A.L. Knorr's Blog, page 4

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Sneak Peek 2: Çifta

Dear Gemma,

In the several days that have passed since I arrived, I have decided that Solana Palace must be hiding some horrifically dark secrets—adulterous trysts, sinister political intrigues, gossips with vile intentions, murderers masquerading as charming nobles. What kingdom in Ivryndi doesn’t have murderers?

I came to this suspicion after witnessing a superior member of the palace staff get to his knees to help a kitchen wench clean up a pile of broken crockery and leftover oatmeal that she had accidentally dropped. It wasn’t this kind and humble gesture alone that has pushed me from simply admiring outsider, to bemused guest, to full blown skeptic. It has been three and a half days of witnessing the flawless outplaying of harmonious palace life everywhere I look. Can this place possibly be real? At first, I just marveled at how polite the courtiers were among themselves, how sweetly the Calyx treat every visitor no matter where they’re from or their station in life. But soon I couldn’t fail to notice that it isn’t merely the upper classes and celebrity citizenry (after all, they are expected to behave in a gentile manner anyway) who seem to value decorum the way people in Boskaya treasure gold.

Servants are kind to stable hands, launderers laugh in the yard with the herbalists, chemists chat with the arborists in an easy and sociable manner, soldiers are polite to the boys who shine their boots with shoe-black and oil their leathers with green-tinted salves.

Yesterday, I returned from an early morning stroll and entered the main courtyard in time to witness two blacksmiths rush out of the forge. Their objective? To help a scrawny young farrier-in-training get a spooked stallion under control. Without being asked, gardeners bring the last of the late harvest blossoms to cleaning staff whom they know like them, just so they have something pretty and fragrant in their own rooms to enjoy after a long day’s work.

As if this all weren’t enough, I have been given a beautiful suite of rooms in the East Keep and enough clothing, shoes and accessories to be mistaken for a member of the royal family. I have been better treated here as a refugee than I ever was as a princess-to-be in…

Çifta paused and sat back in her chair, touching the end of her quill to the tip of her nose. It would be better if she kept her accusations out of the letter, in case someone other than Gemma read it. She reached for the blotter and soaked up the still wet ink of the last line. Over the smudge, she wrote anew:

I have been welcomed to sit alongside the most distinguished guests in the banquet hall, and no one has pried into my personal affairs, although there is a warm level of interest in my person and my presence. I tell you, Gemma. These Solanans cannot be trusted.

Çifta chewed her lip and looked away from the page, wishing that a certain red-headed fae male from Stavarjak had shown a warmer level of interest in her person and her presence. She couldn’t complain to Gemma that Laec had not sought her out—other than to perfunctorily ensure that she was not injured from their escape, that she had everything she needed—including parchment, ink and a quill, with which to write to her father post-haste—and that her suite was warm and comfortable—a suite that was an apartment consisting of four rooms all decorated with varying botanical themes, and were luxurious to the point of absurd.

Gemma would cheekily tell her to have a dalliance if it was what she wanted, it was Gemma after all. But her sister would also reply that Çifta had no right to expect anything from Laec, especially not after she’d let him think she was available, and Gemma would be right.

The irony was that now that she had damaged Laec’s trust in her, she was very close to becoming available—she hoped—again. She wouldn’t make matters worse by telling Laec any of this. She had to finalize things with Kazery first. What Laec might have to offer that would satisfy Kazery’s appetite for wealth and influence? Çifta didn’t know. She had doubts about the big-eyed, wild-haired Stavarjakian with the too-long eye-teeth. It was stupid of her to think of it, really. Childish. It was only a girlish crush for a handsome and unavailable male. Too bad the message wasn’t getting through to her heart. A day did not pass since she’d been rescued, where Laec had not come into her thoughts. And nights? Çifta blushed to think of the manner in which he’d come into her dreams as well.

Laec’s expectation had been clear: Çifta would write to her father, and he would send an escort for her in a matter of days. Already, she’d lingered at Solana for too long. Already, she’d been on the receiving end of a calculated look from Laec in passing, a look that she read as still here?

She was supposed to return to her home city and her former life so her father could begin the hunt for an appropriate husband once more. When she thought of it, dread piled up in her heart like rocks. She wasn’t ready to think about another match, not after what had transpired in Rahamlar.

Truthfully, she didn’t even want to go home.

End of excerpt.

A Memory of Nightshade is up for pre-order now. Should Release before the end of July, 2022.

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Sneak Peek: A Daughter of Winter

Sneak Peek: A Memory of Nightshade

The Inspection

Jessamine sat in a chair positioned in front of one of the tall windows—in what she had learned the Calyx referred to as “the tailors’ den”—where the morning light fell over her face. All around her Calyx sat at vanity tables, doing their own makeup or letting another do it for them, as Rose was doing for Jess. Makeup was not commonly used by the Calyx since the flora magic gave them an otherworldly beauty that didn’t need to be accentuated—except for Jess, who looked no different than when she’d arrived. Aster had comforted her by saying that flora fae changed at their own pace and there was nothing to be worried about. When Jess complained that Peony had changed so much that she looked like she’d been in the Calyx for years, Aster had murmured, “But she’s a prodigy.”

Jess couldn’t tell if the comment had been sarcastic or not.

The tailors’ den didn’t have the air of buzz and excitement that it usually had before performances. The Calyx had been told that they were going to be inspected, but not by who, nor why. They’d been instructed to remain quiet and calm—just to stand in place for the duration.

The articles that Olinya and her team had unearthed for the Calyx to wear transcended any outfit Jessamine had worn or seen before. These were outfits of stunning design and proportion. Costumes. Already a few of the Calyx had finished their hair and makeup and were being dressed on the second level in front of the mirrors. Diaphanous gowns with crystals sewn into the fabric, structured suits with wide sweeping features at the shoulders to accentuate masculinity. Headdresses for some, tiaras for others, incredibly high hairstyles that required pounds of pins and a fixative to stay in place.

Some of the Calyx exchanged confused looks about how they were being prepared. Jess could see the questions in their eyes. Why so elaborate? Why the makeup? For an inspection? It didn’t make a lot of sense. Olinya, with her usual smile and good cheer, speculated that it might be a kind of inventory taking. Such had a thing had happened once or twice before. But when it came Jess’s turn to be dressed, she suspected that Olinya knew more than she was letting on. Her kind dark gaze had concern that wasn’t usually there. She tutted and murmured as Jess was enfolded and swallowed by her costume, then put final touches on Jess’s headpiece. When Olinya moved out of the way so Jess could see her reflection, she stared at herself with a species of horrified amazement.

She looked… well, like someone else. Which was entirely the point.

She’d been wrong; these weren’t costumes, they were distractions, disguises. They’d be presented to Captain Yorin looking completely different from how they normally looked, and worlds apart from how they had appeared when they’d performed at Rahamlar in veils and long-sleeved, high-necked gowns. Jess began to feel a little better as she turned this way and that, inspecting her disguise. Rose had applied cosmetics with a heavy hand, and cleverly: Jess appeared to have much juicier lips than she actually possessed, her cheek bones appeared wider and higher, her eyes looked properly huge, and the eyelashes that Rose had glued to her lids were pale green to match her gown and draw attention away from any fear in her gaze. Layer upon layer of pale green gauze cascaded over her hips and thighs, all the way to the floor. Strapped to Jess’s feet were a pair of platform shoes, invisible beneath the gown. They made Jess’s legs appear longer and brought her to a height similar to the most mature Calyx. Beazle couldn’t burrow his way into Jess’s hair, with its tight updo and coatings of glue, so Olinya installed a many-petaled rose blossom which he could hide beneath or inside.

Ilishec slipped between the mirrors. He inspected Jess with thoughtful satisfaction. “Wonderful job, Olinya. She looks like an entirely different creature. Turn for me Jess. How are the shoes? Giving you any trouble?”

“No. They’re fine.” Jess stepped off the platform and walked around, her spine erect and one hand on her hip, showing Ilishec how poised and confident she could look.

“Good.” Ilishec took her hands and looked into her eyes, his expression heavy. “Remember: honeysuckle, cleome, and ergeron. Think about no other botanicals but them. For today, they’re all you can conjure. The others do not exist.”

“I understand.” Ilishec and Rose had explained that these were her most benign and pleasantly scented plants.

“Do as I say, and they won’t identify you. I have every confidence.” He released her hands and stepped back.

Jess glanced in the mirror. Seeing herself this way made her feel less exposed—she barely recognized herself. But would it really be this easy? “Won’t the captain be upset that we are so heavily altered?”

The gardener pressed his lips into a line. “That’s his problem. When he made this agreement with King Agir, he didn’t stipulate what the Calyx were to wear. If he takes issue with it, then it’s too late. If he implies that we are hiding someone, we will ridicule him. He knows nothing of the Calyx, our routines, our practices. We are dressed this way because we have a private performance this afternoon.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t even care if he doesn’t believe me. When he figures out that can’t nail down a perpetrator, that will be the end of it.”

Jess nodded, eager to get on with it. She wanted to get it over with now, plus her scalp was starting to itch and blinking felt weird.

At precisely ten-forty-five, the Calyx made their way to the little used ballroom. Staff stepped to the sides of the halls to let the Calyx pass, watching the fae with expressions of awe. Jessamine wondered what they’d been told, if anything. Fifty flora fae decked out in Olinya’s most extravagant costumes and wearing enough makeup for a circus must be a bit of a shock to the palace servers accustomed to seeing them bare-faced and wearing tunics and sandals.

Without any ceremony, the Calyx stepped into the large, windowless ballroom. It smelled musty, and the wooden floorboards creaked as they lined up in rows of ten.

Jess’s heart leapt when she as she saw that Captain Yorin was already there, flanked by two human soldiers; two unseelie soldiers were seated in a shadowy corner. With narrowed eyes, the captain watched the Calyx enter and arrange themselves into neat lines. The chandeliers and sconces were lit with etherlight, but they gave off a cold blue, different from the flattering amber lighting the Calyx had performed under in Rahamlar. Jess thought this must be Ilishec’s subtle way of expressing his annoyance with Captain Yorin. They’d be allowed to do an inspection, but the gardener didn’t have to like it or make it easy.

When Yorin uncrossed his arms, Jess’s pulse increased and she began to sweat. He held the torn sleeve from her tunic, the one she’d worn that night. When the captain held the sleeve down for a dog to sniff—a dog that had been sitting so still and quiet that Jess didn’t see it until it moved—Jess’s heart began to run hurdles.

She closed her eyes, swallowing down the lump in her throat, mind racing. Sifting mentally through her botanicals the way a chef picks through crates for the right produce, Jess banished all the toxic botanicals and focused on the three Ilishec had commanded. Honeysuckle: mountains and mountains of sweet, fragrant honeysuckle…

Yorin didn’t speak, didn’t address the Calyx, didn’t ask questions or complain about their ridiculous costumes and makeup. He didn’t need to, not with a hunting dog at his side. Jess opened her eyes just as Yorin unsnapped the hound’s leash. With an upward glance and a couple of tail-wags, the dog sniffed the sleeve one last time then trotted across the floor to the nearest Calyx: Proteas. Quickly moving on, the hound sniffed its way through the fae, pausing here and there. The speed with which it moved through the company was a little disconcerting.

A Memory of Nightshade is up for pre-order now. Should Release before the end of July, 2022.

Read the book blurb.

Read about the series.

Interview with Kia

Watch this March 11, 2022 interview with Kia Carrington-Russell of Bound by Books.

Deleted Scene from a blossom at midnight; aster’s point of view

 

When I wrote the first draft of A Blossom at Midnight, I included the points of view of several characters in addition to Jessamine, Laec and Çifta. Those points of view were deleted in later edits. Here is a short, 1600 word scene written from the point of view of Aster. Please forgive any mistakes, this deleted scene did not undergo final edits. Enjoy!

Deleted Scene: aster

Aster rapped on the arched wooden door leading to Ilishec’s workspace. The sound of quiet weeping drifted through the keyhole and under the cracks at the base. Surprised, she leaned down and cocked her head so she could hear better. It was very early, the sun hadn’t long been up, but already someone needed comforting? When the door swung wide, she straightened like a marionette on strings suddenly pulled taut.

The kind face of Ilishec’s wife, Hazel, peered up at her. She wore a crown of curlers even though her hair was too short to wrap fully around them. Her eyes were caught in nets of wrinkles as she smiled and stepped aside. “Hello, Lotus. Come in.”

Ilishec looked over from across the room, one hand on the shoulder of a weeping Calyx. “That’s Aster, dear.”

“I know it’s Aster.” Hazel picked up the hem of her skirt and marched outside. Aster heard her start to hum.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Aster.” Ilishec said.

Aster nodded and moved a stack of books from a seat to the huge worktable so she could sit. The room was overflowing with encyclopedic volumes, illustrated collections of botanicals and insects, historic journals penned by former Royal Gardeners, illuminated manuscripts, terrariums and bell jars filled with living or dried species. Stained glass windows made rainbows across the walls, floors and furniture. It smelled like rich soil, fragrant flowers and nutrient-dense mulch.

Ilishec lowered his voice, but Aster felt no need to eavesdrop. The upset Calyx was Gardenia, a pale willowy girl with a fragile beauty. She should have guessed. Gardenias were tender plants, so she too was tender, whether or not she was born that way. The magic of the Calyx was not without a price. Aster gazed around the room as Ilishec muttered comforting words. He would do so until Gardenia’s tears abated. Aster had long thought Ilishec was some kind of saint. No matter how many times per week a sensitive Calyx complained of some irritation or strife, Ilishec greeted them with compassion and patience. It might be a fellow Calyx invading their space or making them feel crawly. It might be a simple lack of sunlight, or overeating or drinking making them lethargic or whiny. It might be some nutrient deficiency for a few of the notoriously needy specimens that Ilishec must deduce and rectify. Whatever it was, the Royal Gardener did not relent until he found a solution.

Aster herself had to be coddled in the early days, before her magic matured. The species she represented were hardy but late-blooming. At times Aster’s nerves were frayed by the complaints of the more tender and emotionally fragile Calyx, but she admired Ilishec’s endless equanimity and tolerance so much that she resolved to foster the same level of forbearance as their master. While she was Calyx she could never achieve it, she was too subject to the nature of her magic, but it was one thing to look forward to after her time at the palace came to an end.

For the most part, Ilishec managed to keep all the Calyx healthy and balanced. His staff–consisting of estheticians,  nutritionists, and practitioners specially oriented to aid flora fae–were trained to ensure the retinue were kept as close to peak productivity as is possible. The royals at Solana, from time to time, welcome unexpected guests for whom the Calyx were expected to perform with no more than a few hours’ warning.

Aster waited patiently until Gardenia was not quite smiling but was much improved. She perched on the edge of a worktable, facing the stained glass. She stood, towering over the gardener, and as she turned to give Ilishec a hug of gratitude, Aster was once again struck by Gardenia’s unusual beauty.

Gardenia brought new meaning to the word ‘fair’. She was six-foot one inch tall, with endless slender limbs encased with soft skin the color of fresh cream. Her neck alone was enough to send the artists retained at the palace into paroxysms of pleasure. Her hair looked like some alchemical blend of spun silver and gold, a shade of unusual creamy white. Her eyes were the color of ash and her brows and eyelashes glimmered in the light. Her wide mouth was expressive and palest pink. Aster had heard her referred to as the graceful ghost by courtiers who didn’t know or couldn’t remember her name. Her green, powdery scent was among the most prized and expensive to come out of the perfumery, surpassing even Rose’s.

Gardenia glided to the exit, favoring Aster with an embarrassed smile as she ducked her head to fit under the doorframe. Aster felt a moment of pity but squashed it, reminding herself that when Gardenia left the Calyx she’d be a very wealthy fae. If humiliating displays of emotion were what she had to endure, it would be more than worth it.

“Aster.” Ilishec crossed the stone floor and worn carpet to a deep marble sink to wash his hands. He washed many times per day as he moved between tasks.

She joined him near the window, leaning on the marble countertop, scanning the bell jars filled with interesting species. The majority of the contents originated from earth, since Terran species were the only kind the Calyx could connect to with their magic.

“How was the festival at Dagevli?” Ilishec plucked a towel from a stack, dried his hands and tossed it into a basket beneath the table. “Were they happy?”

“Very. The party was still raging when we left. I have a feeling many of the villagers woke this morning with aching feet and heads.”

“Good.” Ilishec had warm brown eyes offset by a long sweep of wavy gray hair which he kept tied back with a ribbon. He had a thick but shapely beard and moustache which Aster knew was groomed three times a week by the Calyx’s own estheticians. He was not tall but sturdy, strong with rounded muscles from years of labor in the gardens and hothouses. He had gained a small slope below his chest that wasn’t there when Aster joined the retinue. The belly and the hair were the only features that betrayed his age. His face was wise but not old, smooth but not child-like. To Aster, he was ageless.

“I met a half-fae girl named Jessica.” Aster watched Trea flutter in through the open door, looking for her after his breakfast sojourn in the gardens. He floated across the room to land on her shoulder.

“Oh?” Ilishec leaned his knuckles on the table, giving Aster his full attention.

“She has a familiar, a mammal but the smallest I’ve ever seen.”

“A bat or a bird?”

“A bat.”

“Probably a fruit bat.”

“She said he eats insects, too.”

Ilishec went to an open text and flipped to the index where he combed down the page with a blunt finger. “Perhaps a bumblebee bat. They don’t get much larger than the end of a thumb, at least not in the wild.”

Flora fae could only bond with pollenating species that originated on earth, species that immigrated thousands of years ago but had not mixed with fae species and kept their original integrity. Species of insects or animals who cross-bred with fae species lost their ability to bond with flora fae, they became too wild, too strong in their own magic to need a connection.

“That looks a little like him.” She peered over Ilishec’s shoulder at the illustration in the book. “He had a cute little snout. His name is Beazle. She also claimed to have a second familiar, but I didn’t meet him.”

Ilishec lifted his gaze from the reference tome, arching a brow.

Aster noticed at his skepticism. “She didn’t strike me as the lying type. It was obvious she’d never been exposed to Calyx before; her wonder was absolute. I think she’s telling the truth, though I didn’t think it was possible to have two familiars. I thought I’d ask you about it.”

Ilishec straightened. “I’ve never seen any flora fae with two familiars, though I came across a reference in one of the older journals. I’d have a devil of a time finding it again, but I’ll look. Hazel might remember. I’ll ask her tonight.”

“So it’s possible?”

“There might be one or two unusual scenarios where it is theoretically possible.”

Aster frowned. “What was even more odd was that her mother discourages her from coming to Discovery. The girl thinks she’s too old because the announcement stipulated that only children between ten and fifteen were invited.”

Ilishec chewed his bottom lip. “Did you meet her mother?”

“No, and the girl took pains to hide her ears from me. Her mother’s been keeping her features hidden.”

Ilishec made a considering sound in his throat.

Aster thought she knew what it meant. “Dagevli isn’t far. Most of a day’s journey, it would be faster if you went with a small party. Perhaps you can convince her mother to let her come?”

“Perhaps.” Ilishec’s gaze retreated.

Aster felt he was on the edge of the decision. “I know you’re busy, but I thought since we have several Calyx leaving at the end of the season-”

Ilishec nodded. “We have spaces to fill. We’re losing some spectacular species, too. The queen is insistent that we fill all the spots before the new season.”

“Who knows what she might be capable of. Even if she’s only a daisy, or a buttercup…”

Ilishec gauged the quality of the light spilling in through the glass. “If we leave right away, we can be back by dark, assuming you’ll join me of course.”

“I’d love to!” 

He gave her a sharp, inquisitive look. “Did you get the mother’s name?”

“Marion Fontana. Would you like me to visit the aviary for you? Let her know we’re coming?”

Ilishec smiled. “You’re a treasure.”

Aster grinned. “Don’t I know it.”

End of excerpt

Grab your copy of A Blossom at Midnight, or preorder book 2: A Memory of Nightshade.

 

Feb. 2, 2022 Interview

Listen to this Feb. 2, 2022 Interview with the Prickly Pens.

Deleted Scene from A Blossom at Midnight

When I wrote the first draft of A Blossom at Midnight, I included the points of view of several characters in addition to Jessamine, Laec and Çifta. Those points of view were deleted in later edits. Here is one scene written from the point of view of Prince Ander. Please forgive any mistakes, this deleted scene did not undergo final edits. Enjoy!

Deleted Scene: Prince Ander

Dawn was a pink promise on the eastern sky, but night watchmen still hovered at the street corners of Rahamlar city. Mist swirled over the rivers, cloaking the towers and gathering in the dips and hollows like ghosts. Mourning doves and larks broke the quiet as Prince Faraçek and Prince Ander strode across the courtyard to the royal stables. Since they were old enough to ride, the brothers met once a week for an early morning tour. Daytime rides were purposeful; hunting, visiting tenants and villages, attending celebrations or political events, but the morning ride was pure pleasure, brothers escaping fortress life and their responsibilities, if only for a few hours.

Ander’s mount was a stallion named Iskander, after the famous prince who gave part of the original kingdom of Rahamlar to a beloved brother, which later became the neighboring kingdom of Solana. Iskander was a rare Terran breed called Akhale-Teke, brought through the veil so many centuries earlier that many thought of the breed as native to Ivryndi. Prized for his glimmering coat, Iskander was the epitome of his pedigree, a perfect and uniform gold. He reflected sunlight like he was made of metal and pranced, fully aware of how handsome he was. As Ander mounted him, he tossed his head, flipping his mane and pawing at the ground.

Ander himself matched his stallion for beauty. Tall, broad chested and straight-backed, Ander was the pride of Rahamlar. Green-eyed and strawberry blond with straight white teeth that flashed thousands of times a day to all who crossed his path, Ander was beloved. He wore a red velvet riding doublet and leather breeches with tall riding boots and soft calfskin gloves. On his head perched a feathered cap. Ander grinned as he watched Faraçek mount his mare, a young and spirited creature with a brindled coat, a breed properly native to the stables of their kingdom. Fryth was white with dark brown and red splotches, as though she upset buckets of paint and then rolled in them. A dark blotch covered one eye, giving her a rakish appearance. She danced in a circle as Faraçek swung his leg over, settling his bulk expertly into the saddle. The elder prince wore a fine jerkin of royal blue with black breeches, his preferred blade (a rapier without a name, since Faraçek considered naming swords to be childish) hung at his side.

Bolting into a near sprint, the princes bent low over their mounts, laughing and invigorated. Groomsmen and stable boys dove out of the way as the gates were hastily swung wide.

The golden stallion and painted mare raced along the serpentine road leading toward open fields where they could go full out. Thick trees arched overhead and coins of soft morning light kissed the dirt in front of their pounding hooves.

As the sound of galloping rose behind, Ander and Faraçek shared an understanding look and urged their mounts faster. Forcing the guards into a game of chase was an old prank, one they’d been reprimanded for many times by their father. They hadn’t done it in years. Still, the temptation couldn’t always be ignored, not on a day like today. As the forest thinned they cut off the road and into the trees. The horses dug into the soft earth to climb up and away from the river. They were well hidden in shadows by the time the guards thundered by, four of them, still blaming each other for losing the princes.

Faraçek and Ander smothered their laughter.

“Father will throttle us.” Faraçek’s dark eyes followed the shadows of the guards as they disappeared down the road.

“Their tracking skills could use the practice. Come on.” Ander pushed Iskander to climb, even as he pushed away thoughts of their father, King Osvitan. The king’s health was in decline and Ander was the heir. He didn’t want to think about losing his father, or what it would mean for him afterward. He didn’t feel ready for the responsibility.

The forest here was rough barked pine, tall and widespread. The terrain was not just rocky but treacherous, filled with huge gray-blue boulders. The horses picked their way expertly to the crest of the hill. Ahead lay sprawling, steep lands filled with forests, glens, and the occasional farm. They headed for the nearest valley at a trot. There was no sign of the guards. They were at times able to outrun their chaperones but they always allowed themselves to be caught a short while later; after all the only reason the guards were there was to protect the princes, not that there was much in the way of danger. There were forests in Rahamlar where bandits and thieves hid, but none within many miles of Rahamlar fortress itself.

The thrill of genuine freedom sizzled through Ander’s veins, tangled with a sting of regret. The guards would make a full and honest report and the princes would have to answer for their actions. Ander glanced at Faraçek but his unseelie brother was gazing at the view as Fryth picked her way along, his face set in its usual expression of contemplation and watchfulness. Ander wondered what his brother had to be so serious about. Nothing would change for Faraçek when King Osvitan passed. For Ander, everything would change.

Ander had always thought Faraçek looked like a fae pirate, the kind they read stories about as children. Everything about Faraçek was fastidious and fierce. He was not a wide man, but he was tall, hard, lean and vascular and had reflexes to beat Ander’s own. Ander had seen Faraçek’s blade move with inhuman speed. He had seen Faraçek catch a piece of falling crockery before it reached the floor when he should have been too far away to be able to do so. He had seen Faraçek catch a lizard in his hands as it zigged and zagged across the stone floor of their Isabey’s bedchamber, while the young princess stood on the bed and screamed with mingled terror and delight. The princes used to play a slapping game taught to them by one of the soldiers. Ander lost to Faraçek so often that his knuckles would bleed and the game lost its appeal. Faraçek would goad and tease him that he didn’t want to play simply because he knew he couldn’t win. Ander’s pride drew him back into the game, but he was rarely able to best Faraçek. No one else could best Ander at anything. Ander came to believe that it was Faraçek’s unseelie nature that gave him an advantage.

Faraçek only laughed at this. “We came from the same womb, which was planted by the same seed. The only advantage I have is that I’m older and wiser.”

But Faraçek had taken nothing physical from their human father, and Ander had taken nothing from their unseelie mother. Likewise, their youngest sister Isabey had taking nothing from Osvitan, and the second youngest Serya, had taken nothing from Queen Daryli. Isabey and Faraçek had their mothers pointed fae ears, her pitch-colored hair and pale, slightly greyish skin.

When the princes hit less rugged terrain and started across a section of grassland, Ander turned to Faraçek. “I have something for you. Father said I could be the one to give it to you.” He fished in a pocket.

“Is it a photo of my betrothed?”

Ander retrieved the miniature oval canvas wrapped in a silk handkerchief. “How did you know?”

“What else could it be? Father won’t survive to see another harvest, he must settle me with a wife before then.” Faraçek urged his mare into step with Iskander so he could take the little package.

Ander couldn’t read the emotion in his brother’s words. There was very little in the way of expression on his face. Was he bitter? Resigned? Ander decided it must be the latter, but his heart ached at the casual way Faraçek could speak of their father’s death. Ander handed over the portrait. He’d already seen it and watched Faraçek closely as the fae prince unwrapped the silk.

“So, who is she and where is she from?”

“Lady Çifta Unya, from Kirkik,” Ander said. “Daughter of the richest merchant in Boskaya. Her dowry will be worthy of a princess, and she is exceptionally beautiful.” Ander felt a sting of jealousy. His own bride was chosen many years ago, and while Princess Katya of Silverfall would come with vast lands and trunks of coins, she was not fair to look at.

“Not a princess?” Faraçek said in that flat, unexpressive way of his, like he was remarking on the weather. His gaze was on the girl’s likeness.

Frustration gripped Ander, and his curiosity to understand Faraçek overcame him. This was as big a moment as Faraçek has ever had in his life, his bride had been decided, why could he not let something show through on his face, for once?

“Are you displeased?” Ander kept Iskander reigned in so he would not pull ahead of Fryth.

“Not displeased. No,” Faraçek said softly, gazing at the portrait.

Çifta was a vision. Flowing locks of black hair parted straight down the middle, rose-petal lips and porcelain skin sweeping over high cheekbones, a flawless forehead and a feminine jaw. The column of her neck was long and graceful. Modest pearls dangled from tiny earlobes.

“I’ve never seen a prettier shade of blue, not even my eyes are so bright,” ventured Ander, who was well aware that his long lashes and sky-blue eyes had melted many hearts.

Faraçek wrapped the portrait and tucked it into his pocket. He gestured to the wide open plain. “Shall we?”

Ander tucked away his annoyance and urged Iskander into a canter. They were brothers, and not children anymore. Surely Faraçek could take Ander into his confidence. Perhaps when Ander was king and the persistent competitive tension that had always been between them was relegated to the past. Ander had always been the King-in-Waiting, but Faraçek had always been the elder, making for a confused tension. Ander looked forward to the day when things were settled, with Ander on the throne and Faraçek was seated at his right hand.

They rode until they reached a bog known as Uilainn, land that defied both use and development. Too soft to build roads or farms upon with soil to thin for trees, yet the bog of Uilainn had its appeal. Sandy trails threaded their way between saplings and flowering thistles, home to brightly colored fae bog-birds that sang prettier than any lark. The thistle-blossoms, when they were in bloom—as they were now—filled the air with a heady, spicy scent. Lining the sandy trails were boulders coated in bright green moss as soft to touch as velvet. Mist swirled through the dips, the last of it yet to burn away from the rising sun.

Ander urged Iskander into a canter and chose one of the sandy trails. He saw Faraçek hesitate, or was it the mare who was hesitating? Ander couldn’t tell, but he understood. Uilainn had some areas of deep muck known as quag.

“If we stick to the trails we’ll be fine,” Ander called, nudging his heels into Iskandar’s side. The air was so sweetly scented, and the terrain so alien and interesting that Ander couldn’t deny himself a ride through.

When he heard Fryth’s hoofbeats, Ander smiled and gave Iskander his head. They were headed straight for a moss-covered boulder. Ander bent low over Iskandar’s neck as they sailed over it, blood rushing through his veins. They wheeled, eager to see if Faraçek would attempt the jump. Iskander pranced backward as Fryth sailed over, legs tucked neatly under her.

The brothers shared a look of exhilaration at this new game. Iskander bolted along the sandy trail, Fryth following behind.

The trails were never straight and there were a thousand ways through the bog. Ander chose a path to the left, and Faraçek took a path to the right. They picked up speed as they galloped and leapt, following the curve of the trails or jumping boulders in their path. They came in line, separated by several metres and patches of rocks. A race ensued.

Fryth sailed over a boulder, Faraçek clinging to her like a burr. Ander and Iskander flew over obstacles like they had invisible wings. Ander pulled ahead, gritting his teeth as Iskander hugged the sharp curves. His eyes began to tear. He could hear Fryth’s hoofbeats and snorts.

Something long and black slithered into the trail in front of them.

Iskander screamed and slid, digging powerful hooves into the sand. He wheeled sharply and bucked his hindquarters.

Ander flew as though launched from a catapult, landing in the centre of a large patch of bog. The air rushed from his lungs. Blunt pain swept through his shoulder and hip. The side of his face mashed into the slurry. He lay still for several long seconds, taking inventory of himself. He was bruised but didn’t think it was more serious than that. A broken bone would be a dreadful inconvenience. As the pain eased, Ander put an elbow on the sand to lift himself. His elbow sank. Ander struggled and his hips and legs sank even faster than his elbow did. The bog quickly closed over most of his lower body and his right arm. Only his head, heels, neck and left arm were free. It happened so fast it took his breath away and sent his heart pouding. He was stuck. He called for Faraçek, breathing a sigh as Fryth’s hoofbeats echoed across the bog.

Iskander had stopped nearby and was sniffing the moss of the boulder Ander had flown over, as though considering it for a snack.

“Brother?” Faraçek called. “Where are you?”

“Down here.” Ander was beginning to laugh now that the pain of his fall had passed, and help had arrived. “He spooked at a snake.”

Faraçek spotted his brother and threw back his head. Both of them were laughing now.

“He threw you so easily? You look ridiculous.” Faraçek urged Fryth to get as close as she could to the slurry. The mare’s hooves sank and she danced back, tossing her head, sensing danger. “Can’t you get up?”

Ander moved his legs and pushed his right hand into the muck, searching for a solid bottom. The slurry gave way with a sucking sound. It was sickening feeling to find no solidity anywhere. Too far to reach for a shrub, and too far from Faraçek to be dragged free, Ander laughed again but cut himself off as the quag sucked him another couple of inches into itself. “A little assistance, please.”

Still laughing, Faraçek dismounted and toed his way to the bog’s edge, feeling where the slurry met the hardpacked sand of the trail. “Can you not find the bottom? Perhaps if you make yourself more vertical? You’re lying there like a badly used maiden.”

Ander snorted. The quags were not usually so deep, or so they’d been told. He struggled to stretch a foot downward, but was dismayed when he felt a sucking sensation. The quag had swallowed all of his legs, hips, his torso and right arm. The slurry skimmed his jawline. He tried to lift his left arm and sank even lower. Cold and damp seeped into his clothing.

“I cannot,” Ander gasped. “Bring a branch or something.”

Faraçek strode to a copse of saplings and brush. Taking the dagger from inside his boot, he freed the longest branch he could find. Crouching at the bog’s edge, he stretched out the branch, sending the thicker end to Ander.

Ander reached with his free arm but in the process rolled further onto his stomach. He sank deeper. His mouth felt sapped of all saliva and his heartbeat filled his hearing. He greatly disliked feeling so helpless. He worked to calm himself. He was not alone and it would do no good to panic. “Is there nothing longer?”

Faraçek frowned, his gaze sweeping around. “Not really. No.”

Ander’s left elbow was now buried, his hand sticking up from the slurry like a strange fleshy plant. He was afraid to put his hand under the muck for fear he wouldn’t be able to free it again, and he couldn’t lift his right hand out without sinking further. “Get the rope tucked in my saddle bag.”

“You have a rope?” Faraçek was surprised but went to Iskander at a jog.

Ander felt the slurry enter his right ear and the corner of his mouth. He strained to lift his head, but now that he was on his stomach it is difficult. He had to get on his back or he’d soon drown. Slowly, he tried to turn. He was somewhat successful but the price was too great. The muck swallowed his entire body up to his jaw, only his left hand and his head remained free. He wondered if the guards would find them soon. They were good trackers, but they wouldn’t have expected the princes to enter Uillain. Everyone knew it was dangerous.

Blood flushed Ander’s cheeks and his eyes rolled as he tried to see what Faraçek was doing. He could hear him talking to Iskander, soothing the stallion, as he searched the saddlebags.

Slurry filled both of Ander’s ears and he cried out for Faraçek to hurry. He looked up into the endless sky, now filled with fluffy white clouds. The occasional bird fluttered overhead, heedless of the drama. At any moment a rope would land on his face or near his hand.

The rope did come, but Ander could barely see it and couldn’t reach it. It was tossed and tossed but never landed where it was accessible to him.

A horrible suspicion bloomed in Ander’s mind as the slurry crept over his lips: His brother was missing on purpose.

There was no way someone as capable as Faraçek could possibly miss Ander’s splayed left hand. The distance was not far, the target was not so small. Faraçek was intentionally failing him. Ander knew with a sudden and iron-cold certainty; he was going to die.

He had never really known his brother until this moment.

He tried to scream but his mouth filled with slurry. A moment later it climbed over his nose, then filled his eyes, then closed over his head. Only his left hand was free. Desperately, he waved, clutching at nothing, his lungs burning and his mind reeling with shock… until the blackness swept it all away.

End of excerpt

Grab your copy of A Blossom at Midnight, or preorder book 2: A Memory of Nightshade.

 

Welcome

Welcome, readers, to my re-vamped website. Whether you have been reading my books since the very beginning—Thank You!—or are just dipping your toes into the worlds I create, I appreciate you, because without you I couldn’t support my family with my scribbles. It is hard to believe that it is now over five years since I first published Born of Water. What a ride—twenty-eight full novels across eight series, two novellas (three if you include The Wreck of the Sybellen) and a couple of shorts, not to mention box sets, and audio versions of most of them—but it isn’t done yet!

The website needed to catch up; as with many things, it took longer than anticipated, but I think the final product was worth the wait. We’ve improved the navigation, added new elements, and generally prettied it up. So take your time, explore the new features, and let me know what you think. A few highlights:

All my books are organized by series on the Library page; scroll down. Each book image is linked to more information and has a “Buy Now” button linked to your Amazon store.The Listen page has audio samples of every book available in that format.New to my books? Check out the Reading Order.Current promotions are highlighted on the homepage, as is the most recent release.The Journal (formerly my Blog) page is divided into categories: News & Updates, Work-in-Progress (aka Sneak Peeks) and Bonus Content (which includes author readings).And there is now an FAQ page with answers to your nagging questions.

In the future we will be adding pages for the German and Italian translations, and the audiobooks will have links to your Audible market. But it is past time to let you see the new version.

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She is also promising to keep me on track so that I provide more regular updates to the Journal. In the meantime, enjoy your explorations.

Author Reading from A Blossom at Midnight

A Blossom at Midnight

by Abby Knorr

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