As you may have noticed, I don’t have a new release for you yet. I had hoped to have the third Kingmakers book out this month, and then Askarra, the final Wytch Kings book, by the fall.
Best laid plans and all of that.
Due to a rather annoying repetitive stress injury, I've had to train myself to type using the Dvorak layout, which is a more ergonomic keyboard layout. I started learning it nearly a year ago, and have only recently managed to truly accept the necessity of permanently switching (read: quit whining and cheating by going back to the qwerty layout “just for today”) and get on with it. Using the Dvorak layout is definitely helping with the repetitive stress issues I have, but it is also slowing me down, but not nearly as much as the family stuff I have going on.
Without going into a lot of detail, we lost my mum to cancer just before xmas, and the months leading up to that were busy, stressful, and exhausting in more ways than I knew I could be exhausted. The months following have been busy, stressful, and exhausting in different ways, with my dad needing a lot more help and attention than any of us anticipated.
Things have finally settled into kind of a routine, though I don’t have the kind of writing time I had before. I am writing again, though not at the pace I was a few years ago.
About a year ago, when things started looking bad for my mum, I had decided to push Kingmakers out farther and get Askarra done next, since the dragon stories were Mum’s favorite, and I wanted her to be able to read the end of the series. That didn’t happen, but since I managed to get Askarra about a third done before we lost Mum, I decided to finish it before going back to Kingmakers. Now that I have a little more space in my head for story stuff, I’m hoping to have it done by the end of summer/beginning of fall, but that will depend on how things go with my dad, and of course, how things go with COVID-19 and all the fallout from that.
In response to all the lockdowns happening all over the world, Smashwords is having an Authors Give Back sale. From now through April 20, three of my series starters are free on Smashwords: Burn the Sky (Wytch Kings 1), Psi Hunter (Guardians of the Pattern 1), and Khalshir (Kingmakers 1). I’ve also priced them at $0.99 at Amazon. In addition, I’ve tweaked the ending of Burn the Sky, so if you want to pick it up for free at Smashwords, you can download the tweaked version and check it out. I’ve been meaning to go back and rework the ending, which upon rereading, I decided was perhaps a bit abrupt, but haven’t had time.
Hopefully by the time I release Askarra, this virus and all the chaos it has caused will be largely behind us. In the meantime, I hope you all stay healthy!
Showing posts with label Wytch Kings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wytch Kings. Show all posts
Friday, March 27, 2020
Thursday, June 27, 2019
Coming Soon: Ravenfell (Wytch Kings, Book 6)
Ravenfell, book 6 of the Wytch Kings series, is on its way. It tells the story of Prince Jossafir of Ysdrach and Prince Bradin of Miraen, and sets the stage for the final conflict between the Northern Alliance and the Wytch Council. Ravenfell is a fantasy/romance novel of ~90,000 words, and will be available in August.
Prince Jossafir of Ysdrach should have taken the throne after his father’s death, but a Wytch Council experiment gone wrong has left him with a dangerous Wytch power he has no hope of controlling. Declared a monster too dangerous to rule, Joss is locked away, his only visitors those who have been sentenced to death… and him their executioner.
When the Northern Alliance’s dragon army invades, Joss’s brother Wytch King Delrinian is captured, but Joss escapes his prison and joins a band of rebels. Joss’s first task as a member of the rebellion is to identify a highborn Alliance prisoner who may have information about the estate where his brother is being held. To Joss’s shock, he finds Prince Bradin of Miraen, the man he once loved with all his heart, lying in a dirty cell, injured and awaiting interrogation.
Now Joss must make a choice: will he use his deadly Wytch power to aid the rebels’ quest to rescue Delrinian and reclaim the kingdom, or will he turn traitor and save the man who once set his heart on fire?
Prince Jossafir of Ysdrach should have taken the throne after his father’s death, but a Wytch Council experiment gone wrong has left him with a dangerous Wytch power he has no hope of controlling. Declared a monster too dangerous to rule, Joss is locked away, his only visitors those who have been sentenced to death… and him their executioner.
When the Northern Alliance’s dragon army invades, Joss’s brother Wytch King Delrinian is captured, but Joss escapes his prison and joins a band of rebels. Joss’s first task as a member of the rebellion is to identify a highborn Alliance prisoner who may have information about the estate where his brother is being held. To Joss’s shock, he finds Prince Bradin of Miraen, the man he once loved with all his heart, lying in a dirty cell, injured and awaiting interrogation.
Now Joss must make a choice: will he use his deadly Wytch power to aid the rebels’ quest to rescue Delrinian and reclaim the kingdom, or will he turn traitor and save the man who once set his heart on fire?
Friday, August 3, 2018
Falkrag Cover Reveal
Falkrag is on track for a late August release, and I wanted to share the cover art with you. This is the first one of the Wytch Kings series to have a character in human form on the cover, and Prince Shaine of Rhiva got the honors. Once you've read his story, you'll understand why we chose these particular elements for the cover.
Newly released from his bondage to the Wytch Council, Prince Shaine of Rhiva strives to prove that he can be trusted. Burdened by guilt and shame, but determined to help the Northern Alliance win the coming war against the Wytch Council, Shaine ventures into the Iceshards to investigate an ancient ruin rumored to contain a hidden cache of powerful weapons. He doesn’t get far before being badly wounded by a deadly mountain predator.
Son of the hunt leader of his village, Vorri is destined to one day lead his people, a group of exiled shifters from Rhiva who have survived in the dangerous Iceshards for nearly three hundred years. When the hunters who keep the village fed begin disappearing, the fearful village elders forbid anyone to seek them out. Determined to save the missing hunters, his own brother and sister among them, Vorri disobeys, and sets off alone to find them.
When Vorri saves Shaine from certain death, the two young men strike a bargain: Vorri will help Shaine find the ruin, and Shaine will aid Vorri in his search for his kin. But fulfilling the bargain turns out to be far from simple, and in the end, Shaine and Vorri’s actions could change both the course of the war and the future of Vorri’s people.
Falkrag (Wytch Kings 5)
Newly released from his bondage to the Wytch Council, Prince Shaine of Rhiva strives to prove that he can be trusted. Burdened by guilt and shame, but determined to help the Northern Alliance win the coming war against the Wytch Council, Shaine ventures into the Iceshards to investigate an ancient ruin rumored to contain a hidden cache of powerful weapons. He doesn’t get far before being badly wounded by a deadly mountain predator.
Son of the hunt leader of his village, Vorri is destined to one day lead his people, a group of exiled shifters from Rhiva who have survived in the dangerous Iceshards for nearly three hundred years. When the hunters who keep the village fed begin disappearing, the fearful village elders forbid anyone to seek them out. Determined to save the missing hunters, his own brother and sister among them, Vorri disobeys, and sets off alone to find them.
When Vorri saves Shaine from certain death, the two young men strike a bargain: Vorri will help Shaine find the ruin, and Shaine will aid Vorri in his search for his kin. But fulfilling the bargain turns out to be far from simple, and in the end, Shaine and Vorri’s actions could change both the course of the war and the future of Vorri’s people.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Update and Newsletter Info
Some update things...
1. Newsletter (Finally!)
If you received an email notification about this blog post, it's because you signed up to follow this blog via email. With the new European Union privacy regulations (GDPR) going into effect in just a few days, I'm going to be turning off that option and deleting the follow-by-email list, as I cannot verify that the Feedburner Thing is GDPR compliant, meaning this is the last email notification you'll receive.
If you'd like to continue getting email updates on what I'm doing, or if you'd like to start doing so, I invite you to sign up for my new newsletter, which will be sent out every month or two (or whenever I have news worthy of a newsletter). The sign-up form is on the right, in the sidebar and also on the Contact page. I promise your email address will not be used for anything other than sending the occasional newsletter to announce new releases and other news.
2. Falkrag (Wytch Kings 5)
Falkrag has been sent off to my beta team, and the early feedback is that it's looking pretty good, so I'm still hoping for a late summer release (late July at the earliest, but probably more like August). This is the story of Prince Shaine of Rhiva, who goes looking for a weapon to help the Northern Alliance win the war, and brings home something far more helpful. And of course, finds love along the way.
3. Renegade (Kingmakers 2)
I've begun drafting Renegade, the second book of the Kingmakers series. Renegade features Coryn and Kai, whose relationship will be difficult and fraught, and will likely require more than one book to document. The series will feature other romances as well, but Coryn and Kai will be the central characters for most of it. I'm hoping to draft this one over the summer, and have it out toward the end of this year or early next.
1. Newsletter (Finally!)
If you received an email notification about this blog post, it's because you signed up to follow this blog via email. With the new European Union privacy regulations (GDPR) going into effect in just a few days, I'm going to be turning off that option and deleting the follow-by-email list, as I cannot verify that the Feedburner Thing is GDPR compliant, meaning this is the last email notification you'll receive.
If you'd like to continue getting email updates on what I'm doing, or if you'd like to start doing so, I invite you to sign up for my new newsletter, which will be sent out every month or two (or whenever I have news worthy of a newsletter). The sign-up form is on the right, in the sidebar and also on the Contact page. I promise your email address will not be used for anything other than sending the occasional newsletter to announce new releases and other news.
2. Falkrag (Wytch Kings 5)
Falkrag has been sent off to my beta team, and the early feedback is that it's looking pretty good, so I'm still hoping for a late summer release (late July at the earliest, but probably more like August). This is the story of Prince Shaine of Rhiva, who goes looking for a weapon to help the Northern Alliance win the war, and brings home something far more helpful. And of course, finds love along the way.
3. Renegade (Kingmakers 2)
I've begun drafting Renegade, the second book of the Kingmakers series. Renegade features Coryn and Kai, whose relationship will be difficult and fraught, and will likely require more than one book to document. The series will feature other romances as well, but Coryn and Kai will be the central characters for most of it. I'm hoping to draft this one over the summer, and have it out toward the end of this year or early next.
Friday, April 27, 2018
Falkrag: WIP Excerpt
Falkrag, Book 5 of the Wytch Kings series, is coming along nicely. This is Prince Shaine's story (Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva's younger brother), and it's looking to be another long one, 80 to 85,000 words is my current guess. I'm hoping to release it toward the end of the summer. Here's a little taste to whet your appetite...
Stormshard.
Shaine read the passage again, heart beating faster as the meaning of the words slowly sank in. Stormshard was a hidden tower, deep in the Iceshards, beyond the northern border of the kingdom of Altan. The kingdom’s mythe-weavers had used it to research dangerous mythe-weapons, some of which were powerful enough to destroy an entire kingdom. Abandoned after a terrible accident, once the Wytch Council’s inflexible edicts and iron rule had brought peace to Skanda, Stormshard had been forgotten.
Or more likely, erased from history.
The book Shaine held in his hands was the journal of a young mythe-weaver who had been serving out his apprenticeship in the tower, learning the secrets of weapon creation. Fortunately for him, he’d been on leave when the accident occurred. There’d been no survivors, and the area had been left uninhabitable. The Wytch King of Altan had destroyed the mythe-gate that led to the tower to prevent anyone from trying to investigate.
Shaine closed the book and stared out the library window at the mountains surrounding Castle Rhivana. Somewhere out there, Stormshard still stood.
And if it does, what makes you think you can find it, boy?
He clenched his jaw and reminded himself yet again that Anxin was dead. The voice wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Vayne had promised.
Staring down at the book, he struggled to organize his thoughts. He’d need to do some research. There was a rough map in the journal, but if he was seriously thinking about venturing into the mountains on his own, something with a bit more detail would be helpful.
Was he really going to do this?
You can’t. You’ll fail, like you’ve failed at everything else.
Shaine clenched his hand into a fist. He had to try, despite his fear that Anxin’s words were truth. If he could bring home a weapon powerful enough to give the Northern Alliance an advantage over the Wytch Council, it would prove his loyalty to both family and alliance, and might finally put a stop to all the whispered speculation he pretended not to hear. It might even drive the last traces of Anxin from his head once and for all.
With mounting hope, Shaine headed for the library’s history section.
Several hours later, he’d searched history, geography, and legends, but found nothing helpful. His frustration was tempered by the fact that the lack of information boded well for Stormshard having remained undiscovered and, more importantly, undisturbed in the centuries since the disaster.
He opened the journal again to study the roughly sketched map. None of the books he’d found mapped much of the Iceshards. Most only went into the mountain range as far as the most distant mines. If the scale of the sketch was accurate, Stormshard lay some distance beyond Altan’s northernmost mines. It looked like he could follow one of the mining roads part of the way there, but once the road ran out, he’d be forced to find his own way through the mountains.
“And what are you studying so intently?” Dirit materialized on Shaine’s shoulder. The little dragon craned his neck to peruse the journal, head blocking Shaine’s view.
Shaine slammed the book shut and glared at him. “Nosy. I thought you and Mikhyal had gone off to Miraen to deal with the attack on the fields.”
Dirit hopped down off his shoulder and landed lightly on the table in front of him. “Not until tomorrow morning. His Royal Disheveledness is currently attempting to tame his hair into something less reminiscent of a rat’s nest before reporting for dinner. He suggested you might need a reminder. Which you apparently do. You’ll be officially late in three minutes, you know.”
Shaine glanced at the clock, alarmed to discover that the little dragon was right. His research had occupied him so thoroughly he hadn’t taken note of the time. Tucking the journal under his arm, he hurried out of the library, not bothering to look back and see whether Dirit had faded back into the mythe or not.
He stopped by his own suite first to slip the book safely under his pillow, then headed for the dining room. To Shaine’s immense relief, after the signing of the Northern Alliance treaty, Wytch King Drannik had stopped taking dinner with the Court. The war took up most of his time now, and as his heir, Mikhyal saw to most of the disputes brought before the king.
Shaine was late, of course, but Mikhyal and Tristin were even later, and no mention was made of it. The queen, as she often did these days, was dining in her own apartment, so it was just the four of them. Without the queen’s sensibilities to take into consideration, dinner conversation began with the crisis in Miraen.
“You’ll be leaving in the morning, then?” Drannik said the moment Mikhyal sat down.
Mikhyal gave his father a nod. “Ai, and Tristin will be accompanying me to Miraen. Once we’ve seen what we can do there, we’ll be going on to Altan. There is still a royal wedding or four to plan. I’ll stay in touch by messenger dragon. I want to be kept abreast of the conditions here, though I expect we’ll be diverting most of our resources to patrols for the time being.”
“I think it best, and I expect our allies will agree,” Drannik said. “Unless we have some way of predicting where and when the Council will strike next, all we can do is keep watch on our most vulnerable resources. In the meantime, Ilya has called for all the mythe-weavers we can spare to come to Altan, where they will search for a way to thwart the Council, or at least put us on even ground. If we could open our own mythe-gates and send troops pouring into Askarra, we would be able to negotiate from a much stronger position. This attack on Miraen worries me greatly. If they succeed in destroying enough of our crops, they could starve us into surrender.”
“Have we anyone to send to Ilya?” Mikhyal asked.
“I’ve sent one of our dragon soldiers to visit all the estates and ask for those who aren’t needed there to report here. We’ll send a caravan… or a few dragons, depending on how many we get.”
“I’ll let Ilya know you’ve begun the search process, then.”
“Excellent.” Drannik turned his attention to his meal, and Mikhyal turned to Shaine. “I may not be able to get back here before the wedding, Shaine. Have you made a decision about attending yet?”
Shaine brightened as it occurred to him that the wedding celebration itself was the perfect reason for him to travel to Altan. From there, he could strike north using the mining road he’d identified. He’d have to obtain some mountaineering gear, and perhaps a pack animal, but those ought to be available in one of the villages.
Not wanting to appear too eager, Shaine peered at his brother through long, fiery red bangs that badly needed cutting. “I’m not sure. I… all those people…”
Yes, all those people, Anxin hissed. All of them watching you, all of them wondering just who it is looking out of your eyes.
Shaine couldn’t help the shudder that wracked his frame. All those eyes. Staring. Accusing.
“I know exactly how you feel,” Tristin said, giving him a sympathetic look.
“You never had a problem with people before, Shaine,” Drannik commented.
“Ai, but…” Shaine swallowed, reminding himself that he could slip away soon after he arrived, avoiding the Court entirely. “I never had a reason to fear what they might be thinking of me before, either.”
“Will you not go and represent your family?” Drannik pressed. “I’d go myself, but given the events of the past few weeks, I dare not.”
“Don’t push him, Father,” Mikhyal said softly. He gave Shaine an encouraging smile. “While I’d very much like you to be there, the last thing I want to do is force you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable. Just give it some thought. I won’t be hurt if you decide you can’t manage it.”
Shaine blinked back the tears that rose, unbidden, to his eyes. Mikhyal might be a strict military commander, but he was never anything but gentle with Shaine, even after all the horrible things Shaine had said and done to him under Anxin’s control. Even after Shaine had arranged for his brother’s murder. “For you, I’ll try, Mik,” he said, managing a watery smile.
Mikhyal didn’t need to know what, exactly, he meant to try.
No one needed to know.
Stormshard.
Shaine read the passage again, heart beating faster as the meaning of the words slowly sank in. Stormshard was a hidden tower, deep in the Iceshards, beyond the northern border of the kingdom of Altan. The kingdom’s mythe-weavers had used it to research dangerous mythe-weapons, some of which were powerful enough to destroy an entire kingdom. Abandoned after a terrible accident, once the Wytch Council’s inflexible edicts and iron rule had brought peace to Skanda, Stormshard had been forgotten.
Or more likely, erased from history.
The book Shaine held in his hands was the journal of a young mythe-weaver who had been serving out his apprenticeship in the tower, learning the secrets of weapon creation. Fortunately for him, he’d been on leave when the accident occurred. There’d been no survivors, and the area had been left uninhabitable. The Wytch King of Altan had destroyed the mythe-gate that led to the tower to prevent anyone from trying to investigate.
Shaine closed the book and stared out the library window at the mountains surrounding Castle Rhivana. Somewhere out there, Stormshard still stood.
And if it does, what makes you think you can find it, boy?
He clenched his jaw and reminded himself yet again that Anxin was dead. The voice wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. Vayne had promised.
Staring down at the book, he struggled to organize his thoughts. He’d need to do some research. There was a rough map in the journal, but if he was seriously thinking about venturing into the mountains on his own, something with a bit more detail would be helpful.
Was he really going to do this?
You can’t. You’ll fail, like you’ve failed at everything else.
Shaine clenched his hand into a fist. He had to try, despite his fear that Anxin’s words were truth. If he could bring home a weapon powerful enough to give the Northern Alliance an advantage over the Wytch Council, it would prove his loyalty to both family and alliance, and might finally put a stop to all the whispered speculation he pretended not to hear. It might even drive the last traces of Anxin from his head once and for all.
With mounting hope, Shaine headed for the library’s history section.
Several hours later, he’d searched history, geography, and legends, but found nothing helpful. His frustration was tempered by the fact that the lack of information boded well for Stormshard having remained undiscovered and, more importantly, undisturbed in the centuries since the disaster.
He opened the journal again to study the roughly sketched map. None of the books he’d found mapped much of the Iceshards. Most only went into the mountain range as far as the most distant mines. If the scale of the sketch was accurate, Stormshard lay some distance beyond Altan’s northernmost mines. It looked like he could follow one of the mining roads part of the way there, but once the road ran out, he’d be forced to find his own way through the mountains.
“And what are you studying so intently?” Dirit materialized on Shaine’s shoulder. The little dragon craned his neck to peruse the journal, head blocking Shaine’s view.
Shaine slammed the book shut and glared at him. “Nosy. I thought you and Mikhyal had gone off to Miraen to deal with the attack on the fields.”
Dirit hopped down off his shoulder and landed lightly on the table in front of him. “Not until tomorrow morning. His Royal Disheveledness is currently attempting to tame his hair into something less reminiscent of a rat’s nest before reporting for dinner. He suggested you might need a reminder. Which you apparently do. You’ll be officially late in three minutes, you know.”
Shaine glanced at the clock, alarmed to discover that the little dragon was right. His research had occupied him so thoroughly he hadn’t taken note of the time. Tucking the journal under his arm, he hurried out of the library, not bothering to look back and see whether Dirit had faded back into the mythe or not.
He stopped by his own suite first to slip the book safely under his pillow, then headed for the dining room. To Shaine’s immense relief, after the signing of the Northern Alliance treaty, Wytch King Drannik had stopped taking dinner with the Court. The war took up most of his time now, and as his heir, Mikhyal saw to most of the disputes brought before the king.
Shaine was late, of course, but Mikhyal and Tristin were even later, and no mention was made of it. The queen, as she often did these days, was dining in her own apartment, so it was just the four of them. Without the queen’s sensibilities to take into consideration, dinner conversation began with the crisis in Miraen.
“You’ll be leaving in the morning, then?” Drannik said the moment Mikhyal sat down.
Mikhyal gave his father a nod. “Ai, and Tristin will be accompanying me to Miraen. Once we’ve seen what we can do there, we’ll be going on to Altan. There is still a royal wedding or four to plan. I’ll stay in touch by messenger dragon. I want to be kept abreast of the conditions here, though I expect we’ll be diverting most of our resources to patrols for the time being.”
“I think it best, and I expect our allies will agree,” Drannik said. “Unless we have some way of predicting where and when the Council will strike next, all we can do is keep watch on our most vulnerable resources. In the meantime, Ilya has called for all the mythe-weavers we can spare to come to Altan, where they will search for a way to thwart the Council, or at least put us on even ground. If we could open our own mythe-gates and send troops pouring into Askarra, we would be able to negotiate from a much stronger position. This attack on Miraen worries me greatly. If they succeed in destroying enough of our crops, they could starve us into surrender.”
“Have we anyone to send to Ilya?” Mikhyal asked.
“I’ve sent one of our dragon soldiers to visit all the estates and ask for those who aren’t needed there to report here. We’ll send a caravan… or a few dragons, depending on how many we get.”
“I’ll let Ilya know you’ve begun the search process, then.”
“Excellent.” Drannik turned his attention to his meal, and Mikhyal turned to Shaine. “I may not be able to get back here before the wedding, Shaine. Have you made a decision about attending yet?”
Shaine brightened as it occurred to him that the wedding celebration itself was the perfect reason for him to travel to Altan. From there, he could strike north using the mining road he’d identified. He’d have to obtain some mountaineering gear, and perhaps a pack animal, but those ought to be available in one of the villages.
Not wanting to appear too eager, Shaine peered at his brother through long, fiery red bangs that badly needed cutting. “I’m not sure. I… all those people…”
Yes, all those people, Anxin hissed. All of them watching you, all of them wondering just who it is looking out of your eyes.
Shaine couldn’t help the shudder that wracked his frame. All those eyes. Staring. Accusing.
“I know exactly how you feel,” Tristin said, giving him a sympathetic look.
“You never had a problem with people before, Shaine,” Drannik commented.
“Ai, but…” Shaine swallowed, reminding himself that he could slip away soon after he arrived, avoiding the Court entirely. “I never had a reason to fear what they might be thinking of me before, either.”
“Will you not go and represent your family?” Drannik pressed. “I’d go myself, but given the events of the past few weeks, I dare not.”
“Don’t push him, Father,” Mikhyal said softly. He gave Shaine an encouraging smile. “While I’d very much like you to be there, the last thing I want to do is force you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable. Just give it some thought. I won’t be hurt if you decide you can’t manage it.”
Shaine blinked back the tears that rose, unbidden, to his eyes. Mikhyal might be a strict military commander, but he was never anything but gentle with Shaine, even after all the horrible things Shaine had said and done to him under Anxin’s control. Even after Shaine had arranged for his brother’s murder. “For you, I’ll try, Mik,” he said, managing a watery smile.
Mikhyal didn’t need to know what, exactly, he meant to try.
No one needed to know.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Dragonwatch is Live!
The balance of power in Skanda is about to shift. As the kingdoms of the north negotiate a secret alliance, the Wytch Council attempts to discredit and replace the rebellious Wytch Kings. Can Tristin of Ysdrach and Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva get to the bottom of the plot? Or will the Northern Alliance be torn apart before the ink on the treaty is dry?
Dragonwatch, Book 4 in my MM Fantasy Romance series Wytch Kings, is now available at Amazon and Smashwords and will be coming to other retailers soon.
Book Description:
Beautiful, broken Tristin of Ysdrach would rather hide in his dragon form than live with a Wytch power that forces him to feel the pain of the past in every object he touches. Struggling to come to terms with a future he never believed he’d have, Tristin needs a reason not to surrender to the beast within.
Without Wytch power, Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva is not qualified to be his father’s heir, but newly discovered knowledge possessed by Rhiva’s allies could change that. On their journey to a secret negotiation that could shift the balance of power in Skanda, Mikhyal and his father are attacked, and Mikhyal is left bonded to an ancient sword with a mission, an attitude, and a penchant for blackberry tarts.
Even with the distractions of a royal betrothal ceremony, an enemy striking from the shadows, and the complex negotiations of alliance and rebellion, the painfully shy Tristin still manages to catch Mikhyal’s eye. The two men barely have time to acknowledge their mutual attraction before an attempt is made to end the line of Rhiva.
Can Tristin and Mikhyal get to the bottom of the plot? Or will the Northern Alliance be torn apart before the ink on the treaty is dry?
~94,000 words
Dragonwatch, Book 4 in my MM Fantasy Romance series Wytch Kings, is now available at Amazon and Smashwords and will be coming to other retailers soon.
Book Description:
Beautiful, broken Tristin of Ysdrach would rather hide in his dragon form than live with a Wytch power that forces him to feel the pain of the past in every object he touches. Struggling to come to terms with a future he never believed he’d have, Tristin needs a reason not to surrender to the beast within.
Without Wytch power, Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva is not qualified to be his father’s heir, but newly discovered knowledge possessed by Rhiva’s allies could change that. On their journey to a secret negotiation that could shift the balance of power in Skanda, Mikhyal and his father are attacked, and Mikhyal is left bonded to an ancient sword with a mission, an attitude, and a penchant for blackberry tarts.
Even with the distractions of a royal betrothal ceremony, an enemy striking from the shadows, and the complex negotiations of alliance and rebellion, the painfully shy Tristin still manages to catch Mikhyal’s eye. The two men barely have time to acknowledge their mutual attraction before an attempt is made to end the line of Rhiva.
Can Tristin and Mikhyal get to the bottom of the plot? Or will the Northern Alliance be torn apart before the ink on the treaty is dry?
~94,000 words
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Dragonwatch: Cover Reveal and Excerpt
Dragonwatch, the fourth Wytch Kings book, will be available in September. This story is about Tristin of Ysdrach, the bastard cousin of Wytch King Garrik. In the last book, Shadowspire, Tristin was instrumental in foiling the Wytch Council's plot to install him on the throne of Altan as a puppet king. Now recovering from years of imprisonment and addiction at the hands of his uncle and the Council, Tristin is struggling to make peace with his past and move forward into a future he's not quite sure what to do with.
Book Description
The balance of power in Skanda is about to shift…
Beautiful, broken Tristin of Ysdrach would rather hide in his dragon form than live with a Wytch power that forces him to feel the pain of the past in every object he touches. Struggling to come to terms with a future he never believed he’d have, Tristin needs a reason not to surrender to the beast within.
Without Wytch power, Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva is not qualified to be his father’s heir, but newly discovered knowledge possessed by Rhiva’s allies could change that. On their journey to a secret negotiation that could shift the balance of power in Skanda, Mikhyal and his father are attacked, and Mikhyal is left bonded to an ancient sword with a mission, an attitude, and a penchant for blackberry tarts.
Even with the distractions of a royal betrothal ceremony, an enemy striking from the shadows, and the complex negotiations of alliance and rebellion, the painfully shy Tristin still manages to catch Mikhyal’s eye. The two men barely have time to acknowledge their mutual attraction before an attempt is made to end the line of Rhiva.
Can Tristin and Mikhyal get to the bottom of the plot? Or will the Northern Alliance be torn apart before the ink on the treaty is dry?
Excerpt
Tristin hadn’t even paused to dress before fleeing down the tower stairs with his clothing clutched against his middle. Fortunately, it was late enough that no one was about in the hall leading to the royal apartments, and Tristin reached his suite without frightening the servants or causing any unfortunate incidents. He closed the door firmly behind him and let his clothing fall to the floor.
What had he been thinking?
Well, he hadn’t been thinking, had he? He’d been half asleep, enjoying the feel of Mikhyal’s hand rubbing his head and neck. It had felt so nice to be touched, even in dragon form, that he’d let himself forget everything else.
Mikhyal must have been absolutely horrified when he’d shifted back. Tristin knew very well he was no prize. He’d avoided mirrors for the most part, but he’d caught enough glimpses to know that his body was still gaunt and wasted, and the scars…
In the brilliant wash of moonlight, there was no way Mikhyal could have missed seeing his scars. The prince wouldn’t even want to dance with him now, and he’d been so looking forward to that.
Maybe he should have stayed at Dragonwatch, after all.
Tristin trudged into his bedroom where he curled up on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. The things that had pleased him so much when he’d first stepped into the room now seemed only that: things. They wouldn’t keep him company when he was lonely. Nor would they gently rub his head and neck, or tell him how beautiful he looked in the moonlight.
A hot tear trickled down his face.
“Oh, this is rich. Honestly, you two.”
Tristin started and sat up. Dirit was perched on the foot of the bed glaring at him. The little dragon was bathed in silvery moonlight, making him look like some sort of glowing spirit.
“W-what… what d-do you w-want?” Tristin stammered.
Dirit tapped a long claw on the bedpost, and a glowing ball of yellow light appeared over his head, illuminating the room. “I want you to go and speak to His Royal Restlessness. He’s been in a snit ever since he returned from the tower.” Dirit narrowed his eyes. When Tristin didn’t respond, the dragon continued, “It’s impossible to sleep with all the muttering and pacing.”
“Ah. Well. I… imagine that’s because I disgust him,” Tristin murmured.
“Humans.” The dragon rolled his eyes and twitched his whiskers in apparent disgust. “So dramatic. You think you disgust him, and he’s certain he’s frightened you off. Matchmaking really isn’t part of my mandate, you know, but it appears that neither one of you is bright enough to realize that you’ve had a misunderstanding.”
Tristin stared at him, open-mouthed, as he tried to work out whom Dirit was insulting. Both of them, it sounded like.
The little dragon peered at him, eyebrow tufts drawing together in a frown. “You do know what a misunderstanding is, don’t you?”
“Of c-course I do. I’m j-just not sure what I can do about it.”
“You could start by putting some clothing on,” Dirit prodded.
Heat rushed to his face, and Tristin scrambled off of the bed and went to fetch his clothing from the main room of the suite.
“Not those.” Dirit appeared in front of him, grabbing a mouthful of Tristin’s breeches and yanking them out of his hand. He spit them out on the floor as if they tasted bad, then wrinkled his snout. “They’re all rumpled and dusty. You simply cannot go courting in dirty things.”
“Who says I’m going—”
“Have you no sense of decorum?”
“Decorum isn’t exactly a priority when you’ve been locked in a tower for most of your life,” Tristin explained. He snatched the rumpled breeches from the floor and clutched them against himself in the vain hope of preserving both modesty and dignity. “Anyway, I haven’t got anything else.”
Dirit swarmed across the floor and disappeared into the bedroom, taking the ball of light with him and leaving Tristin in darkness. A moment later, the dragon — and the light — returned. “You’ve an entire dressing room full of clothing fit for a prince. Come along, we haven’t got all night. Honestly, do I have to do everything for you?”
With Dirit’s assistance, Tristin selected a pair of dark blue breeches and a grey linen shirt. When he was dressed, he brushed his hair and tied it back with a little strip of black leather.
“Yes…” Dirit circled him, hopping up on the furniture to observe him from all angles. “Of course, a proper bath would have been better, but if I’m to get any sleep at all, we simply haven’t time. I don’t expect you’ll progress to the point where that’s really necessary, not tonight. His Royal Virtuousness is far too much of a gentleman to be invading your dignity with his most impressive royal masculinity on the first encounter.”
“Invading my dignity?” Tristin sputtered. “With his—”
“You’ll do quite nicely. That really is a charming shade of pink. Lovely contrast with the shirt. Come along, then.”
Tristin could only stare at the dragon, speechless. It wasn’t until they were entering the guest wing that he found his voice. “What if… what if he’s gone to sleep? It must be well after midnight by now.”
“A bit past two, actually,” Dirit informed him. “But he’s awake.”
“How do you know?”
Dirit’s ears flattened. “I can feel him. I’m attached to him, remember? Bonded. Cursed with constant awareness.”
Unable to think of anything else to do, Tristin followed the little dragon through the castle’s dimly lit hallways. The guardsmen posted at regular intervals said nothing, but Tristin hunched his shoulders, certain they were watching and judging. They probably thought he was off to some clandestine meeting of the most sordid kind, and he couldn’t help feeling conspicuous and rather overdressed. Face flaming, he trudged miserably down the hall after Dirit.
Book Description
The balance of power in Skanda is about to shift…
Beautiful, broken Tristin of Ysdrach would rather hide in his dragon form than live with a Wytch power that forces him to feel the pain of the past in every object he touches. Struggling to come to terms with a future he never believed he’d have, Tristin needs a reason not to surrender to the beast within.
Without Wytch power, Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva is not qualified to be his father’s heir, but newly discovered knowledge possessed by Rhiva’s allies could change that. On their journey to a secret negotiation that could shift the balance of power in Skanda, Mikhyal and his father are attacked, and Mikhyal is left bonded to an ancient sword with a mission, an attitude, and a penchant for blackberry tarts.
Even with the distractions of a royal betrothal ceremony, an enemy striking from the shadows, and the complex negotiations of alliance and rebellion, the painfully shy Tristin still manages to catch Mikhyal’s eye. The two men barely have time to acknowledge their mutual attraction before an attempt is made to end the line of Rhiva.
Can Tristin and Mikhyal get to the bottom of the plot? Or will the Northern Alliance be torn apart before the ink on the treaty is dry?
Excerpt
Tristin hadn’t even paused to dress before fleeing down the tower stairs with his clothing clutched against his middle. Fortunately, it was late enough that no one was about in the hall leading to the royal apartments, and Tristin reached his suite without frightening the servants or causing any unfortunate incidents. He closed the door firmly behind him and let his clothing fall to the floor.
What had he been thinking?
Well, he hadn’t been thinking, had he? He’d been half asleep, enjoying the feel of Mikhyal’s hand rubbing his head and neck. It had felt so nice to be touched, even in dragon form, that he’d let himself forget everything else.
Mikhyal must have been absolutely horrified when he’d shifted back. Tristin knew very well he was no prize. He’d avoided mirrors for the most part, but he’d caught enough glimpses to know that his body was still gaunt and wasted, and the scars…
In the brilliant wash of moonlight, there was no way Mikhyal could have missed seeing his scars. The prince wouldn’t even want to dance with him now, and he’d been so looking forward to that.
Maybe he should have stayed at Dragonwatch, after all.
Tristin trudged into his bedroom where he curled up on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. The things that had pleased him so much when he’d first stepped into the room now seemed only that: things. They wouldn’t keep him company when he was lonely. Nor would they gently rub his head and neck, or tell him how beautiful he looked in the moonlight.
A hot tear trickled down his face.
“Oh, this is rich. Honestly, you two.”
Tristin started and sat up. Dirit was perched on the foot of the bed glaring at him. The little dragon was bathed in silvery moonlight, making him look like some sort of glowing spirit.
“W-what… what d-do you w-want?” Tristin stammered.
Dirit tapped a long claw on the bedpost, and a glowing ball of yellow light appeared over his head, illuminating the room. “I want you to go and speak to His Royal Restlessness. He’s been in a snit ever since he returned from the tower.” Dirit narrowed his eyes. When Tristin didn’t respond, the dragon continued, “It’s impossible to sleep with all the muttering and pacing.”
“Ah. Well. I… imagine that’s because I disgust him,” Tristin murmured.
“Humans.” The dragon rolled his eyes and twitched his whiskers in apparent disgust. “So dramatic. You think you disgust him, and he’s certain he’s frightened you off. Matchmaking really isn’t part of my mandate, you know, but it appears that neither one of you is bright enough to realize that you’ve had a misunderstanding.”
Tristin stared at him, open-mouthed, as he tried to work out whom Dirit was insulting. Both of them, it sounded like.
The little dragon peered at him, eyebrow tufts drawing together in a frown. “You do know what a misunderstanding is, don’t you?”
“Of c-course I do. I’m j-just not sure what I can do about it.”
“You could start by putting some clothing on,” Dirit prodded.
Heat rushed to his face, and Tristin scrambled off of the bed and went to fetch his clothing from the main room of the suite.
“Not those.” Dirit appeared in front of him, grabbing a mouthful of Tristin’s breeches and yanking them out of his hand. He spit them out on the floor as if they tasted bad, then wrinkled his snout. “They’re all rumpled and dusty. You simply cannot go courting in dirty things.”
“Who says I’m going—”
“Have you no sense of decorum?”
“Decorum isn’t exactly a priority when you’ve been locked in a tower for most of your life,” Tristin explained. He snatched the rumpled breeches from the floor and clutched them against himself in the vain hope of preserving both modesty and dignity. “Anyway, I haven’t got anything else.”
Dirit swarmed across the floor and disappeared into the bedroom, taking the ball of light with him and leaving Tristin in darkness. A moment later, the dragon — and the light — returned. “You’ve an entire dressing room full of clothing fit for a prince. Come along, we haven’t got all night. Honestly, do I have to do everything for you?”
With Dirit’s assistance, Tristin selected a pair of dark blue breeches and a grey linen shirt. When he was dressed, he brushed his hair and tied it back with a little strip of black leather.
“Yes…” Dirit circled him, hopping up on the furniture to observe him from all angles. “Of course, a proper bath would have been better, but if I’m to get any sleep at all, we simply haven’t time. I don’t expect you’ll progress to the point where that’s really necessary, not tonight. His Royal Virtuousness is far too much of a gentleman to be invading your dignity with his most impressive royal masculinity on the first encounter.”
“Invading my dignity?” Tristin sputtered. “With his—”
“You’ll do quite nicely. That really is a charming shade of pink. Lovely contrast with the shirt. Come along, then.”
Tristin could only stare at the dragon, speechless. It wasn’t until they were entering the guest wing that he found his voice. “What if… what if he’s gone to sleep? It must be well after midnight by now.”
“A bit past two, actually,” Dirit informed him. “But he’s awake.”
“How do you know?”
Dirit’s ears flattened. “I can feel him. I’m attached to him, remember? Bonded. Cursed with constant awareness.”
Unable to think of anything else to do, Tristin followed the little dragon through the castle’s dimly lit hallways. The guardsmen posted at regular intervals said nothing, but Tristin hunched his shoulders, certain they were watching and judging. They probably thought he was off to some clandestine meeting of the most sordid kind, and he couldn’t help feeling conspicuous and rather overdressed. Face flaming, he trudged miserably down the hall after Dirit.
Saturday, June 3, 2017
Dragonwatch: WIP Excerpt
So who's ready for more dragons?
Dragonwatch, book 4 of the Wytch Kings series, is on track for a September release. This one features Tristin, who was a secondary character in Shadowspire (book 3), and Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva. Tristin's cousin, Wytch King Garrik of Altan, is moving forward with his plans to unite the kingdoms of the north against the Wytch Council, but Tristin has his own problems to deal with...
* * *
Tristin blinked hard to bring down his inner eyelids. He quickly located a downdraft, a swath of cool turquoise, and rode it in a lazy, spiraling descent toward the roof of the watchtower. His landing was perfect, but it gave him no satisfaction, and he didn’t make the shift back to human form.
Wytch Master Ilya stood before him, a cloak draped over his arm. “Would you shift for me, Tristin? I would have words with you, and we cannot speak properly when you are in dragon form and I am not.”
Tristin snorted, but didn’t shift. If Ilya wanted to speak to him so badly, he could shift into dragon form. Tristin knew exactly what Ilya wished to talk about, and the thought of it made his dragon-belly writhe and twist in dread.
His gaze drifted away from the Wytch Master to the slope of the mountain beyond the watchtower. He could have been safe in his cave by now, if he hadn’t been curious and come to investigate.
“Tristin… if you insist on spending all your time in dragon form, you risk losing yourself to the beast within. You will forget your humanity entirely.”
Tristin stared down at his wicked, ruby-red claws. Forgetting his human life would not necessarily be a bad thing.
“If you lose yourself to the beast,” Ilya continued, “you will be a danger to the folk of Altan. Garrik would have no choice but to order your death, though it would grieve him to do so.”
Ilya was right, of course, and Tristin knew it. He’d already experienced signs of the beast-mind overshadowing his human mind: losing track of the days, reveling in the hunt, the smell of blood transporting him into ecstasies the likes of which he’d never known as a human man.
“Won’t you try?” Ilya coaxed. “Your cousins are both very concerned about you, as am I.”
His cousins, yes. He owed them much. His life, his freedom… and his current condition. Which, truth be told, they were trying hard to help him with.
“I know the watchtower is particularly difficult for you,” Master Ilya said. “If you’d be more comfortable, you may glide down to the courtyard, and I will meet you there.”
With a heavy sigh, Tristin dipped his head in acquiescence and nodded toward the courtyard. Ilya smiled. “Very good, then. I shall see you in a minute. Would you like to take the cloak with you?” He held it out to Tristin, laying it across outstretched arms so it would be easy for the dragon to take it. Tristin carefully wrapped his claws around it and hopped to the edge of the watchtower roof on three legs. He spread his wings and glided down to the courtyard.
Shifting back into human form was easy, but the mental onslaught that came with it was shocking. Visions of armed men running to do battle flooded his mind. Shouted commands and screams of pain filled his ears, and he felt the bite of steel on flesh and the heat of fire. The smell of smoke and the taste of blood were almost enough to choke him. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself it wasn’t real, the sensations were too intense for him to remember that when he was caught up in them.
The empathic resonances bled from every surface he touched, and those first moments after shifting back into human form were always overwhelming, especially after the peace he experienced in dragon form.
Dragonwatch stood on the site of an old fort which had been home to the men who guarded the kingdom of Altan from the winter raids of the mountain barbarians. The barbarian tribes were gone now, thinned out or driven off nearly a century ago, during the Ten Winters of the Dark Ice, but the empathic resonances of the men who had fought here remained. The violence, fear, and pain experienced by those ancient warriors had suffused the stones of the watchtower and the surrounding landscape as their blood had soaked the dirt.
Most people were blissfully unaware of the savage history written in the land beneath their feet.
Tristin wasn’t most people.
The fears and hopes of those long dead souls who had once defended the kingdom sliced through his head like millions of tiny daggers. Each alone was barely noticeable, a drop of rain in a raging storm. But the combined onslaught was so overwhelming that for a moment, Tristin froze, feet glued to the sun-warmed stone, hands clenching the cloak.
“Tristin?” Master Ilya’s voice broke him out of a haze of pain so intense, he forgot to hide his arms. Ilya gently uncurled his fingers from the fabric of the cloak. “You will be well again, I promise you,” Ilya said gently. “But I cannot teach you the shielding patterns if you insist on spending all your time in dragon form.”
The Wytch Master’s pale blue eyes fixed on Tristin, his expression remaining calm and composed. He didn’t look the least bit disgusted at the sight of Tristin’s gaunt frame, or the terrible scars on his arms.
Though he wanted to tear the cloak from Ilya’s hands and whip it around himself to cover his body, Tristin forced himself to wait while the Wytch Master gently draped it over his shoulders. When the cloak was in place, Tristin pulled it tight, holding it closed with shaking hands in an attempt to cover as much of himself as possible.
“Come on. You’ll feel better once you’re inside.” The Wytch Master’s voice was cool, a soothing contrast to the hot mess of empathic resonance swirling in Tristin’s head.
By the time they reached the school’s entry hall — the new hall, built from freshly hewn planks, thank the Dragon Mother — Tristin’s skin was slick with cold sweat. The moment his bare feet touched the smooth, polished floorboards, the sensations absorbed by the stones in the courtyard faded to a dim noise in the background, leaving him weak-kneed and trembling.
Master Ilya escorted him to his suite and waited in the sitting room while Tristin staggered into his bedroom to find something more suitable to wear than a cloak.
Now that the worst of the resonances were blocked by the relatively new wood, Tristin’s mind was a quiet as it ever got. He dressed quickly, in breeches and a shirt with sleeves long enough to hide his scars.
Outside, the sky was a clear, lavender blue, and Tristin took a moment to stare longingly at it. He could be out the window and gliding, pain-free, through the sky in a moment, if he dared.
The Wytch Master’s words threaded through his mind: Garrik would have no choice but to order your death…
For one brief moment, he thought perhaps that was the answer. But no — Tristin wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. Not quite. Though he feared if things didn’t improve soon, he might quickly reach that point.
With one last, longing look at the sky, he left his bedroom.
Dragonwatch, book 4 of the Wytch Kings series, is on track for a September release. This one features Tristin, who was a secondary character in Shadowspire (book 3), and Prince Mikhyal of Rhiva. Tristin's cousin, Wytch King Garrik of Altan, is moving forward with his plans to unite the kingdoms of the north against the Wytch Council, but Tristin has his own problems to deal with...
* * *
Tristin blinked hard to bring down his inner eyelids. He quickly located a downdraft, a swath of cool turquoise, and rode it in a lazy, spiraling descent toward the roof of the watchtower. His landing was perfect, but it gave him no satisfaction, and he didn’t make the shift back to human form.
Wytch Master Ilya stood before him, a cloak draped over his arm. “Would you shift for me, Tristin? I would have words with you, and we cannot speak properly when you are in dragon form and I am not.”
Tristin snorted, but didn’t shift. If Ilya wanted to speak to him so badly, he could shift into dragon form. Tristin knew exactly what Ilya wished to talk about, and the thought of it made his dragon-belly writhe and twist in dread.
His gaze drifted away from the Wytch Master to the slope of the mountain beyond the watchtower. He could have been safe in his cave by now, if he hadn’t been curious and come to investigate.
“Tristin… if you insist on spending all your time in dragon form, you risk losing yourself to the beast within. You will forget your humanity entirely.”
Tristin stared down at his wicked, ruby-red claws. Forgetting his human life would not necessarily be a bad thing.
“If you lose yourself to the beast,” Ilya continued, “you will be a danger to the folk of Altan. Garrik would have no choice but to order your death, though it would grieve him to do so.”
Ilya was right, of course, and Tristin knew it. He’d already experienced signs of the beast-mind overshadowing his human mind: losing track of the days, reveling in the hunt, the smell of blood transporting him into ecstasies the likes of which he’d never known as a human man.
“Won’t you try?” Ilya coaxed. “Your cousins are both very concerned about you, as am I.”
His cousins, yes. He owed them much. His life, his freedom… and his current condition. Which, truth be told, they were trying hard to help him with.
“I know the watchtower is particularly difficult for you,” Master Ilya said. “If you’d be more comfortable, you may glide down to the courtyard, and I will meet you there.”
With a heavy sigh, Tristin dipped his head in acquiescence and nodded toward the courtyard. Ilya smiled. “Very good, then. I shall see you in a minute. Would you like to take the cloak with you?” He held it out to Tristin, laying it across outstretched arms so it would be easy for the dragon to take it. Tristin carefully wrapped his claws around it and hopped to the edge of the watchtower roof on three legs. He spread his wings and glided down to the courtyard.
Shifting back into human form was easy, but the mental onslaught that came with it was shocking. Visions of armed men running to do battle flooded his mind. Shouted commands and screams of pain filled his ears, and he felt the bite of steel on flesh and the heat of fire. The smell of smoke and the taste of blood were almost enough to choke him. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself it wasn’t real, the sensations were too intense for him to remember that when he was caught up in them.
The empathic resonances bled from every surface he touched, and those first moments after shifting back into human form were always overwhelming, especially after the peace he experienced in dragon form.
Dragonwatch stood on the site of an old fort which had been home to the men who guarded the kingdom of Altan from the winter raids of the mountain barbarians. The barbarian tribes were gone now, thinned out or driven off nearly a century ago, during the Ten Winters of the Dark Ice, but the empathic resonances of the men who had fought here remained. The violence, fear, and pain experienced by those ancient warriors had suffused the stones of the watchtower and the surrounding landscape as their blood had soaked the dirt.
Most people were blissfully unaware of the savage history written in the land beneath their feet.
Tristin wasn’t most people.
The fears and hopes of those long dead souls who had once defended the kingdom sliced through his head like millions of tiny daggers. Each alone was barely noticeable, a drop of rain in a raging storm. But the combined onslaught was so overwhelming that for a moment, Tristin froze, feet glued to the sun-warmed stone, hands clenching the cloak.
“Tristin?” Master Ilya’s voice broke him out of a haze of pain so intense, he forgot to hide his arms. Ilya gently uncurled his fingers from the fabric of the cloak. “You will be well again, I promise you,” Ilya said gently. “But I cannot teach you the shielding patterns if you insist on spending all your time in dragon form.”
The Wytch Master’s pale blue eyes fixed on Tristin, his expression remaining calm and composed. He didn’t look the least bit disgusted at the sight of Tristin’s gaunt frame, or the terrible scars on his arms.
Though he wanted to tear the cloak from Ilya’s hands and whip it around himself to cover his body, Tristin forced himself to wait while the Wytch Master gently draped it over his shoulders. When the cloak was in place, Tristin pulled it tight, holding it closed with shaking hands in an attempt to cover as much of himself as possible.
“Come on. You’ll feel better once you’re inside.” The Wytch Master’s voice was cool, a soothing contrast to the hot mess of empathic resonance swirling in Tristin’s head.
By the time they reached the school’s entry hall — the new hall, built from freshly hewn planks, thank the Dragon Mother — Tristin’s skin was slick with cold sweat. The moment his bare feet touched the smooth, polished floorboards, the sensations absorbed by the stones in the courtyard faded to a dim noise in the background, leaving him weak-kneed and trembling.
Master Ilya escorted him to his suite and waited in the sitting room while Tristin staggered into his bedroom to find something more suitable to wear than a cloak.
Now that the worst of the resonances were blocked by the relatively new wood, Tristin’s mind was a quiet as it ever got. He dressed quickly, in breeches and a shirt with sleeves long enough to hide his scars.
Outside, the sky was a clear, lavender blue, and Tristin took a moment to stare longingly at it. He could be out the window and gliding, pain-free, through the sky in a moment, if he dared.
The Wytch Master’s words threaded through his mind: Garrik would have no choice but to order your death…
For one brief moment, he thought perhaps that was the answer. But no — Tristin wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. Not quite. Though he feared if things didn’t improve soon, he might quickly reach that point.
With one last, longing look at the sky, he left his bedroom.
Monday, January 16, 2017
Shadowspire is Live!
Shadowspire, the third book in my M/M fantasy series, Wytch Kings, is now available at Amazon and Smashwords, and will be coming to other retailers soon.
If you used to shop at All Romance, please note that I have the same formats ARe used to carry (mobi, epub, and pdf) available at Smashwords.
Book Description:
Shy and bookish Prince Jaire of Altan is not particularly enthralled with the idea of marrying the simpering Lady Bria of Irilan, but Altan needs to renew its ties with the neighboring kingdom. For the sake of the alliance, Jaire is willing to do his duty, even if he would much rather marry a prince.
Sole survivor of the massacre now called the Irilan Rebellion, Prince Vayne of Irilan disappeared so long ago, no one even remembers his name. Trapped in the mythe to protect a secret that could change the balance of power in Skanda, Vayne has been fighting to retain his sanity for centuries.
When Jaire sees the ghost of a handsome young man dressed in fashions centuries old, he fears he might be losing his mind. But the ghost proves to be far more than a restless spirit, and might just hold the key to Altan’s future, as well as the key to Jaire’s heart.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Shadowspire Cover Art and Excerpt
So Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3) is nearly ready for a late January release. I just have final edits and proofreading to get through. Today I have cover art to show off, and a tiny taste of the story. Chinchbug gets better with every cover, I think. Here is his latest:
Book Description
Shy and bookish Prince Jaire of Altan is not particularly enthralled at the idea of marrying the simpering Lady Bria of Irilan, but Altan needs to renew its ties with the neighboring kingdom. For the sake of the alliance, Jaire is willing to do his duty, even if he would much rather marry a prince.
When Jaire sees the ghost of a handsome young man dressed in fashions centuries old, he fears he might be losing his mind. But the ghost proves to be far more than a restless spirit, and might just hold the key the northern kingdoms need to break free of the Wytch Council’s ever-tightening grip, as well as the key to Jaire’s heart.
Excerpt
“Breaking the amulet is the only way,” Vayne said softly. “And you must help me do it.”
Jaire stared up at Vayne. What if he broke the amulet and Vayne ended up dead? Or lost? Though he’d never touched the ghost-prince, the thought of being the cause of the man’s death troubled him deeply. “I… what if it kills you?”
“I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If you can free me, I can go for help. If you don’t free me, there’s no chance. What will Garrik do when they threaten you to gain his cooperation?”
“I… I don’t know,” Jaire whispered. “He’ll be terribly angry. And… and Garrik doesn’t always think clearly when he’s angry. And he especially doesn’t think clearly when I’m involved.” He didn’t like to imagine what Garrik would do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be well thought out, and would likely place Garrik in terrible danger. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right. If there’s any chance of freeing you so you can go for help, we had best take it.” He swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Thank you. For risking yourself. What must I do?”
“Take the amulet off and let’s see if we can free the stone.”
With shaking hands, Jaire drew the fine silver chain over his head. For a moment he squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, then opened it to reveal the emerald green gem wrapped in an intricate net of fine silver lying in his palm.
“See how the setting wraps around it, protecting it?” Vayne asked. “It’s designed to break easily. Hold it up to the light, and you can probably see the flaw deep in the crystal. It shouldn’t take more than the pressure of your boot heel to shatter it, once it’s free of the setting.”
Jaire blinked to clear his vision and examined the amulet closely. He lifted it to the light, and indeed, there was a dark fault line deep inside it. Jaire studied the metalwork cage, found a spot near the top where two small loops of wire were twisted together.
He pointed them out to Vayne. “I think if I unwrap these… it looks like it will open the setting and free the gem.”
“Do it,” Vayne whispered.
His fingers were swollen and bruised from hammering on the stone, and it took a few tries to get hold of the fine loops. Once he began untwisting them, it went quickly, and before long, the intricate wire mesh holding the gem opened enough for him to tip the stone out into his hand.
“Now you must crush it,” Vayne said.
“Vayne… I… I don’t know if I can. What if I hurt you?”
“I would do it for you if I could, Jaire, but I cannot. You must be my hands in this. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. I am asking you — I am begging you — to break the gem. Please, Jaire. End my exile. Give me the chance to help you.”
Vayne’s words gave him strength. Vayne wanted this and so Jaire would do it for him. It would be selfish to keep the ghost-prince trapped just because Jaire wanted his company.
He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved away from the wall.
“Just crush it beneath my boot?”
“Ai,” Vayne breathed. “I believe that will be enough.”
Jaire set the gem on the floor and stared down at it, then turned his gaze to Vayne. He studied the ghost-prince for a long, long time, memorizing the lines of his face as he did. “If this doesn’t work… I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company very much, and I wish… I wish I could have known you better. I would like to have touched you.” He felt his face grow hot, but he kept his eyes fixed on Vayne, who gave him a sad smile.
“I would like to have touched you, too, Jaire.”
“Right then. Let’s do this.” Jaire raised his foot, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his boot heel down hard on the gem. The moment it shattered, a ripple of power shivered through the mythe. He opened his eyes to see Vayne on his knees, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock before the ghost-prince vanished.
Book Description
Shy and bookish Prince Jaire of Altan is not particularly enthralled at the idea of marrying the simpering Lady Bria of Irilan, but Altan needs to renew its ties with the neighboring kingdom. For the sake of the alliance, Jaire is willing to do his duty, even if he would much rather marry a prince.
When Jaire sees the ghost of a handsome young man dressed in fashions centuries old, he fears he might be losing his mind. But the ghost proves to be far more than a restless spirit, and might just hold the key the northern kingdoms need to break free of the Wytch Council’s ever-tightening grip, as well as the key to Jaire’s heart.
Excerpt
“Breaking the amulet is the only way,” Vayne said softly. “And you must help me do it.”
Jaire stared up at Vayne. What if he broke the amulet and Vayne ended up dead? Or lost? Though he’d never touched the ghost-prince, the thought of being the cause of the man’s death troubled him deeply. “I… what if it kills you?”
“I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If you can free me, I can go for help. If you don’t free me, there’s no chance. What will Garrik do when they threaten you to gain his cooperation?”
“I… I don’t know,” Jaire whispered. “He’ll be terribly angry. And… and Garrik doesn’t always think clearly when he’s angry. And he especially doesn’t think clearly when I’m involved.” He didn’t like to imagine what Garrik would do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be well thought out, and would likely place Garrik in terrible danger. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right. If there’s any chance of freeing you so you can go for help, we had best take it.” He swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Thank you. For risking yourself. What must I do?”
“Take the amulet off and let’s see if we can free the stone.”
With shaking hands, Jaire drew the fine silver chain over his head. For a moment he squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, then opened it to reveal the emerald green gem wrapped in an intricate net of fine silver lying in his palm.
“See how the setting wraps around it, protecting it?” Vayne asked. “It’s designed to break easily. Hold it up to the light, and you can probably see the flaw deep in the crystal. It shouldn’t take more than the pressure of your boot heel to shatter it, once it’s free of the setting.”
Jaire blinked to clear his vision and examined the amulet closely. He lifted it to the light, and indeed, there was a dark fault line deep inside it. Jaire studied the metalwork cage, found a spot near the top where two small loops of wire were twisted together.
He pointed them out to Vayne. “I think if I unwrap these… it looks like it will open the setting and free the gem.”
“Do it,” Vayne whispered.
His fingers were swollen and bruised from hammering on the stone, and it took a few tries to get hold of the fine loops. Once he began untwisting them, it went quickly, and before long, the intricate wire mesh holding the gem opened enough for him to tip the stone out into his hand.
“Now you must crush it,” Vayne said.
“Vayne… I… I don’t know if I can. What if I hurt you?”
“I would do it for you if I could, Jaire, but I cannot. You must be my hands in this. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. I am asking you — I am begging you — to break the gem. Please, Jaire. End my exile. Give me the chance to help you.”
Vayne’s words gave him strength. Vayne wanted this and so Jaire would do it for him. It would be selfish to keep the ghost-prince trapped just because Jaire wanted his company.
He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved away from the wall.
“Just crush it beneath my boot?”
“Ai,” Vayne breathed. “I believe that will be enough.”
Jaire set the gem on the floor and stared down at it, then turned his gaze to Vayne. He studied the ghost-prince for a long, long time, memorizing the lines of his face as he did. “If this doesn’t work… I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company very much, and I wish… I wish I could have known you better. I would like to have touched you.” He felt his face grow hot, but he kept his eyes fixed on Vayne, who gave him a sad smile.
“I would like to have touched you, too, Jaire.”
“Right then. Let’s do this.” Jaire raised his foot, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his boot heel down hard on the gem. The moment it shattered, a ripple of power shivered through the mythe. He opened his eyes to see Vayne on his knees, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock before the ghost-prince vanished.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Update, October 2016
Some update things...
1. Shadowspire is coming in early 2017. This is book 3 of the Wytch Kings series, and sets the stage for the coming conflict with the Wytch Council. Shadowspire is Prince Jaire's story, and takes place about five years after Blackfrost. The cover is done, and it's as gorgeous as the rest of the series. I'll be sharing the cover art in December, along with an excerpt and a firm release date.
2. The Guardians of the Pattern series will wrap up in 2017, with the final installment, Closing the Circle. This is Cameron's story, and it looks like it's going to be the longest of the six novels. This is not the end for these characters, though. They are still talking to me (some of them never shut up--I'm looking at you, Luka), so I think it's safe to say there will be more. How much more? Possibly another series, but I haven't really mapped anything out yet. At the moment, it's all vague ideas and random scribblings.
3. Once Closing the Circle is out, I'll be turning my attention to Kingmakers. This M/M fantasy trilogy chronicles the adventures of Kerry McKinnon, a Minnesota boy who stumbles across the Veil Between Worlds and discovers the world of Aion. During the course of his adventures, Kerry learns to identify the business end of a sword, falls in love, and attempts to save the world. Kingmakers takes place a few years after Leythe Blade, and Jace, Sasha, and Eredwyn are all important secondary characters. I'm looking forward to seeing what they've been getting up to since Leythe Blade.
4. I also have a couple of F/F stories in the planning stages, and at least one those could see the light of day in 2018. The Plot Rat and I have much to discuss.
1. Shadowspire is coming in early 2017. This is book 3 of the Wytch Kings series, and sets the stage for the coming conflict with the Wytch Council. Shadowspire is Prince Jaire's story, and takes place about five years after Blackfrost. The cover is done, and it's as gorgeous as the rest of the series. I'll be sharing the cover art in December, along with an excerpt and a firm release date.
2. The Guardians of the Pattern series will wrap up in 2017, with the final installment, Closing the Circle. This is Cameron's story, and it looks like it's going to be the longest of the six novels. This is not the end for these characters, though. They are still talking to me (some of them never shut up--I'm looking at you, Luka), so I think it's safe to say there will be more. How much more? Possibly another series, but I haven't really mapped anything out yet. At the moment, it's all vague ideas and random scribblings.
3. Once Closing the Circle is out, I'll be turning my attention to Kingmakers. This M/M fantasy trilogy chronicles the adventures of Kerry McKinnon, a Minnesota boy who stumbles across the Veil Between Worlds and discovers the world of Aion. During the course of his adventures, Kerry learns to identify the business end of a sword, falls in love, and attempts to save the world. Kingmakers takes place a few years after Leythe Blade, and Jace, Sasha, and Eredwyn are all important secondary characters. I'm looking forward to seeing what they've been getting up to since Leythe Blade.
4. I also have a couple of F/F stories in the planning stages, and at least one those could see the light of day in 2018. The Plot Rat and I have much to discuss.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Blackfrost is Live!
Today, I'm over at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for the release of Blackfrost, the sequel to Burn the Sky. There's an excerpt, a giveaway of Leythe Blade, and if you'd like to read BJ's awesome review, you can find it here
Blackfrost is Book 2 in my Wytch Kings series, which chronicles the events leading up to the earliest conflicts of the Wytch War. It features Kian, who was an important secondary character in Burn the Sky, and Ambris, an exiled prince of the kingdom of Miraen.
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing at Blackfrost is as Kian expects, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner in his attic bedroom? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Blackfrost is currently available at All Romance, Amazon, Apple, Kobo, and Smashwords, and will be coming to other retailers very soon. There's also a print version in the works, but it'll be a few weeks before that goes live.
Blackfrost is Book 2 in my Wytch Kings series, which chronicles the events leading up to the earliest conflicts of the Wytch War. It features Kian, who was an important secondary character in Burn the Sky, and Ambris, an exiled prince of the kingdom of Miraen.
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing at Blackfrost is as Kian expects, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner in his attic bedroom? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Blackfrost is currently available at All Romance, Amazon, Apple, Kobo, and Smashwords, and will be coming to other retailers very soon. There's also a print version in the works, but it'll be a few weeks before that goes live.
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