Meredith Hart's Blog, page 7

A Terrible Plan

So, I had this idea.

Actually, it was someone else’s idea (check it out here) based on a writing prompt: What if the oceans were replaced by forests, and the deeper you went in the forest, the bigger and stranger the plants and animals got?

Cool, huh? I added deep-sea vents to this idea, but instead of hot water, they leak pure magic into the Deep Forest. And then I needed a person in this Deep Forest. Someone who had to run away, so they went to the most dangerous place imaginable.

Ever since I finished Heart’s Escape, I’ve wanted to go back to the Towers of the Silver City. It’s a creepy place. It’s certainly a place someone would want to run away from.

There was just one problem. (Actually, there were several, but let’s start with one.) There is no Deep Forest in the Deceptions and Dragons series or the Fallen Hearts series, and I want to keep writing in this world.

I solved this by setting my Deep Forest story on another continent – thanks for the idea, Wings of Fire! And I started writing.

30,000-ish words later, I started to reconsider.

I love the Deep Forest. I love Aveus, the man running from the Towers, and Inira, the woman hunting him. But, I realized about halfway through the book, if I want to connect the Deep Forest to the worlds of Deceptions and Dragons and Fallen Hearts, I shouldn’t open that series on a totally new continent.

No problem. I had another idea.

I’ve been kicking around the idea of a second-chance romance for ages – the tension between two former lovers, the conflict that drove them apart, the decisions they would have to make or undo to finally be together again. Ugh, so good!

So, I wrote a second-chance romance set at the Towers of the Silver City. It’s got romance. It’s got adventure. It’s got characters confronting the things they always accepted to be true and deciding what to do when they realize the institutions they’ve served aren’t at all what they pretend to be.

Silver City mood board from my Pinterest page

But. Is a story set fully within the Towers really the best introduction to a new series?

No. No, it’s not.

At least, that’s what I decided, and it’s too late to debate it. (My husband has tried, trust me.)

So, now I’m writing the official Book One: Monster of the Dagger Mountains. It will be the first book in my new series: Killers of the Towers.

This is a villain romance filled with morally gray characters, traumatic backstories, magic that comes at a terrible cost, I don’t deserve you, and how do you live with the things you’ve done to survive?

Dagger Mountains mood board from my Pinterest page

Monster of the Dagger Mountains, the official book number one, will come out this fall, probably in October. It will be quickly followed by Monster of the Silver City, the second-chance romance between Syrus and Veloria, which is already written, and then by Monster of the Deep Forest, which is about 30% finished.

Basically…I started with book three, jumped to book two, finished it, and am now writing book one.

Yes. This is insane.

But hey, I’m a pantser. These things just kind of… happen?

And eventually, some fine day, I’ll have an entire series of snarky, steamy, romantasy adventures for you! Until then, I’ll post updates, sneak peeks, and mood boards right here for you to enjoy.

(Side note: If you hate waiting and you don’t mind reading books out of order, drop me a line at meredith_hart@sammacleod.net. I’ll offer Monster of the Silver City to my ARC Team soon, and I can add you to that list.)

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A Knife & A Win

Sneak a peek at one of my favorite scenes in Heart’s Rescue

There’s a sound a knife makes when it slides from its sheath.

It’s a cold sort of sound, like the hiss of ice sliding off the roof. The sound is almost a relief because I’ve been lying here for hours, pretending to be asleep, just waiting for it.

The voids only know where she even got the knife. I certainly didn’t offer one to her, and I doubt Phaedron would have been stupid enough to arm her, even though he seemed quite taken by her nice chest and wide eyes and pretty, pretty mouth.

The woman is quiet for a long time after the knife comes out. I keep my breathing slow and even, just like I’m the sort of idiot who’d fall fast asleep next to a complete stranger from the Kingdom of the Summer. It’s snowing outside, and the delicate patter of flakes against the heavy canvas of the shelter makes a nice cover for whatever it is Arryn’s doing.

What is she doing? I want to crack an eye open, but I can’t risk it. The fire’s probably nothing but embers and memories at this point; still, if she notices me watching, then the game’s up. I’d never get this kind of a chance again. Sadly, most people only underestimate me once.

When the attack finally comes, it’s not half bad. Arryn goes from her side of the shelter to mine in a heartbeat, and then her blade’s cold and hard against the skin of my neck, and the heat of her thighs stretches across my ribcage

“The crown,” Arryn growls.

I knew it. 

Slowly, I blink open my eyes. Arryn’s straddling my chest, her wild, dark hair framing her face. Her blade presses into my skin so hard that I’m going to cut myself if I try to swallow. Her eyes are pure murder.

“Oh, hey, lady,” I say. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t sleep?”

“The crown,” she growls again, louder this time, as if maybe my hearing was the problem.

I grin up at that murderous expression. 

“No crowns here. I’m as low-born as they come, Lady Arryn.”

She makes a sound deep in her throat. My magic curls under me, ready to burst from the ground if I need it. But I’m not going to need it. I think.

“There’s a crown in your pantry,” she continues, ignoring me. “Where did you get it?”

She hesitates. The knife is cold against my neck, like she’s been keeping it in the snow.

“Where’s the man who wore it?” she asks.

My grin feels like it’s hardening on my face, becoming something made of stone. 

“Crown?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She doesn’t speak. Her nostrils flare as she breathes. My magic rises silently in the dark edges of the shelter, pooling in the shadows.

“You know, it’s funny,” I say, “I can’t remember anything with a voids-damned knife pressed to my neck.”

Something ripples across her face, and the pressure eases off my neck for just a heartbeat. That’s my moment, my chance to press my advantage, to wrap my magic around her and yank her off.

I don’t take it. She draws in another breath, shakier this time, and then the knife is back, its flat edge pressed just below my jaw. I wait. I can almost see the wheels spinning behind her big, dark eyes. Her body is warm against my chest, and she’s leaning down so far that the folds of the cloak she’s wearing brush my neck. And if I continue that line of thinking, things are about to get real awkward.

“So,” I ask, trying not to focus on the way she’s got her knees wrapped around my ribs. “What’s your plan here, lady? You going to kill me or not?”

Her eyes spark fire, and for a moment she looks like she’s honestly considering it. I try to shrug in a way that’s not going to disturb the blade resting against my jugular.

“Because, if you do kill me,” I continue, “you should know, you’re not going to be able to find your way out of here.”

Also, if you kill me, Phaedron will hunt you down and rip you apart very, very slowly, I think but do not say. Arryn shakes her head slightly. The motion makes the knife relax, another little slip I don’t press to my advantage. 

“I can read a map,” she says, her voice heavy with derision. “I could find my way out.”

“Really?” I say as if I’ve never heard of a woman who can read a map. “That’s cute. I’ll let you try.”

She scowls down at me. 

“Answer my question, Rowan.”

“Take your fucking knife off of my fucking neck. Lady.”

Silence draws out between us, as cold and heavy as the snow. Firelight paints Arryn’s face in crimson and gold. She must have added more wood to the fire as I pretended to sleep. That’s more thoughtful than I would have expected out of a high-born lady from the Worlds Above.

Arryn huffs a sigh, and I know defeat when I hear it. She rocks back, taking the knife away from my throat but keeping her knees planted on either side of my ribs. Voids damn it, I thought her chest would be less distracting now that she’s layered in the spare clothes we gave her, but it’s almost worse to see the way my old blue sweater hugs her curves.

“Is he still alive?” she asks. “The man who wore that crown?”

I glance to the side and finally see her weapon. It’s one of our knives, of course. One of Phaedron’s kitchen knives. Sneaky little—

Her fingers tighten around the hilt of our kitchen knife, and I turn my full attention back to the woman straddling my chest. Dozens of answers skirt my consciousness in varying degrees of sarcastic snark. Never heard of him. Killed him myself. Crown, what crown?

In the end, I settle on the truth. It seems easiest.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Click here for Heart’s Rescue!

Sneak Peek at The Elementalist

Chapter One: Anette

Oh, that infuriating man!

I stomped away from Gaul as if the four demons I’d just driven back into the woods were still on my heels. That gods-damned gorgeous jerk! I’d just saved his stupid life. I’d driven away four honest-to-gods demons with nothing more than a dagger, not to mention burned Leif when he’d tried to throw me to the monsters. 

Gaul hadn’t stopped Leif, and Gaul didn’t have a damned thing that would have stopped those demons, and we both knew it. So what did Gaul say to me when it was over, when I’d defeated Leif and beaten back the monsters that had killed two Citadel Masters right in front of us?

What the hell are you?

The words burned in my mind, making magic spark and snake down my skin. My cheeks felt hot and my heart hammered in my eardrums as if I really were sprinting instead of just stalking blindly down this muddy, rain-streaked road to nowhere. 

What are you? 

Not who are you, as if he’d just then realized I was the descendant of Lord Valrion the Duskbringer. Not what did you just do to save my worthless life? But what are you, as if I were no different from the monsters I’d just dispatched to the woods. As if waving my family’s ancient demon-slaying dagger at a pack of actual freaking demons that were threatening both of our lives had just fundamentally changed who I was.

My chest tightened. Rainwater blurred my vision. 

Of course it changed who I was. Gaul had thought I was something sweet and innocent, a suitable pretend girlfriend carrying his pretend child. A convenient cover story.

Now, though. Now he knew better. And now Gaul would treat me just like everyone else in the kingdom treated wildmages. Those horrid posters in Mayhaven swam to the front of my mind with their charcoal sketch of Vethe’s face and the details of his execution. 

I shivered despite the burn of my magic and the fire of my rage. Gaul knew I was a wildmage now. I had to put some space between us now, before he called the king’s soldiers to drag me to the executioner’s—

“Anette!”

Despite myself, I spun around and scowled at Gaul. He was trotting through the mud as rainwater poured off his hair, his face a hard mask.

“Where are you going?” he called.

I turned around. Fuck him if he though I would answer that. His heavy boots splashed closer to me.

“Anette,” he called again. “You’re following the Citadel Master.”

My steps faltered. What in the gods’ green earth was he talking about?

“One of them ran away,” Gaul said. He pulled up beside me and his voice dropped until it was a whisper. “Before the fighting started. He said—”

“Not here,” I whispered as the memory came back to me.

My entire body went cold. I turned to Gaul, my anger fleeing in the face of a greater wave of fear. “What did he mean, ‘Not here?’”

Gaul shook his head. “I have no idea.”

I narrowed my eyes at Gaul’s idiotic non-answer. “It means he wasn’t surprised to see demons,” I spat. “It means he was only surprised to see them here.”

Gaul nodded. He looked angry, or possibly even afraid.

“So, where did he think they should be? Where would a Citadel Master expect to see demons?” I demanded, my voice rising.

“Anette.” Gaul’s expression softened as he leaned closer to me. “It might be best if this particular Citadel Master didn’t know that we survived. Not yet.”

I scowled at Gaul. “What are you trying to say?”

“Can we please get off the road?”

I glanced from the wave-ruffled lake to the darkness beneath the trees and bit my lip. “The demons—”

“Could be anywhere,” Gaul agreed. “But the demons are scared of—” 

He waved his arm at my hip, gesturing vaguely at the place where I’d ripped my skirt in half in order to reach B’thyen the Lifegiver, the ancient dagger my family had preserved through the generations for the sole purpose of bleeding demons into wildmages who’d gone and given themselves mage fever.

And, yeah, apparently demons don’t like it. That was news to me.

“Whatever that thing is,” Gaul finished with an uncomfortable nod toward B’thyen’s hilt. “So, at the moment, I’m more concerned about the Master who escaped.”

He reached forward. His fingers brushed my arm. I yanked away from his touch.

“Why are you even here?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice at a whisper. “Why did you follow me? Are you just waiting until you can hand me over to the king’s soldiers for being a wildmage?”

Gaul blinked, then ran his fingers through his hair, scattering water droplets. 

“No,” he sighed. He looked exhausted. “No, Anette, I’m not. I’m not going to hand you over to anyone. I’m here because there’s a Citadel Master who now knows exactly how to get to the wildmage camp where Lyria might end up. And Vethe,” he added, like my brother was an afterthought.

The implications made me feel like I’d just been punched in the stomach. “Oh, no,” I groaned.

“Listen, though. You know who else knows how to get to the wildmage camp?” The hint of a smile danced around the edges of Gaul’s mouth. “I do,” he whispered.

“Gods,” I sighed. 

I suddenly felt very wet, very cold, and very, very hungry. Gaul was right, of course. Now I remembered the Citadel Master who’d turned on his heels and fled down the road, although at the time I’d barely registered that fact as my mind screamed in terror at the four snake-like demons barreling down at us like incarnated monsters born out of my worst nightmares. 

But yes, Lief had been telling the Citadel Master how to reach the wildmage camp. Now the Master would know. The flames that had lit up the forest behind me as I’d fled Raven’s Wing leapt into my memory.

No, the Citadel would not leave a wildmage encampment in peace. But, gods, I was so tired. It felt like I’d been running since Henrix had woken me a lifetime ago with his bony hand on my shoulder, thrust a bag in my lap, and told me to go to Mayhaven.

“Fine,” I said. I wiped my sodden hair from my eyes and ran my hands down the front of my ruined dress as if there were anything I could do at this point to redeem my appearance. “Which way do we go?”

Gaul frowned into the forest. “Through the woods. Come on, let’s get off the road.”

He ducked into the woods and turned around to hold back branches for me. Mud squelched under my boots and thorns tore at what was left of my skirts as I followed him. Rainwater traced a cold path down my neck, and I thought one last time of the orange glow we’d seen across the water, all those lanterns flickering in the warm little houses of Crowsport.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Gaul said without turning around. His voice was a low growl against the steady thrum of rain on leaves and branches.

“Sure,” I grumbled. As if I’d been planning on blundering through the forest with my damn eyes closed like some kind of lunatic.

What the hell are you?

Gaul’s words burned through my consciousness, bringing another rush of anger as hot and bright as my magic. What am I? Hendrix’s rough assessment, spoken casually like any other naked fact, rose out of the murky depths of my memory.

“I haven’t seen anyone with more power,” he’d told me once, after a day of training. It had been late fall, when the leaves scuttered over the cobblestones of the courtyard like mice in the cellar. We’d been sitting together in the last of the sunlight, watching the shadows race up the broken walls of the southern wing.

“You’ll do well in the Citadel,” Hendrix had finished. 

Then he’d taken a swig of water, stood, his joints cracking in loud protest, and walked through the doors of Raven’s Wing, leaving me gasping in open-mouthed disbelief. Hendrix did not praise; it was not his way. He felt wildmages learned best by knowing what they did wrong, not right, and never before in my life had Henrix commented on my talent. I’d had no metric by which to judge the strength of my magic, especially after Vethe left Raven’s Wing.

So I’d clung to that passing moment in the autumnal courtyard, kept it close to my chest, fanned it like an ember. Someday, I’d thought, that ember will become a fire. I’d imagined it would happen at the Citadel, under the tutelage of the Masters, and thanks to whatever money-making scheme Vethe, Hendrix, and Hylene happened to wrangle into existence.

But then Citadel burned Raven’s Wing, and now two Masters lay dead in the mud behind me. I doubted there was enough money in the Kingdom to buy me safe passage into the Citadel now.

I still had my magic, though, hissing and purring beneath my skin, ready to ignite another son of a bitch like Leif, or to start a fire and keep the darkness at bay. I had my dagger, the ancient blade that had cowed four demons into submission. I had my magic, and my training.

What the hell was I? 

I was the gods damned great-great-great granddaughter of Lord Valrion the Duskbringer. The Lady Anette Scarvian. Wildmage. Wielder of B’thyen the Lifegiver. 

And I was going to survive whatever the gods threw at me.