dance of Lies by Brittney Arena

Mogsy’s Rating: 4 of 5 stars

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Series: Book 1

Publisher: Del Rey (June 10, 2025)

Length: 448 pages

Author Information: Website

The romantasy genre has exploded in the last couple years, and that’s a great thing because it means there’s something for everyone. If you’re interested in something more slow burn, for example, A Dance of Lies by Brittney Arena is the kind that hits all the right notes, especially if you’re in the mood for a royal court drama featuring a heroine just trying to survive a world that’s always trying to push her down.

Vasalie Moran was once a celebrated dancer and a favorite of King Illian until she fell from grace, framed for a murder she did not commit. After two years spent starved and isolated in a dungeon, she thought she would never see the light of day again—until one day, the same man who ordered her imprisoned offers her a deal she can’t refuse: pose as a court entertainer and spy on his enemies at a high-stakes royal summit known as the Gathering, and in return, she’ll win her freedom.

Her body weak and her spirit all but broken, Vasalie recognizes the cruelty behind Illian’s offer, but what choice does she have? Desperate to reclaim the life she’d lost, our protagonist uses what limited time she has before the Gathering to prepare for a return to the treacherous world of court politics, where her every move will be scrutinized, both on and off the dancing stage. From there, things get messy, but in a good way. Vasalie finds herself caught between rival kings, all the while navigating an unexpected partnership with a new dance partner who could end up being something more—or he might just be another player in the game.

A Dance of Lies is Brittney Arena’s debut, and in certain places, it shows. But while some of the writing is a little rough around the edges, and a few plot points feel like ones we’ve seen before, the book still works thanks to its strong sense of place and a heroine you can’t easily forget. As the protagonist, Vasalie feels genuinely shaped by her trauma and disability, which is important since this was stated as one of the author’s main goals in her foreword. The novel unfolds with a clear eye for character motivation and interpersonal relationships which carry things through the more uneven patches.

Another highlight is the world-building. Again, even as the plot starts veering into familiar territory, the setting stays interesting thanks to its layered political intrigue and vivid court drama, creating a quiet kind of tension throughout. There’s a lived-in feel to the world that gently pulls you in, especially when it comes to the subtle power plays. Vasalie fits well into this picture, being emotionally guarded, which makes sense given all that she’s been through. The story handles her painful experiences with a thoughtful touch, showing how she keeps going not because she’s fearless or bold, but because she possesses the tenacity to always find her way back to herself. It’s quite refreshing to see a female lead whose main strength comes from her perseverance, and who stays grounded even when things look dire.

As for the romantic elements, I think diehard fans of romantasy might find them a bit underwhelming, as they are on the lighter side and definitely take a backseat to the main story. The romance subplot is a true slow burn, relying more on wary glances, lingering touches, and unspoken words than anything too overt. In that sense, it cleverly mirrors dancing itself, the movements careful, teasing, and full of anticipation. There’s chemistry flying all around, but it’s more playful and restrained than intense.

All in all, Brittney Arena’s debut is not a perfect book, but it kept me turning the pages with its court intrigue and dangerous setting. While the prose stumbles a little from being overwritten and some of the story feels fuzzy around the edges, these were minor issues I didn’t mind too much. Ultimately, A Dance of Lies sets up a promising series, and I’m curious to see where things go next.

Swordsmen in the Sky (Ace, 1964). Cover by Frank Frazetta

Swordsmen in the Sky, edited by Donald Wollheim

If our genre has a holy grail to find, this would be it. I read this collection as a kid. Found it in our local library. And loved every single story in there. Took me a while to find a copy as an adult but it’s one of my pride and joys.

[Click the images for planet-sized versions.]

Inside cover and facing page for Swordsmen in the Sky

Gulliver of Mars, by Edwin L. Arnold

Edgar Rice Burrough’s biographer, Richard Lupoff, in Master of Adventure, suggested that ERB’s A Princess of Mars (1912) was influenced by a 1905 work called Lieut. Gulliver Jones: His Vacation, by Edwin Arnold. Gulliver Jones gets to Mars via flying carpet and finds a lost world, though not a desert world, inhabited by Martians.

There is a princess that “Gully” must rescue, and there’s a journey down a river, but otherwise there’s not a lot of similarities, and Gulliver’s story is a long way from being as compelling and entertaining as ERB’s Princess of Mars.

Gulliver of Mars (Ace Books, 1964). Cover by Frank Frazetta

Having read Lupoff, I sought out Arnold’s book, which was republished after the Burroughs boom began as Gulliver of Mars (1955). After reading that book, I personally couldn’t see anymore than the vaguest of similarities, and there’s no evidence that ERB actually ever read or knew of Arnold’s book.

Still, it’s an interesting curiosity and has a pretty cool cover in the reprint.

My Otis Adelbert Kline collection: Planet of Peril, The Port of Peril, and Prince of Peril (Ace Books, 1963-1964, covers by Roy Krenkel, Jr.), Maza of the Moon, Jan of the Jungle, and The Swordsman of Mars (Ace, 1965, 1966, and 1961; covers by Frank Frazetta, Stephen Holland, and Ed Emshwiller). Otis Adelbert Kline

A contemporary of ERB was OAK, Otis Adelbert Kline. He also wrote sword and planet stories, and even jungle adventure. Both men had series set on Mars and Venus, and tales set on the moon. For a long time there were rumors of a feud between the two men but that idea has been generally debunked since no evidence from either party indicates any animosity between the two.

The publication dates of their stories certainly indicates some back and forth between their writings but nothing indicates any emotional intent behind it. I’ve read most of OAK’s stuff and find it fun, although — for me — without as much narrative drive and somewhat less colorful in imagination. OAK is also known to have been Robert E. Howard’s literary agent toward the end of Howard’s life.

Above is a picture of my Kline paperbacks. I have some other books by him in facsimile reprints. The Peril series (set on Venus) is particularly good in my opinion.

Facsimile editions of Argosy Weekly, January 7, 1933 and November 25, 1933. Covers by Robert A. Graef

Above are pictures of my facsimile copies of his two Mars books, The Swordsman of Mars and The Outlaws of Mars. These reprint the chapters from the original magazine publications with many of the illustrations.

Charles Gramlich administers The Swords & Planet League group on Facebook, where this post first appeared. His last article for Black Gate was a review of the Flashing Swords! anthology series edited by Lin Carter.

Check out the first two chapters of Oaths & Vengeance, along with character art and a world map for the series.

I have it on good authority that This Kingdom just popped up on Edelweiss.

That is all.

The post This Kingdom Is Up For a Preview first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

In Island Rule, Katie M. Flynn’s characters are connected so deeply, so profoundly, and so…

The post The Spherical World of Katie M. Flynn’s “Island Rule” appeared first on LitStack.

After a cataclysmic interstellar war that came very close to exterminating humanity, the Daybreak Republic has risen from the ashes and embarked upon a mission to unite hundreds of human colony worlds under its banner, in hopes of preventing a second and final conflict that will complete the destruction of the human race. But not everyone agrees that the empire’s ends justify the means.

Daybreak has never faced a peer power, but as the rebels along the Rim start to get organised –backed by shadowy figures who may lurk far closer to the core worlds – it is only a matter of time before the Yangtze Sector, perhaps the entire Daybreak Republic, is plunged back into war, a war that will leave the sector in ruins and spark further conflict elsewhere. In a desperate bid to prevent an explosion, Commander Leo Morningstar sets off to infiltrate the rebels and locate their bases before all hell can break loose, unaware that it may already be too late …

And that the greatest danger is the one that lurks in plain sight.

Download a FREE SAMPLE, then purchase from Amazon US, UK, CAN. AU, or Books2Read.

 

My Immortal Elf(Elves Among Us #1)by L. E. Sunwick
What is it about:It was bliss, until it wasn’t. I never planned to fall for my boss, and certainly not for an immortal.
Semi-divine physical perfection.Mind-shattering lovemaking enhanced by ancient magic.The freedom that comes with wealth.Self-confidence that comes from 123 years of life experience.
But when I age, he’ll remain physically perfect.Leaders of his clan don’t want their duke with a mortal.And he leads a deadly struggle against enemy immortals.
I refuse to be a liability to him, or his clan.He insists I don’t need to prove myself.But I disagree.
On my mission I discover the enemy’s plot.
At stake is the fate of humanity…
And of my heart.
(This is the significantly expanded and updated Book 1 of the series, replacing "Claimed by my Immortal Elf).

What did Voodoo Bride think of it:

I really enjoyed the prequel novella so I have been looking forward to read this book. luckily I got selected as an ARC reader!

This was yet another delicious read.

I liked Jenna from the start, she's smart, resourceful, and wants to do good, even if it comes at the cost of her own happiness. Stefan was yet another hunky elf, so what's not to love!

The story was fun, but with a lot of suspense. Even though this is a romance, these two have to fight for their love and for their future. Not just the bad guys tried to drive them apart. Between the lighter heartwarming moments and the steamier scenes there's lots of stuff going on that impacts the two of them. At times it seemed as if a Happily Ever After could easily drift out of their reach.

I can tell you I was totally engrossed and was invested in them saving the day and their love.

The worldbuilding is really cool as well, and there were several side characters who were really interesting. One of the ones I really liked is the lead character of the next book - which I already bought a while ago - so you bet I will read that soon.

Why should you read it: Hot Immortal Elves! Even the bad guys are Hot!

Prologue I

Only one person knew where the Hierarchical Fortress truly existed, the one person who sat at the top of a hierarchy of powerful, ambitious and unscrupulous magicians. Everyone else only gained access to the complex though magic, using the hierarchical soulmark to set the coordinates and teleport to the right location without ever knowing where they were going. It galled Nine, in so many ways, that she didn’t have the slightest idea where she was, even as she prepared herself for the contest of a lifetime. If she won, she’d be the first amongst magicians; if she lost …

No. She refused to consider the possibility. She would not – she could not – have issued the challenge if she hadn’t thought she would win, that she would rise to the top herself or confirm, once again, that the one at the top was worthy of his post. The challenge was in the best interests of herself, but also in the best interests of the Hierarchy. The soulmark demanded no less.

She felt nothing, but calm anticipation as she made her way through the maze of corridors. There were no adornments in the Hierarchical Fortress, no decorations to remind the occupants of their power and place, nothing those insecure in their rule might need to prove themselves to sceptical eyes. The Hierarchy needed no proof, beyond its power; anyone who trod the halls knew where they belonged, beyond all doubt, and cared little for the judgement of others. The stone walls, magic running through them to ensure none but the Hierarchy ever set foot within the complex, were utterly unmarked, impossible to navigate without the soulmark. She felt it pulse as she reached the top of the stairs and walked down into the bowels of the world. There were no guards. No checkpoints. No one, but the Hierarchy walked these stairs.

The arena was miles below the ground, a simple stone chamber protected by the strongest and most subtle of spells. Wards flickered on the stone, barely visible even to a skilled magician … a reminder, once again, that true power lay not in flashy displays but acts that could change the world. Most magicians would overlook the fortress, if they happened to be searching the area, and the few who might see through the outer layer of deception wouldn’t live long enough to report to their superiors. They wouldn’t be killed or permanently transformed so much as they’d be erased from existence, ensuring that very few even remembered they existed.

Nine smiled, coldly. If you have enough power, you can do anything. And soon I will have the greatest power of all.

She allowed the smile to linger on her face. The Hierarchy wielded power and influence on a scale few could imagine, keeping its mere existence a secret from most while trading knowledge and power with the few who did know they existed in exchange for raw materials or later favours that might be worth two or three times what they’d paid for it. The magical families kept the deals, for fear of what would happen if they didn’t; they knew, even as others didn’t believe that the Hierarchy even existed, that it had agents scattered across the world, men and women who could extract revenge on anyone who tried to go back on the deal. It was thrilling to realise that she stood at the heart of a locus of power, one that was all the more powerful for being invisible to the average magician, let alone the mundanes. The secret rulers of the world couldn’t be overthrown if no one even knew they existed, let alone how easily they could pull strings to influence events to their heart’s content.

The soulmark burnt, briefly, as she waited, taking a long breath as the seconds ticked by. It had been nearly forty years since she’d been recruited, thirty since she’d passed the final tests in the school and graduated to take the soulmark and become a true Hierarchist. She had lost track of the classmates she’d killed or sacrificed in a desperate struggle for power, long forgotten any sense of morality she had had … she’d even forgotten her name and family, when the soulmark had been bound to her very soul. The memories darted through her mind – a weak girl who’s only use had been sacrifice, a boy who had been bound to her service – and vanished again. The world was red in tooth and claw, a reality the Hierarchy refused to pretend didn’t exist even as the magical families and monarchies clung to their warped moralities. There was no right or wrong, no objective sense of justice, merely power and the will to seize it, to take the world by the throat and bend it to your will. Today, she would rise to her apotheosis, or embrace her nemesis. Either way, the Hierarchy won.

Magic flickered through the air. Zero stood there, watching her with an utterly unreadable expression. He looked completely harmless, a doddering old man far past his prime, but Nine refused to be fooled. Being underestimated was always safer, in the long run, and few survived an encounter with the most powerful magician in the known world. His white hair and wrinkled skin masked true power, his footsteps echoing with surprising purpose even as he leaned on a cane. If he truly needed it, Nine would be astonished. Zero had more than enough raw power to prolong his life for centuries.

She didn’t know his story. She guessed it was very like her own.

Zero straightened, his eyes lingering on her. “You have come to challenge?”

“Yes.” Nine felt her heart begin to race, even as she prepared herself for the greatest fight of her life. The soulmark prevented all underhand techniques, from poison to blackmail, ensuring she had to play fair and follow the rules. She needed to win through raw power and magical cleverness, not cheating. The restriction made sense. If she wanted to win, she had to deserve it. “I have come to take my place at the top.”

Zero smiled. “And you have not yet reached your limit?”

Nine took a breath. She’d been a Thousand, then a Hundred, and finally climbed up into the Ten. She had had her ups and downs, she couldn’t deny it, but she’d never run into anything that could stop her climb. Her path was marked with dead bodies, the two Hierarchists she’d killed to claim their former places and countless others, people who’d served more as raw materials for her spells than anything more meaningful. She cared nothing for them, merely for her climb to the top. The very highest level was beckoning to her. And all she had to do to take it was to kill the man in front of her.

“No.” Nine met his eyes evenly. “I have not.”

“Very good,” Zero said. His tone was sincere. He too was devoted to the goals of the Hierarchy. His soulmark would allow no less. If she was his superior, it was right and proper she should take his place. His death was unfortunate, but she had to gamble everything to win everything. “If that is your choice, step into the ring.”

Nine didn’t hesitate. She could have backed out at any moment, remaining a lowly Thousand, or Hundred, or even a Ten. Or she could have retired, giving up her rank and settling into a comfortable life where her subordinates weren’t trying to kill her. The thought wasn’t remotely temping, not when the very highest post of all was within her sight. She wanted, she needed, to claim it for herself. She could no more back down than she could cut her own throat.

She stepped forward, feeling the magic envelop her the moment she crossed the line. They’d unleash terrible forces in their bid for supremacy, but those forces would be contained within the wards. The fortress itself would remain unharmed, waiting for its new mistress to claim her throne. Anticipation swelled within her as she felt her magic rising to the challenge, a hundred new spells bristling to kill. She had pushed the limits as far as they could go, incorporating lessons from the New Learning and Magitech into her preparations. Zero was not someone to underestimate, of course not, but using Magitech concepts would catch him by surprise. Decades, perhaps centuries, of experience couldn’t have prepared him for a new branch of magic that was only a couple of years old.

“It is time,” Zero said. He couldn’t decline the challenge, he couldn’t even surrender. His soulmark made sure of it. “Let us see …”

He stepped across the line. Nine didn’t hesitate. She raised her power and cast the first set of spells in one smooth motion, a combination of lethal and illusionary spells crackling against his wards. She hadn’t expected it to work, she certainly hadn’t expected to win in the first few moments of their duel, but knocking him off balance could only work in her favour. She’d woven cancelation charms into her barrage, hoping to cripple his retaliatory strike. There was no way to take his prepared spells down completely, not without knowing how to break into his protective aura, but …

She blinked as the spellware simply came apart, spell components and incants bristling in front of her before shattering into nothingness. No … being absorbed, her neatest tricks taken to pieces, studied in the blink of an eye and then added to Zero’s own skills. A flicker of doubt ran through her as she cast a second set of spells, resorting to brute force while preparing something a great deal more subtle. Raw magic crashed around Zero, bouncing off the wards and spiralling through the air … his hands moved in a simple pattern, absorbing or channelling the power she’d thrown at him. It was an impressive demonstration of his abilities, a sight few had seen and fewer still could master. Nine wondered, just for a second, if she’d made a terrible mistake. She’d unleashed enough power to shatter a town and he was playing with it as if it were water.

And she was committed now.

She reached for her magic and crashed forward, using herself as a decoy while trying to inch spells around behind him and slip into his back, tearing his charms apart from the rear. Zero stepped forwards, his raw magic slamming into hers, challenging her on multiple levels and pushing her to breaking point. Nine kept forcing herself forward, knowing there was no other way out, and felt his wards start to shatter. She was breaking through!

She felt a moment of relief, of victory, before his face shifted and started to change. Horror ran through her as she stared at her worst nightmare, at … she realised, too late, that they’d all been fooled, that she’d made a dreadful mistake. The Hierarchy wasn’t what they’d thought it was and now … she was doomed. There was no escape. Multicoloured light flared around her, a final mocking reminder of her own failure …

And then the world went away in a final – endless – moment of pure agony.

Prologue II

The knife felt solid, real in his hand.

Resolute stared at the blade for a long moment, willing himself to muster the nerve to stab himself in the chest or cut his own throat or something, anything, other than living the rest of his life a powerless mundane, a helpless beggar on the streets of a town so far from Celeste it had never impinged on his awareness. He didn’t even know the town’s name, when his desperate flight from Zugzwang had taken him down the river and into the larger down, but … he stared at the blade and lowered it, unable to force himself to take that final step. He had fallen as far as a magician could fall and yet he couldn’t end it. He was a failure, a failure so complete he couldn’t even kill himself. His existence was over and yet it would never end.

Despair howled at the back of his mind as he sagged to his knees. He’d never known what it was like to live on the streets, not until he’d been stripped of his power and tossed out to live life as a powerless mundane. His fine clothes had been stolen long ago, the handful of garments he now wore so disgusting he could no longer bear to smell himself. The good food and drink he’d enjoyed back home was nothing but a memory now, leaving him forced to beg for something – anything – to keep himself alive. He’d learned harsh lessons in the last week, learnt to spend what little money he had before it was stolen, learnt to keep his food to himself … learnt that no matter what happened, there was always further to fall. Two gangs of beggars had kicked him out, a third had demanded a price he was unwilling to pay, if he wanted to find shelter with them. And yet, part of him knew it was just a matter of time before hunger and cold drove him back to them, to offer anything they wanted in exchange for a few hours of warmth. It was an unbearable thought.

He’d ruled a city. Now, he was a beggar.

Sheer hatred burned through Resolute, mingling with shame. There was no one he could turn to for help. None of his old clients would lift a finger to assist him, if they knew what had happened. He’d preached the gospel of the strong having the right to dominate the weak for so long that he had no doubts about what would happen to him, now he was one of the weak himself. His old allies would laugh when they heard, then turn away to keep from losing their power themselves. A magician who lost his magic was an object of scorn and pity, a cripple in a world that was very unkind to those with disabilities, and no one dared look too closely for fear it was catching. For all he knew, it might be. He had thought himself the epitome of magical power and yet Emily had stolen his magic, leaving him helpless and alone.

She hadn’t killed him. He knew it hadn’t been an act of mercy.

The hatred grew stronger, mingled with helplessness. Emily was powerful, personally and politically, and now he had no power at all. He knew the way to her tower, he knew enough tricks to get through the outer layer of defences, and … and then what? She could destroy him with the flick of a finger, or turn him into a slug, or something – anything – he couldn’t hope to stop. Perhaps she would curse him, as so many mundane residents of his city – his former city – had been cursed. It had seemed funny back then, little tricks to put the mundanes in their place and remind them they only lived in the city of sorcerers through sufferance. Now … he knew better. It wasn’t funny at all. But it was far too late.

He clenched his fists, then opened his fingers and moved them in a simple pattern. It was a very simple spell and his movements were perfect, but nothing happened. Of course not. He’d lost his magic, leaving him begging for scraps while Emily took his city for himself. He had no idea what was happening in Celeste, nor did he know how to get back there, but he knew power all too well. Emily would take the city, because she had power and knew how to use it. Resolute had no idea why she’d pretended not to be the inventor of Magitech – the idea of a mundane inventing a whole new branch of magic was just absurd – but it hardly mattered. She would take the city and reshape it in her image, while he lived and died on the streets of a nameless town. He shivered. It was supposed to be summer, or so he’d been told, and yet it was cold. He didn’t know if he’d live through the winter.

She has my daughter too, he thought, helplessness gnawing at his mind. He knew what he’d do to the child of a rival, and he knew Emily would do no less. She’ll ruin her life because she can and …

“My,” a calm voice said. “A bit of a come down, isn’t it?”

Resolute flinched. He’d spent most of his life in warded chambers, places where even a powerful magician would have trouble entering without setting off the alarms. He hadn’t grown used to the sheer lack of safety on the streets, even in alleyways. The thugs who’d stolen his clothes and beaten him up had taken him by surprise, and yet … it wouldn’t have mattered if he had had any warning. They would have still thumped him. He was surprised they hadn’t killed him.

The man behind him was a stranger, he realised numbly. White hair, kindly face … probably a mask hiding a far darker reality. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. It could easily be both.

“What do you want?”

“Such a question.” The man cocked his head. “You ruled a city. You had all the magic you could ever want. And now you’re grubbing in the dirt.”

Resolute flushed, his stomach growling angrily. “What do you want?”

“You could spend the rest of your life here,” the stranger pointed out. “Grubbing in the dirt … you’re not the best state, you know. You won’t last a year.”

“I know.” Resolute felt despair, once again. He’d been portly a couple of weeks ago. Now … he could feel himself losing weight, his skin starting to sit oddly on his bones. “If you’re here to gloat, get lost.”

The stranger laughed. “I’m not here to hurt you, Grand Sorcerer. I’m here to give you an opportunity for revenge. On Emily and everyone else who did hurt you.”

Resolute laughed, bitterly. It was rare for a magician to lose their powers, rarer still for them to regain their magic. He’d only heard of it happening once and … in truth, he wasn’t sure it had happened at all. The rumours about Emily losing her powers had lost steam once everyone saw her casting spells once again, not making any attempt to hide her power. The Cognoscenti had decided it was just another malicious rumour, one of millions that burst into the light and excited everyone before vanishing as quickly as it came. Resolute saw no reason to doubt it. He’d seen Emily using magic himself.

And yet, he couldn’t keep himself from asking. “Can you give me back my magic?”

The stranger smiled. “In a manner of speaking, Grand Sorcerer, but there will be a price.”

Resolute didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

Chapter One

“You said yes?”

Emily blushed as Alassa leaned closer, smiling so widely her face seemed to glow from within. “You said yes?”

“I did,” Emily said. Caleb had asked her to marry him and … she’d said yes. “I … I’m going to get married!”

Alassa squealed. Emily felt her face grow redder. She hadn’t quite realised just how important her wedding would be, to her friends as well as the happy couple, or just how delighted they’d be to hear she was tying the knot. It was hard to believe it, hard to accept how many people thought they had a right to be involved … she told herself not to be silly. They were her friends and yet … she wondered, suddenly, if they should just elope. It wouldn’t be that hard to arrange a quick wedding in some out of the way place, get it over with before everyone else tried to get involved.

“You and Caleb make a cute couple,” Alassa teased. “I’m glad you finally got around to admitting it.”

Emily looked down. “It took a while.”

“Obviously so,” Alassa said. “I knew I wanted Jade the moment I laid eyes on him.”

“It was different for you,” Emily pointed out. The less said about Alassa’s wedding, the better. “You needed to convince your father as well as Jade.”

She felt a flicker of sympathy. Jade was powerful as well as skilled and yet … his lack of aristocratic blood had both hampered and helped him, when he’d faced King Randor to ask for Alassa’s hand in marriage. The advantages of having a husband who didn’t have awkward relations were matched, perhaps outweighed, by the lack of any real connections to any other kingdoms. Or centres of power. King Randor had agreed, but Emily was sure he’d spent hours weighing up the pros and cons before giving his approval. The certain knowledge Alassa was likely to go ahead anyway had weighed on his mind.

“So do you.” Alassa was suddenly serious. “You are a great noblewoman, you know.”

Emily rubbed her forehead. She found it hard to think of herself as someone important, certainly someone born to power and privilege … because, in the end, she hadn’t. She had been a nobody on Earth, a person destined to live and die without making any kind of impact on the world around her. The idea she was now so important that her wedding was a matter of state security, that her marriage needed the approval of her closest friend … it was absurd. And yet, it was real.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She’d put Alassa in a bad spot and she knew it. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

Alassa poked her in the chest. “It isn’t a problem,” she said, deadpan. “Thankfully, you came to see me first.”

She painted a look of mock outrage on her face. “You did come to see me first, right?”

“Yes.” Emily hadn’t meant to discuss her wedding, not when there were more important problems to address, but it had worked out in her favour. “You’re the first person to know. Except us, of course.”

“Of course.” Alassa met her eyes. “You did think about the political implications, right?”

“They never crossed my mind,” Emily admitted. “I didn’t think of them …”

She sighed, inwardly. They were friends, but they also had a relationship as subject and monarch. A baroness needed her monarch’s approval to marry and not asking for approval was more than just a failure to follow the proper etiquette, it was a sign she no longer felt she needed to consult the country’s ruler before taking the plunge. An overmighty aristocrat would become a serious threat to the kingdom’s stability, forcing the monarch into a confrontation that would do immense damage even if the monarch won … or worse, leave the aristocrat alone and confirm for all time that he couldn’t bring a rogue nobleman to heel. If word had gotten out before it was too late …

“There’s no real reason to disapprove.” Alassa ticked off points on her fingers as she spoke. “Caleb’s family are well known and respected, as well as powerful. He’s a magician himself so he’s effectively your social equal regardless of his roots. Being a child of Beneficence may cause problems, but he’ll be your legal consort rather than lord husband so those issues can be smoothed over. At worst, they’ll strip him of his citizenship … not a problem given that he lives in Heart’s Eye now. You don’t get to make alliances with other nobles, and I imagine a few will be pissed you didn’t choose them, but …”

She shrugged. “These issues can be smoothed over.”

Emily snorted. “If they wanted to marry me, or have their sons marry me, you’d think they’d make more diplomatic approaches.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d found the correspondence potential husbands and their families had sent to Void, thousands of letters from the great and the good and those with delusions of grandeur. Some had offered vast sums for her hand in marriage, others had argued or pleaded or even resorted to threats … brave of them, she supposed, when Void had been the most powerful magician in the Allied Lands as well as her legal guardian. Some letters had made her violently angry, others had made her cringe. It was bad enough being courted by men old enough to be her father, who seemed to think she should be flattered by the attention, but far worse to read letters written on behalf of sons, grandsons and nephews. She hoped to hell the writers had at least asked their relatives before trying to arrange their marriages …she doubted it. She’d recognised a couple of the names and one, a former student at Whitehall, preferred men to women. He wouldn’t have kissed a woman even if he were offered a kingdom.

Poor bastard, she thought. Most aristocratic marriages were arranged, but still … it was neither nice nor kind. If he’s married off now …

She put the thought aside. “My neighbours will be pleased.”

“If they can’t have you,” Alassa agreed, “at least their rivals can’t have you either.”

She smiled, then sobered. “That’s a relief.”

“I guess so.” Emily ran her hand though her hair. “Would you have given your blessing to the match if I had?”

Alassa looked back at her. “Would you have listened to me if I had?”

“I don’t know,” Emily admitted. If her heart had wanted such a young man, would she have defied her best friend as well as her monarch? Or … or what? “I’m glad it didn’t happen. I don’t want to know.”

“Now, you’ll be wanting a big wedding,” Alassa continued. “Everyone will be invited, of course.”

Emily felt her heart sink. She should have expected it. An aristocratic wedding was one hell of a social event and she was high enough to make her wedding the social event of the year. She would need to invite every last nobleman in the kingdom, as well as senior magicians from right across the Allied Lands, and if she missed even one it would be a grave insult. So would failing to attend after receiving an invite. She would have to invite people she didn’t know or want at her wedding, and they would have to attend despite not wanting to … she shook her head in annoyance. The merest hint of exclusion would cause problems that would linger for years, perhaps decades. She knew some family feuds that dated all the way back to a wedding held so long ago that everyone involved had been dead for centuries.

“We could just elope,” Emily offered. The logistics were going to be a nightmare. “Or hold the wedding somewhere hard to reach …”

Alassa snorted. “There are people who would crawl over broken glass to attend your wedding,” she said. “And it will be my pleasure to arrange it for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Emily said. “If I …”

“There are hundreds of people who know you and love you who would want to attend,” Alassa pointed out. “Me, of course. Imaiqah and Jade and Frieda and … everyone. Even Marah, if she shows her face once again. And you can’t invite just your friends, for fear of insulting everyone who isn’t invited. The wedding won’t just be about you and him, but everyone.”

“Charming.” Emily shook her head. “How many deals were made at your wedding?”

“Hundreds, perhaps thousands,” Alassa said. “I couldn’t tell you. So many people, meeting together on neutral ground, bound by the ceremonial rules of weddings … not that some people bothered to keep them. I think … there’s really no way to avoid it. Sorry.”

Emily sighed. The rules were very simple. Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions and no one was supposed to fight, no matter the cause. Bitter enemies were expected to sit down together and be reasonably courteous and polite to one another, no matter how much they’d prefer to draw their swords and fight to the death. It provided cover for all sorts of private meetings, backroom wheeling and dealing … even discussions and relationships between people who could never meet in public, certainly not as equals. A wedding could give birth to several more, as young boys and girls were allowed to meet under supervision while their parents discussed the terms of the marriage contract. It wasn’t unknown for diplomats to use the opportunity to talk openly, while maintaining plausible deniability. Everyone knew it happened and everyone turned a blind eye.

“Look on the bright side,” Alassa added. “You’re bound to be given hundreds of gifts.”

Emily looked her in the eye. “How many of your gifts remain untouched?”

Alassa shrugged. She and Jade had been given thousands of gifts, mostly chosen to showcase the giver’s generosity rather than anything practical. A handful were useful, or had some degree of sentimental value; the remainder had been placed in storage, kept solely because the giver would be mortally offended if they were passed on or simply discarded. Emily found it hard to comprehend the mindset of someone who thought a portrait of himself was a suitable gift, but she supposed it could be worse. Probably. A handful of aristos had offered gifts that were little more than white elephants, designed to be impossible to refuse and yet expensive to keep.

“I can pass them on to you, if you like,” Alassa said. “You want a genealogy dating back a few thousand years?”

“Not if I can help it,” Emily said. The aristos claimed they could trace their bloodlines back for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, but she was fairly sure the detailed family trees were little more than nonsense. Reliable history went back five hundred years at most and that was being generous. Anything earlier than that had gone through so many interpretations it was dangerously unreliable. “Was that the most useless gift you were offered?”

“Probably.” Alassa shrugged. “You just have to put up with it.”

“Or I can ask for no one to offer gifts,” Emily said. “They can donate to my charities instead.”

Alassa widened her eyes in mock shock, her tone brimming with faked outrage. “But they’ll be denied the chance to show off their wealth and power!”

Emily had to smile, although it wasn’t really funny. “They can show off by donating to the charities I support,” she said. It was about the only traditional role for an aristocratic woman she’d embraced. “And the money can go to a better cause then gold-studded toilets and portraits I don’t want to hang in my halls.”

“I did hang a painting of Lord Fowler in mine,” Alassa said. “Jade uses it for target practice.”

“Better not tell him that,” Emily teased. Lord Fowler was a notorious bore. “What did you tell him.”

Alassa smirked. “I think he’d be happy knowing his portrait is hanging where I can see it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emily said. “Is it at least a good portrait?”

“I don’t know who sat for it,” Alassa said. “But I’d bet it wasn’t Lord Fowler.”

Emily nodded in agreement. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of portraits of her running around the kingdom and very few looked even remotely like her. Some artists were working from descriptions, others were using their imagination to the point they got just about everything wrong. Hair colour, skin tone, dress sense and breast size and eye colour … she wondered, sometimes, if the paintings had been of someone else and simply renamed to suit a new customer. It defied belief that someone could hang a portrait of a woman who looked like Emma Watson right next to a portrait of someone who could pass for Freema Agyeman and insist they were the same person. But they did.

She let out a long breath. “Don’t go mad. Please.”

“Go mad?” Alassa blinked. “Why would I?”

“The wedding, I mean,” Emily said. “I don’t want it to be crazy. Just …”

It wasn’t going to work, she knew, even as she spoke. There was no way Alassa could avoid making a big song and dance out of it, no matter what Emily said. People would talk if she hosted a small wedding, people would insist it was a subtle punishment to Emily, perhaps even a sign they were no longer friends. And then the people who had assassins and broadsheet writers on the payroll would start thinking they could take advantage of the crisis, even though the crisis existed only in their minds. Alassa would be derelict in her duty if she didn’t put on a wedding that would satisfy the craziest bridezilla.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Alassa said. Her lips twisted. “No one will mind if I make it more about the kingdom, and me, then you. Or him.”

Emily suspected she knew a lot of aristocrats who’d be irked at the suggestion their wedding should be about someone or something else, but … she didn’t care.

“Of course, you’re going to have to decide where you want to hold the main ceremony,” Alassa continued. “Here? Cockatrice? Heart’s Eye? Or even Whitehall? The Grandmaster would have to give permission, of course, but I can’t imagine him saying no. You’re the most famous magician in living memory, so …”

“I’ll think about it later,” Emily said, holding up a hand. “Just … remember I’m not marrying myself. There’s someone else involved.”

“Caleb will be fine,” Alassa promised. “I’ll make sure he has something to do.”

“Trying to scare him off, are you?” Emily met her eyes. “Caleb isn’t Jade, you know. He won’t like being put on a pedestal.”

“Jade’s not fond of it too,” Alassa said. “But that suits us both fine.”

Emily nodded in sympathy. Zangaria had never had a female monarch until Alassa and it wasn’t easy for a young woman to rule alone, while her husband was expected to be the power behind the throne. Alassa was lucky Jade had no inclination to rule, no conviction he was entitled to be in charge because he had a penis. He’d been to Whitehall, where any belief in inherent male superiority would have been squashed by female tutors and students, and besides, he had very little to prove. He didn’t need to dominate his wife … not like Lord Darnley. Mary Queen of Scots had been a poor judge of character, right from the start, but her second husband had been a fatal mistake. The only good thing he’d done had been fathering her child.

Alassa met her eyes. “You do realise you’ll be expected to have children?”

Emily felt a complex mixture of emotions. She wanted children and yet she feared becoming her mother, a drunken sot who’d abandoned her daughter to the tender mercies of her stepfather. Caleb wanted children too … did he? They’d never really talked about it. And … she didn’t like the idea of needing to have children, even though her barony needed a heir. The closest thing she had to a child was Frieda and they weren’t blood relatives. God alone knew what would happen if she died without issue.

“It has been made clear to me,” she said, sourly.

She felt her lips twist in bitter annoyance. The Cockatrice Council had petitioned her to get married. Or adopt. Or something – anything – that ensured she’d have a legal successor to continue her work. Her modern sensibilities insisted they were out of line for even suggesting she had a duty to have kids, her awareness of the political realties made her all too aware they had a point. If the barony was handed over to someone new, the council might find its freedoms severely limited, perhaps even crushed. There would be civil war and no matter who won, the land would be devastated.

“I’ll see what happens,” she said, after a moment. The idea of childbirth scared her, even though she could be sure of the very best medical care the world could provide. “Is that acceptable?”

“You’ll find that having kids changes you,” Alassa said. She pressed her hand lightly against her abdomen. “I haven’t told anyone yet, but …”

Emily grinned. “You’re pregnant again?”

“Thank so.” Alassa smiled back. “It’s not customary to announce a pregnancy until the first three months have passed …”

“I know.” Emily didn’t take offense. She understood the reasoning all too well. A royal child, even a second-born, would alter the line of succession, forcing everyone to adjust their plans accordingly. Better not to confirm there was a child on the way until the healers were sure the pregnancy would last. “I hope it goes well for you.”

Alassa sat back. “I suppose,” she said, as the bell rang. “Dinnertime. Jade will be there, to offer his congratulations. And then you can tell us why you really came here.”

 

Official Author Website
Read Fantasy Book Critic’s review of The Price Of Power
 
Q] Tell us about your early experience in reading and writing fantasy! What were some of your favorite authors and series that influenced the Dreams of Dust and Steel? Did you always write fantasy or have you explored different genres?
 
MM: Well you see, I started out writing porn scripts in my twenties--err--I mean, TOLKIEN!
 
Okay, serious answer. When I was seven, my older brother and I bought a white dwarf magazine and thought it was the coolest thing we’d ever seen, so I got heavily into Warhammer, which was a massive influence. Also, my dad used to read fantasy, and on long car rides, we listened to audiobooks, the coolest one being a David Eddings book–that’s what kicked off my reading journey.
 
My peak reader experiences have been A Song of Ice and Fire and the Riftwar Saga. The latter made me want to dream up worlds,  and the former inspired me to be an author. Special shout-out to the X-Men cartoon as well. Growing up in the 90s, I recorded every episode on VHS. The psychosocial relationship between characters and their powers is brilliant.
 
I wrote a lot of Sci-Fi when I was a more active member of the Wordos critique group. I had some publications and a few honorable mentions in Writers of the Future druing that stretch, but fantasy has always been my passion.
 
I’ve also done some non-fiction spirituality writing. You might catch that vibe in book two and beyond when the Arrow of Light shows up.
 
Q] Your books tell the tale of two empires struggling for dominance and control, with both sides committing horrid atrocities over the span of decades.  Most of the POVs we engage with in book one are on the side of Namarr, the current ruling class, though I found it difficult to cheer their victory due to their war crimes. Are there any real-world wars or invasions that you had in mind while developing these empires?
 
MM: I pull a ton from history. I love it. The events leading up to the current timeline of The Price of Power were heavily influenced by the American Revolutionary War. Danath is a Washington-esque character, though instead of being part of the upper-crust, he starts as a slave. Kurgs are a mix of samurai and Mesoamerican cultures–I was obsessed with the Mayans for a while. Scothea is a blend of elements taken from Russia and Japan.
For world-building, I tend to start with a bit of real history, and then bounce it off a character to see what works. From there, both evolve and influence each other until they become something unique.


Q] Perspective plays an important role in this story, though in book one the focus was mostly on POVs from the Namarr empire. Will readers get a chance to engage with POV’s from the opposing Scothean empire later in the series? What led to your decision to only focus on one side early on?
 
MM: Short answer: Yes. Readers will be introduced to Ikarai Valka, a Scothean general in book two.
 
And book two and three will take us to a number of new locations.
 
As to my decision to stay grounded in book one, that came down to a matter of strategy. I had to look at what would be best for readers. Originally, I had all nine characters’ POVs in book one. That…didn’t work.
Dreams of Dust and Steel is an intricate story set in a vast world. I didn’t want to overwhelm people, so I had three questions at the top of each chapter as I wrote book one. Something like this:
1 ) What’s the emotional arc?
2 ) What’s the action in this section?
3 ) What is the world-building/plot introduced?

Every chapter had to have some semblance of all three, or it needed to be cut. This allowed me to make sure there’s always a sense of progress for readers, even when the story slowed down. It also allowed me to ensure characters had continuity in their development, some manner of action occurring regularly–be it dialogue, fighting, etc–and it allowed me to “drip” the world-building to readers in a digestible way.
 
I want to stay focused on character journeys in this series, while slowly peeling back the world as we go. Novelty is one thing folk love when they read, so this is my way of manufacturing a sense of “newness/freshness” throughout the series.
 
That keeps the pages turning.
 
Q] You’re writing two series simultaneously: Dreams of Dust and Steel, as well as a series of novellas set years before the events in DoDaS. Was this always the plan, or had you considered integrating both stories into one series?
 
MM: This wasn’t a plan until I wrote War Song as a reward to backers in my first Kickstarter. Then, I caught the bug for something dark but slightly more heroic than TPoP.
 
I’d just read Red Rising as well, and enjoyed Darrow’s story. The way he constantly strategized the next best step, or accomplished incredible feats, alone or with allies, inspired me to write a whole prequel for this legendary character, Danath Ironlight. I realized he shares quite a few qualities with the Reaper and had a similar backstory. In a way, the novella series is an homage to both Red Rising and George Washington.
 
Q] Comparisons to George RR Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” seem to get tossed around frequently these days, but in this case it feels an apt comparison, with a list of POVs and supporting characters thats ever growing. Is there concern that the story might get away from you, or do you have the full saga planned out in advance?
 
MM: The full saga is planned out. I know how it ends for all the characters and have book 4 and 5 roughly outlined. Book 3 is done and in revisions.
 
The advantage GoT has over my series is that all the characters start together. It’s easier to ground into the world, see how characters relate, etc., early on. Easier to lead them into danger and cool scenarios, too, because there’s no worry about bringing them immediately back together.
 
BUT, all those characters who fan outward from the localized starting point, THEN have to meander back. From a strategic perspective, this can make it hard to wrangle in and may cause a lot of “bloat” through the middle of a story as we have to invent new shit to lead characters toward a conclusion that seems pointless.
 
Now, the advantage I have over GoT is that all my characters have been moving toward one another from the start. So while I might lose readers early on who dislike the lack of intersection between characters, my way of always narrowing toward something has made each successive book move faster in the writing process, and readers get to be excited as they see their favorite POVS cross paths, or mysteries click into place.
 
My “bloat” is more toward the front end, but I’d call it necessary character building. At least, no meandering middle bit. Readers who like the series from book one should be in for a treat.
 
Q] If you have any free time, how do you spend it? Can you recommend any books, games, shows, that have recently caught your interest? 
 
MM: You’re right to ask it the way you did, haha. Not a ton of free time since I have two kids and hustle constantly atm. Fingers are crossed there’s more respite on the horizon, though.
 
If I had more free time, I’d play a ton of tabletop and board games and have a regular exercise schedule (yoga, martial arts, weightlifting). I’d also do a lot more hiking and paddleboarding. I truly enjoy nature, comedy, TV/movies. Video games are cool, but not my main thing. I love to dance, too.
 
The top three shows I strongly recommend: Dark, The Wire, Scavenger’s Reign.
 
Favorite games in recent memory: Ghost of Tsushima and Hogwarts Legacy.