Beth Alvarez's Blog, page 2

Spectrum Legacy is now complete!

Short and sweet this week. Spectrum Legacy is now complete, as book 6 has finally been released!

Click here to get your copy of Spectrum Legacy now!

It’s also available in Kindle Unlimited. Paperback editions are available through booksellers now and will be available through my own shop in the coming weeks.

Now that Spectrum Legacy is done, I have officially completed another book series. This is a huge deal and there’s a lot for me to evaluate now, but I’m excited to say I have a lot of amazing opportunities lining up for me.

Thank you for joining me while I finished this epic fantasy series. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to say the end.

Cover Reveal: Spectrum Legacy

The blade calls. The enemy looms.

With every piece finally in place, only one challenge remains: to reclaim the capital of Amroch, slay the emperor, and end the Rise forever.

Yet with every ally cut off and every fragile friendship broken, success has never seemed so unlikely.

Failure means ruin. So does victory.

This shall be their legacy.

Spectrum Legacy, the conclusion of the epic fantasy series, arrives in July.

An Exercise in Frustration (Pt. 12)

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

The morning that followed was quiet. The damaged door latch disappeared into Rune’s study with him and Firal chose to leave him be. She joined Minna in the kitchen, helped prepare breakfast and sliced fruit for Lulu while tea brewed. Seeing to the girl always came first, and by the time Firal had finished tidying the kitchen and helping with the dishes and the pot of tea was ready, Lulu was finished and toddling out the back door.

Firal had not yet settled and turned to go after her, but Minna intercepted her halfway across the room.

“The well’s cover is on. Let her be a child for a bit. She’ll be all right.” The old woman shooed her to the table.

Firal craned her neck to look out the back door, anyway. “It’s not like it was back in Core, when you could send the children out to play in the river. They all went together. She’s out there alone.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with being alone,” Minna chided. “But you’re the one who needs to know that, aren’t you?”

Light and teasing as it was, that struck Firal in ways she didn’t expect and her heart turned to a lump in her throat.

What was that supposed to mean?

Before she could sort it out, Minna patted her arm and excused herself out the open back door.

Firal frowned and lingered in the middle of the kitchen for a time, watching her daughter wander between the herbs in the garden. The mornings had grown cooler, and in the morning light, everything looked a shade more golden. She had never experienced a change of seasons like what she knew was coming, and it coiled an odd sense of foreboding around her heart.

Minna herded Lulu away from one of the more delicate plants and Firal made herself relax. For now, she did not have to worry.

She returned to the table to serve herself tea and eat the breakfast she’d prepared before everything else had distracted her. Steam rose from her teacup to tickle her nose and she held it in front of her mouth, watching.

Waiting, she decided a moment later, and not for another glimpse of her daughter outside.

Much of her life had been spent waiting.

Waiting for a higher rank within the temple.

Waiting for her husband to return.

Waiting for some sign things would be all right.

She shut her eyes and breathed deep.

Her nerves had not settled before footsteps in the hall stole her attention.

Firal glanced up as Rune came through the doorway with rolled paper in his hand. He moved with a familiar determination, moving every empty dish before he spread a map across the table and halfway across her morning toast.

“I want your opinion,” he announced as he slid his hands over the map to smooth it, then tapped a shape she recognized as a building a moment later. He gave her no chance to react before he went on. “This is where the bathhouse is going to be. It’s in a difficult place, right between a mercantile district here and a residential area here. Space comes at a premium and at the moment, we don’t have any options for pumping the amount of water needed daily.”

She blinked and slid her plate out from under the map. “Water?”

“Because of the barrier over the Royal City, employing mages isn’t an option. Anyone with an access stone is too high-ranking to take a job like that, and there aren’t enough access stones to give them to common workers. Not that the sponsors of the project are willing to pay many.” The corners of his eyes tightened, revealing what he thought of that. “We petitioned for windmills and Vicamros denied the request. Every design we’ve proposed is either too big to fit, or too loud to be built that close to the homes of nobles.”

“Windmills?” Firal couldn’t help but ask, for all that she hated how foolish it made her sound. “To move water?”

Rune stared at her for a moment, then turned the edge of the map. He produced a piece of graphite from somewhere—she thought it was behind his ear—and set to drawing an example. “Do you remember the waterwheel in Core? How it used buckets to carry water to the races that fed the bathhouse there?”

She nodded, but her eyes were fixed on his hand. He clasped the graphite loosely between his first two fingers as he sketched a simple depiction of a windmill and the shafts and gears that went with it. He still held it as if he had claws.

“The windmill moves these pulleys to draw buckets the same way, but that would require us to dig a large well in the middle of the city and Vicamros didn’t like that, either. So far, he hasn’t liked anything.” He paused just long enough for one corner of his mouth to twist. Then he resumed his drawing. “The placement isn’t good, either, since the city’s walls and the height of the buildings inhibit the wind flow, but the only other option we’ve come up with so far is manual power. We could have people turning wheels to do the same thing, but it goes back to the issue of how much the sponsors are willing to spend.”

His illustration grew to show how such wheels might replace a windmill. He never so much as raised his head.

Firal watched his hand and then his face. The intent way he stared at his diagram reminded her of the first time she’d seen such a spark in him—back before she’d known it was him. He’d shown the same spark the first time he’d shown her the waterwheel and everything it could provide. She settled her plate on her lap and kept her teacup in her hands. “Why are you asking me?”

He glanced up then, a blankness in his eyes. “I want your opinion.”

That was what he’d said when he first walked in. It raised more questions than it answered.

“I know nothing about mechanics or engineering.” She raised her teacup to her lips.

“Maybe, but you don’t need to in order to see what I’m overlooking.” His gaze slid back to the map and a hint of wistfulness stole across his face. “I have to be missing something.”

Firal doubted she was qualified for the task, but she studied the map of the city for a time while she drank her tea. Eventually, she ventured the obvious question. “If the windmills or magic-powered pumps are a problem inside the city, why haven’t you tried to build them outside the city’s walls?” She touched a shadow she assumed was the lake south of the Triad’s capital. “Couldn’t they go by the water? There would be more wind there, and easier access to what you’re after.”

Rune shook his head. “We suggested that before. Vicamros thinks having an aqueduct going over the city’s walls introduces security risks.”

She peeled an inch of crust from her toast and popped it in her mouth. “Does it have to go over the wall?”

He stared at her for a long time, then abruptly seized the map from the table and disappeared out the door.

Firal did not know whether to laugh or be offended. In the end, she chose neither and ate her breakfast in peace.

The day unfolded much the same as others, and Firal assumed that was the way things were around the estate. The house was quiet, she and Minna were left to their own devices, and much of the afternoon was spent outdoors.

Firal helped pick wildflowers and tie them into bundles, fed Lulu fresh foraged berries, and listened to the drone of insects in the woods until sunset came. It was peaceful, and so far separated from the life she was used to that it left her unsettled.

She was not used to peace. Her life in the temple had been dominated by schedules and pressure and stress, and the latter two had grown far worse after she moved to the palace. Only in Core had her life been tranquil, but even then it had come with responsibilities and expectations. Now there was nothing. No burdens. Only freedom, yet she felt as if her wings were clipped and she was left unable to do more than flutter and fall.

Minna had a meal prepared by the time dusk fell, and the old woman let Firal tend Lulu on her own before bed. She washed the girl from head to foot, scrubbing dirt from the pads of her toes until the glowed pink, then combed her hair and carried her to bed. The room she’d been given was next to Firal’s, but aside from the few toys scattered on the floor, there was little to mark it as a child’s room.

Something to be rectified, Firal decided as she pressed kisses to the girl’s round cheeks and tucked her underneath the blankets.

It was only after she stepped from the room and closed the door that she considered she had not seen Rune again.

It was not unusual for him to eat on his own. Or sleep on his own, or… do whatever it was he did through the day. She knew little of what he kept busy with and chided herself for not asking.

Her footsteps carried her back to the main floor, to the study he so often shut himself in. Light glowed in the gap beneath the door, but the door remained closed and she regarded the latch with uncertainty.

She’d let herself into his private spaces a little too forcefully the night before.

She would not repeat that action.

Instead, she wandered the rest of the manor, searching for something to do until her footsteps carried her back to the kitchen.

Minna had just finished cleaning and stood by the counter, wiping her hands on a rag. The lights burned low and the dimness made Firal drowsy.

She rubbed her eyes. “Has he eaten?”

The old woman shook her head. “The lord’s not been out of his study this evening.”

Lord. What an odd title, though it was correct. Firal nodded absently in response. “I’ll take him something. Thank you for your work today, Minna.” She dismissed the woman with a nod, then fetched a plate and found the food put up from the evening meal. It was less appetizing cold; she cradled the plate in her hands and focused just long enough to summon heat. Elements had never been her specialty, but warmth was one that came more readily, tied more closely to her own affinity of healing.

She did not know what to take to drink, so she retrieved a pitcher of water and a cup and carried them all to the other end of the house, where the study waited.

It was the thoughtful thing to do, wasn’t it? To intrude and ensure all was well? She still did not know how things sat between them. Part of her thought it was a good sign he’d sought her for input on whatever project lay before him. Another part reasoned that she was the only other person available. He had not spoken to her otherwise, had not mentioned their conversation the night before or that they’d woken in the same bed, offered know acknowledgment of how she’d tried to bridge the gap.

Firal hesitated outside the study door and took a breath.

She’d bridge it again anyway and hope for the best.

No one would deny food.

She transferred the pitcher and cup to her arm to free a hand, then knocked.

Silence.

A long moment dragged past in the dark before she knocked again.

When no answer came, she tested the door and muted her surprise at finding the space was not locked.

The room beyond was empty.

The End is Nigh

Before I knew it, I glanced at the calendar and realized it had been two months since I’d shared an update on my blog. My ongoing Snakesblood Saga companion story missed two updates. No updates on anything, really. Just silence–save the posts going up on Instagram to confirm I was still here, still writing, and making progress.

I sort of ended up in a time crunch. I’ve spoken often about how hard it is for me to find time to write when my daughter is out of school, and this year was going to be no different. So after a ridiculous string of setbacks, I knew I had to put everything else aside and work on finishing Spectrum Legacy. If I didn’t get it done… well, it would mean the book wouldn’t be coming out in a reasonable time frame, and I didn’t want that to happen. Not when I was so close.

So everything else got shrugged off. Updates got rare. But by golly, did I write. Spectrum Legacy, book 6 in the series by the same title, is complete at 134,284 words. It’ll probably get a little longer in edits, which I’m starting work on today.

I’ve never had such challenges as what I went up against to get this book done. And honestly, it was a little scary, because this is the first time I haven’t really known which direction to go with my writing. I’ve always had another project ready and waiting. I’ve talked a bit about my plans for TBDK here and there, which is another fantasy romance series if you’ve missed it, but this year isn’t the year that such a big project will start. I need a few smaller things first, palate cleansers to keep my writing honed but to present a less Herculean task in getting them writing.

The next few projects will be a smaller scale, but I’ll talk about them when it’s their turn.  I’m excited to get this book polished and ready for publishing, and I hope it’ll be ready to release at the end of June.

An Exercise in Frustration (Pt. 11)

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

Firal did not follow. She gripped her skirts tight in both hands and stared at the doors, but they did not open again. The dim windows promised Minna was no longer awake, and for all that the manor sprawled, there was no other staff.

The door would not be locked. He was angry, but he was not cruel—at least, the version of him she thought she knew was not. But to walk inside after being abandoned would be like a scolded dog slinking around with its tail between its legs, and Firal was too proud for that.

Whether she should be, she did not know.

For good or for ill, she held on to that pride with the same iron grip she had on her skirts. She hitched the fabric up high enough to expose her ankles and let her walk freely.

Instead of heading for the door, she sucked in a deep breath of cool night air and circled the house. The path to the back was not paved, but the feet of countless visitors had worn a smooth furrow into the lawn. Overgrown grasses encroached on the dirt trail and she made a note to have something done about it. Rune prized his peace and privacy, but it came with costs, and she would not live in a shabby house.

That indignation lasted only as long as her walk, though, for the moment she reached the low stone walls of the kitchen garden off the back of the house, rationality overtook such heated thoughts.

That she lived there at all was thanks to his generosity, and she had done little to deserve it.

She was no longer wealthy, no longer a queen, no longer a woman of worth notice. Yet he’d noticed.

He’d always noticed.

Worked to drive her away, too—as he tried now.

Firal settled on the narrow stone bench at the garden’s far end and for the first time, she noticed the flowers.

Spent heads bobbed on dying stems, their shape revealing more in the dark than the petals of living blossoms did.

Coneflowers.

Echinacea.

Her eyes slid to the next plant in the row. She had noticed some before; it was hard to miss the fragrance of lavender or the sweetness of fresh basil in her meals. But she had not cooked since her arrival, so she had not paid attention to the rest of the plantings.

Mint made sense for any home garden. Even lemon balm was ordinary enough. But the slender leaves of valerian had little culinary use, and that the plant was well-established made her heart ache.

Yet again, he had planted a garden for her.

He’d never even known if she would see it, yet he’d carved out a space for her in his home.

After all that time, after all his claims he’d given up, that fragile thread of hope was a blinding beacon in the dark.

And she hadn’t been ready. Not for that welcome, and not for persistent feelings. His questions caught her unprepared. Firal buried her face in her hands and inhaled again.

There were a thousand reasons she could have answered with, as there were a thousand desires she could have voiced to the counselor in the Royal City.

Why did fear and uncertainty rob her of words? She’d verbally battled mages and council members for years. None of them had ever silenced her that way.

But those words had been for others. Regarding others. Not regarding herself, her desires, her feelings.

How strange, the way wearing the crown got in the way of such things. She’d grown so used to disregarding herself in favor of what was best for her people. Now that she spoke only for herself, her voice had atrophied.

She rubbed her brows and stared at the back of the house.

The kitchen door would be barred, this time of night, but a touch of magic would open it. She crossed the garden and twisted the flows of air to open the way. Instead of making her way to her room, she slipped down the hallway to one of his quiet sanctuaries. The study was empty, as she’d hoped it would be, but the desk was as well-stocked as ever.

Firal took a fresh sheet as she settled and found a good pen with a brass nib, and the soft scratch of the ink left behind stretched far into the night.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

The door at the top of the stairs was locked.

Firal had not attempted to open it since she’d moved in. Rune’s private quarters were closed off for a reason—shut off like he was, she mused, keeping everyone out. Some things never changed.

Her fingers tightened on the paper she held until they left wrinkles behind and for a moment, she considered waiting until morning. They would be rested then, without the heat of fresh emotion fueling what would likely be poor decisions.

And it would be another day between them. Another day nothing was resolved. Another day he believed she did not want to be there.

She gripped the door’s handle and focused on the lock as she poured all her frustration into a different power. It had always been easy to touch; heat was one of the keys to life, and in spite of it not being her affinity, fire answered readily at her call.

The handle grew hot as metal hissed and melted and she jerked her hand back as the door swung open. The hinges were soundless, well-oiled, and the room beyond was not as dark as she’d expected.

Step by step, she inched into the loft and found herself taken aback.

The large window directly across from the door had curtains, but they’d been drawn back and tied, and moonlight poured in through the glass. Piles of books and papers encircled the cushioned window seat, and pens with stoppered bottles of ink littered the floor between the stacks. It struck her with such familiarity that it made her reel. It had been the same way in the underground—the space he’d called his own, down the hall from the queen he’d once served.

The rest of the vast room was tidy, if dusty, and with the light that streamed in through the window, it was easy to see him sprawled out in bed.

She pushed the door until it thumped shut behind her and his head jerked up from the pillow.

No sense in putting it off. There was no going back now.

“I wasn’t ready,” she announced as she crossed the room with her notes in hand. “I never performed well when the Masters surprised us with tests. If I didn’t have my notes, I…” The edge of the paper crumpled.

Rune squinted at her in the dark and she recognized the signs of a headache before she spotted the bottle on the bedside table.

Annoyance and disapproval flared inside her and Firal worked to tamp it down. They would get to that. Now was not the time.

She dropped to sit on the edge of his bed and turned to let the moonlight illuminate the page in her hands, then cleared her throat. “I tried to sort these into categories but didn’t have time to sort everything, so you’ll just have to bear with me. Firstly, there’s your intellect. Your cleverness in problem-solving, including magecraft, management of people, and resource allocation was always admirable. I admire your literacy and your competence with linguistics. I am told you speak more than Old Aldaanan and the northern trade tongue, and I am not surprised. You’ve always been a swift learner.”

His brow furrowed and he sat up. The blankets pooled in his lap and she made herself avoid looking at him. He still slept without a shirt.

“Your priorities have always been pleasantly organized,” she continued. “You find value in people’s merits, regardless of their social standing. Our visions for the future, including household expectations and a desire for children, have always aligned.”

“Firal,” he said, his voice husky.

A hint of color rose in her cheeks and she went on. “As a healer, I find tour dedication to physical health appealing, though I… we’ll have to work on that.” Her eyes flicked to the partially-emptied bottle.

Rune rubbed one eye. “Firal.”

She refused to look at him. “You’ve always understood what I need, from ensuring my infirmary is outfitted to—”

He leaned forward and took the paper from her hands. “What is this?”

Heat crept up her neck and she didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger that she’d been interrupted. “A list of…” Her throat tightened. “Of your qualities.”

His eyes did not glow as he peered at the page and tried to decipher her handwriting. “It’s too long for that to be true.”

“Well, you asked me for my reasons.” With the paper out of her hands, she could do nothing but twist her fingers and wish her hands did not shake. “I wasn’t prepared, so having a full list seemed like the least I could—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted.

Her heart leaped oddly.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He folded the paper along one of the crease lines she’d put into it and laid it on the table, just beside the bottle. “It was both inappropriate and unhelpful.”

“But it’s how you feel.” Firal wouldn’t let him take that back. It had been too genuine, too raw.

The corners of his mouth twisted.

“There’s no shame in desiring validation, Rune. The counselor will probably tell you it isn’t vital and we shouldn’t seek it, but it’s in the list of expressions she gave us, and I… I need it, too.” She paused to swallow against the lump in her throat. The words tried to stick there; she wouldn’t let them. “The way you saw me—the way you valued and affirmed me, even when I had nothing to offer after the temple cast me out—that was the first reason.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change its value, or that it was what I needed from you. You asked for reasons I loved you, and that… well, that’s one.”

For a time, he said nothing. Then he shifted back, gathering the blankets close to his waist. “We should sleep.”

Firal’s heart skipped and she glanced down at the bed.

In response, he opened an arm in invitation.

“I can’t sleep in this dress.” Her hands went to her back, but she could not reach to unlace the bodice on her own.

He offered a tired hum in response before his fingers sought the laces. It was faster now, without claws getting in his way, and her heart beat harder as he tugged the back of her dress open.

Then he let go.

Slowly, she slid her dress from her shoulders and peeled the sleeves from her arms. She let it fall to the floor and leave her in a pale chemise. With her heart in her throat, she shifted backwards onto the bed and reached for the blankets.

Before she could settle, his arm hooked around her waist and pulled her close. She squeaked as her back pressed to his front and the comforting warmth of his proximity spread through her.

Firal pulled the blankets to her chin and marveled at the familiarity.

“Mmm,” he sighed into her curls. “I missed this the most.”

“Missed what?” Having her in his bed? The notion was enough to make her blush.

But no response came, and it was not long before his breath shallowed to the easy pattern of sleep.

Questions for tomorrow, then. She stared across the pillow and listened to him breathing, savored the feeling of his arm around her waist.

They weren’t there yet, but it was better. Progress. She shut her eyes and willed her racing heart to still, and eventually fell into a soft, dreamless sleep that was only interrupted when morning came.

“Firal,” Rune called from across the room. “What did you do to my door?”

How many crowns does a fantasy author need?

This was a question I posed to my daughter, when she remarked on the variety I had.

“How many crowns do you think is a reasonable number?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Probably about two.”

I followed with another question. “How many do you think I have?”

Her expression said a lot. “A lot more than two.”

So, there you have it; my child thinks my collection of crowns and tiaras is excessive.

I disagree, but I’m a fantasy author, so of course I would. They’re just something I sort of started collecting, along with teacups–which I’ll share a look at eventually, too.

My first was the tiara I wore for my wedding. It was also, perhaps humorously, the most expensive of the crowns despite being tiny. It’s just a little thing on a comb, meant to be worn in an updo, but it definitely made me feel like a princess.

It was many, many years before I added another crown to the collection. I decided I needed a few for photo prop purposes, so I picked out a couple online and ordered them.

Fun fact: That last one is my only circlet.

I liked having them and they definitely added to the photos I was taking for my Instagram page. But me and my daughter both enjoyed wearing them–especially the little green one–and they were nice to add to my shelves, too.

But I have a lot of bookshelves, and eventually, it just made sense to keep adding more.

My sister ordered tiaras for her wedding and somehow received duplicates. She gave me two of them for my collection.

Those live in my bedroom. The rest are upstairs, on my bookshelves with my books, but they’re prone to traveling around the house.

You never know when you might need a crown, after all.

I’m working on broadening my collection to include more colors and styles.

This was a brighter blue than I expected, but I think it works.

The white ones are beautiful and classy and all a bit different.
 

…and this one was a favorite right away. It’s also the largest and most masculine crown in my collection. I photograph it a lot with the Spectrum Legacy books, even though the hero isn’t royalty. Zaide definitely has no crown.

Compared to that big one, this little blue and gold one is my smallest of the traditional crowns…

…but this red one is the smallest circle, it’s just visually more impressive.

Funnily enough, that’s not even all of them. There’s a halo that’s hard to photograph when it isn’t being worn, and there are probably a few stragglers I didn’t manage to round up for this because as I said, they tend to wander around the house.

Overall, they don’t collect dust easily and they make a nice addition to my household decor, so I think I’ll keep adding to my collection over time.

Besides, I’ve got teacups and tiaras–isn’t that the perfect setup for a princess tea party?

An Exercise in Frustration (Pt. 10)

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

“So,” Firal said into the silence of the hall. There were no tapestries to deaden the sound and her voice joined the echoes of their footsteps, magnified by the emptiness of the corridor. She winced at the noise and brought her voice lower, until it was scarcely a murmur. “Did I meet your expectations?”

Rune did not answer right away. He hesitated for so long, she opened her mouth to ask what she’d done wrong. That was when he chose to speak. “For me, yes. Thank you.”

“For you?” She didn’t know whether to smile or frown. “Who did I fail to impress?”

“No one,” he said, so hastily she took the impression he thought he’d misspoken. Perhaps that he’d offended her. “I’ve made Vicamros angry, that’s all.”

The statement was unapologetic. Unrepentant. She truly did not understand the relationship these men had. It was clear they were friends, yet politics always came first. Most men would have fretted at least a little over the idea of upsetting their king, but Rune did not care.

He never had.

“Angry that you introduced your wife?” Firal could not fathom what else he was supposed to do.

“Angry that I didn’t help him gain favor with Loriath’s royal family. They’ve got a tentative treaty worked out, but it’s not what Cam wanted.” He stared straight ahead, though his eyes narrowed a shade. “The Triad is powerful, but he asks too much.”

A dangerous thing to say. What in the world had they been through that left him feeling so free to speak? Firal tucked her chin. “Aggressive trade arrangements are common. I was not always kind when negotiating with Vicamros, myself.”

“You never demanded exclusive trade.”

That was a surprise. “No kingdom would ever agree to that. No matter how big or powerful their trade partner was.”

Rune shrugged. “Well, that’s what Cam wanted. At least for what he wanted to import.”

“Which is?” Firal couldn’t imagine what a king like Vicamros could desire from anyone else. His land holdings were impressive and rich in any resource a ruler could want. It wasn’t like life on the island, where fickle weather could leave fields barren, or where quality iron was scarce enough that only the king could afford good steel.

The corners of his eyes tightened and he did not answer.

Perhaps he had said too much. There had been the incident in the garden, where he’d spoken more freely than he likely desired, and she wondered if the liquor he’d downed still loosened his inhibitions.

Or perhaps he’d had more.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said when he gave no reply. “There’s nothing wrong with an ambitious aim, but one must accept their defeats.”

As she had to accept hers. After everything—the dancing, the raw and honest truths, the rare smiles she’d finally pried from him—they had ended the evening no closer. They walked to the Gating parlor together, but with a healthy space between them.

He had not tried to take her hand.

She had already decided she would not pursue affection that did not come willingly. Too much had already been sacrificed, and she would not bridge the gap now.

“Weapons,” Rune said.

Firal blinked.

“Unlike anything made elsewhere. He doesn’t want anyone else to have them.” Though the entire conversation had been in their own tongue, that did not protect them from prying ears, and he lowered his voice accordingly.

She did not know what to say. It did not seem like a secret, but the reluctance with which he spoke of it made it feel as if she was not meant to know. “That would command a very high price.” That price, evidently, had been him.

“Well, he’ll find some way to get it, or he’ll be facing a very different sort of battleground the next time someone marches against his borders.” He shrugged once more, solemn but indifferent.

“That’s the way of things every time a war breaks out. Nothing ever stays the same. Just look at us.” The words left before she thought better of them.

He did not flinch, but his gaze hardened.

He still did not look at her.

Foolish, she chided herself. As foolish as a schoolgirl with a loose tongue.

“Rune—” she began, but he raised a hand to cut her off.

“No, you’re right. Nothing is the same. I can’t hide from that. It follows me everywhere now.” A faint crinkle formed between his brow and she caught the way his hand flexed at his side.

Her heart wrenched. “I didn’t mean—”

“Here’s the parlor.” He strode ahead and one of the Gate attendants bowed in greeting.

The rest of the mages linked power with the attendant and a moment later, the portal meant to take them home split the air.

Rune motioned her forward.

She did not want to go. She wanted to apologize before he took that accidental slight and added it to the collection of hurts he kept bottled up inside, but she did not want to do it with so many eyes around to see.

Frustrated, she picked up her skirts and hurried through the Gate to the manor.

He followed, but he said nothing when the power of the one-way portal dropped and winked out of existence. He did not even stop to speak to her or look her way. All he did was walk to the front steps of the fine mansion he’d somehow come to call home, never looking back.

“Rune,” she called.

He did not so much as slow down.

“Would you stop?” She hurried after him, gripping her skirts until her knuckles turned white.

He stopped on the stairs and turned to look down at her. He was frustrated, maybe exasperated, but it was hard to see the nuances of his expression in the dark.

It had been easier when they were younger, when the shifting colored light that haunted his eyes gave away his thoughts.

Out of all the changes, she thought that one pained her the most. That light was all but gone, and she had begun to think it had less to do with the magic than anyone supposed.

Firal halted a few paces from the stairs. “You can’t keep walking away from me every time a difficult conversation arises. I thought you wanted to discuss those things and put them aside. Isn’t that what the counselor is for?”

“This isn’t a counselor’s office.”

“No, it’s worse. When you’re done airing everything out in her office, you get to walk away.” She fluttered a hand overhead, as if to fan away grievances like a foul odor in the wind. “But we live here. I’m tired of feeling like every room is a bed of nails I have to walk whenever you’re around.”

“It’s not easier for me,” he protested. “You think I want my home to feel like this? There are eyes on us everywhere we go, and I… I am trying so hard to smooth things out, and you can’t even pretend to like me.”

Her hands went slack and her skirts dropped back into place, hiding her slippered feet. “What are you talking about?”

“Convenience. It’s always been about convenience for you. Hasn’t it?”

Her heart thudded hard and then felt as if it stopped.

Rune raked a hand through his hair. He stared at it afterward, then curled his fingers into a fist and let his hand fall to his side. “There were a hundred reasons I loved you. Your intelligence, your spirit, your wit, your determination—everything you did made me admire you. You were always so strong. Unrelenting in everything you did. You decided what you wanted and you pursued it with everything in you. You were resourceful, helpful, generous. Kind to people who didn’t deserve it. Kind to me.”

She stared up at him, a cold sense of misery twisting itself up inside her ribs.

He raised a finger. “Tell me one thing.”

“I don’t—”

“One thing,” he repeated, cutting her off before she could do more than start. “One reason you ever loved me that didn’t involve what I could do for you.”

Her chest constricted until she could scarcely breathe, a bitter pain beneath her breastbone as she tried to find words. A stroke of panic chased words from her head and she found nothing to move her lips.

He stared at her through the silence until it grew too thick to bear, then tore his gaze away to stare into the darkened forests nearby. “That’s what I thought.”

Firal pressed a hand to her chest as if it might settle her racing heart, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

He slipped inside and shut the door, leaving her alone in the dark.

Three uncommon fairy tales that would be hard to adapt as retellings

Shortly after I began work on The Witch and the Wyrm, I discovered a small problem: I was writing a retelling of a story nobody seemed to have heard of in the first place.

It’s not the first time I’ve been made aware that my taste is a little niche, but as someone who grew up reading fairy tale collections, I mistakenly thought that most people who liked fairy tales would have done the same – gone and gotten a book of fairy tales, most usually one of the Grimm collections.

That the average fairy tale enjoyer would only be familiar with 5 or 6 fairy tales at all never crossed my mind.

Rather than be bothered, I tried to think of some favorites that would be difficult to adapt and are likewise unlikely to be stories people are familiar with.

The Colony of Cats
This is from the Langs’ Fairy Books and features a story of a girl who runs away from home to tend to a colony of cats that are governed by a gentleman cat who turns out to be quite wealthy. The girl is modest and true and when he offers her the choice of being dipped in a jar of oil or dipped in a jar of gold, she chooses the oil. He instead dips her in the gold and embellishes her brow with a golden star before sending her home. Her selfish sister wishes to be dipped in gold, too, so she goes to serve the cats and proves to be a cruel caretaker. When the gentleman cat offers her a reward, she asks to be dipped in gold. Instead, he dips her in the oil, rolls her in ashes and feathers, and adorns her brow with a donkey’s tail before sending her home. You can probably guess which sister has a happily ever after.

One Eye, Two Eyes, and Three Eyes
This is a Grimm fairy tale about a woman who has three daughters, each with a different number of eyes, and they scorn the girl with two eyes because she’s just like everyone else. They punish and starve her until she comes into possession of a goat who can summon a table set with a lavish feast any time she’s hungry. All she needs is the magical words a wise woman taught her. When the sisters find out, the mother becomes angry and kills the goat. The wise woman advises the two-eyed girl to bury its heart, and she does, and on the spot grows a magical tree with leaves of silver and fruit of gold. One day, a knight comes along and asks for a branch from the tree. Try as they might, no one but the two-eyed girl can pick from it, so she gives him a branch and he whisks her off to the castle to be richly rewarded for her kindness.

The Golden-Headed Fish
This is another one from the Lang collection. When a king is struck with blindness, he is told his vision can be restored with the blood of a fish with a golden head. The prince is sent to fish for it, but catches the fish too late to save his father’s sight. He knows the doctors will kill the fish even though it’s too late, so he decides to spare the creature and turns it loose, even though it brings his father’s wrath upon him. The queen helped her son flee, and in a new country, he finds a servant who wishes to be paid but once a year. In this new country, a monster ravages the land, and whoever can slay it will be given half the land and the governor’s daughter. The servant slays the beast and tells the prince to take credit and request half the monster’s treasure instead. This gives them jewels and a boat, with which the prince sails to a new kingdom, where he is stricken by the beauty of the princess and asks for her hand. The prince is warned that she has been married one hundred and ninety times, and the groom has never survived the wedding day. The servant urged the prince to marry her anyway and they were wed. That night, due to a curse, a venomous snake darted from the princess’s mouth, but the servant killed it and broke the curse, leaving the prince whole and healthy come morning. The prince offered great reward, now that he was in line to become king, but the servant refuses–for he is, in fact, the golden-headed fish.

While I love all three of those stories, they don’t fit the conventional expectations that seem to be popular in fairy tale retellings, so they’re not super likely to pop up as popular books any time soon.

Have you heard of any of these? Are there any unusual tales you’d add to the list?

An Exercise in Frustration (Pt. 9)

This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.

* * * * *

Firal turned to embrace the white-robed Master mage with a smile. She’d found Sera both warm and amicable, and it seemed the feeling was mutual, for the woman returned her affections with a sparkle in her eyes.

“I never expected I’d see you here for something like this,” Firal said with a downward glance. “Are you here alone?”

“No little ones, if that’s what you mean. Stal is here somewhere.” Sera fluttered a hand overhead, as if her husband’s location didn’t matter. Or perhaps it was more an acknowledgement of how Stal would be pulled in a thousand directions. As the southern continent’s acting Archmage, he would be in high demand by those who thought they might earn his favor.

Firal released her and tempered her smile. “Oh, I had hoped to see the baby.”

Beside them, Princess Meliel cleared her throat.

Whatever delight Sera might have borne for seeing Firal and Rune and perhaps even Vicamros, she clearly held none for Meliel. She still smiled, but it was the cool expression demanded by propriety, devoid of any real warmth. “Good evening, Princess.”

Meliel raised a brow. “Good evening, mage.” The absence of title was a deliberate slight. “Did I hear you correctly? You are somehow involved in trade arrangements for the south?”

Ever the diplomat, Garam drew Sera closer before her temper could flare. “Princess Meliel, allow me to introduce my sister. Sera is a Master mage trained in Lore’s Grand College, matriarch of House Kaith, and wife of Archmage Stal of Umdal.”

A hint of interest curved the princess’s lips. “Is that so?”

Firal restrained a snort. Now she cared; now that she knew the person she was dealing with was somebody, and not just an ordinary mage. She glanced over her shoulder and Rune met her eye with a dry smile that said he found it just as distasteful.

“It is,” Sera replied breezily. “With our mages having full control over the permanent Gates, all trade that takes advantage of them must pass through our facilities. Therefore, Stal and I will have a hand in much of what comes to pass, as we will be in charge of setting safety regulations.”

Meliel’s eyes hardened. “I was under the impression that mages were not to be involved in political matters. After all, every civil war that has happened on this end of the world has been instigated by power-hungry mages.”

“I would consider that an oversimplification,” Sera said.

The princess sniffed. “Perhaps you should educate yourself more, in order to understand why my country might not wish to deal with mages for trade.”

“On the contrary, I would expect I know more about the matter than you.” Sera’s smile returned, but this time, it was cold as ice. “As a mage of Lore formerly in military service to Vicamros, I am a veteran of one of those wars.”

“As was I,” Rune put in. “You certainly had no concerns about my involvement in matters of trade.”

A deep, rosy shade darkened Meliel’s cheeks.

Firal almost felt bad for her. How many times would she find herself with her foot in her mouth?

“I realize things are done differently in the Westkings, as they are different here in the north,” Sera added, “but in the south our mages are responsible for ensuring the well-being of all citizens. And please do note that I said well-being. Safety and organization is our responsibility. Unless you mean to import or export goods that jeopardize the safety of the southern continent’s people, I fail to see how our involvement would be of any concern.”

Rune’s brow furrowed as he put on a look of worry convincing enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him as well as Firal. “I have heard of questionable goods gaining popularity in the Westkings,” he said slowly. “Rumors when I last visited there. I believe there was an incident with dangerous items being smuggled into Orrad, bypassing safety inspections. Were there updates to that situation, Princess? I’m sure you would know more about the situation than I would. I haven’t been back to the Westkings in several years.”

Meliel’s mouth worked a moment before she simply closed it.

“Well, no news is good news, I suppose,” Vicamros put in smoothly. He gave Garam a thump on the back and grinned as if he expected the retired captain to agree with him. “With fortune, your countries will be able to solve the issue without any further disruptions. Of course, if you wanted to negotiate for support from mages trained in the eastern side of the world, then…” He trailed off and spread a hand as if to invite the request he was sure would come.

“It sounds as if you’ll be busy. I’ll leave you to your negotiations.” Rune inclined his head toward Vicamros, almost a show of deference, and started to leave.

The king snagged him by the shoulder before he could retreat. “Nonsense. You’re part of my council, you belong here to negotiate.

Sera snorted softly and slid to Firal’s side to take her arm. “Then we shall leave the council to their business. A pleasure to meet you, Princess. I’m sure we will cross paths again.”

Firal resisted when Sera pulled, but Vicamros was already steering her husband away, and from the resignation in his step it seemed there would be no escape.

“They won’t take long,” Sera murmured conspiratorially. “They’ll frighten her into backing down, work out some temporary solutions, and be back to the stalemate where they’re sitting in no time.”

“Does this happen often?” Firal kept her voice low, though she couldn’t help a worried glance back. She didn’t want to leave her husband’s side; not so soon after what transpired in the garden. Frustration brimmed within her, but all she could do was sigh and hope it would diffuse some of the unpleasant emotions.

“Every few years. Almost regularly enough to plan by it.” Sera winked and her pace relaxed. “Ah, but this gives us a chance to speak. I hoped you would be here. I brought something for you.”

For her? Firal blinked twice. “I beg your pardon?” For all that she found she liked Sera, she certainly didn’t know her well enough to anticipate gifts—or offer them.

“Nothing substantial.” The Master mage beside her waved a hand as if to dismiss any expectations before they formed. “Just something small, one woman to another. Believe me, I understand.” She drew a small box from one of the hidden pockets of her white mage’s robes and held it out for Firal to take as they strolled across the ballroom.

Firal took it and jostled the lid free. Inside, orderly rows of rich orange candies sat cradled by bits of waxed paper. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled, long and slow. “Are these… yam?”

“For fertility,” Sera said, mindful not to be overheard.

For a moment, Firal did not know what to say.

Sera went on so she wouldn’t have to say anything at all. “A large family was always my dream and Stal and I have been blessed to have so many children, but it’s not always as easy as we may wish. I apologize if it seems forward, or perhaps an overstep, but the new Archmage of Lore mentioned your struggle in passing and… well, magic cannot fix everything, but sometimes the goodness of the earth can help where magic cannot.”

The gesture was forward. And it was so genuine and thoughtful that it made Firal’s eyes sting. “It’s not an overstep. Thank you.” Even as a queen, she had been challenged in her desire to see her family grow. She had one child, after all; to nobles, one child was enough.

“It’s my pleasure to help.” A sardonic smile twisted the corners of Sera’s mouth and she looked straight ahead. “Not everyone understands the things we want. The callings we are given. Especially as mages. We’re expected to put family aside, to pursue power with all we have, but what if power is not the longing of our hearts? Just because the things we desire are ordinary does not mean they are not worthwhile.”

A refreshing perspective, to be sure. As far back as Firal could remember, magelings who sought marriage and family instead of permanent mage stations had been looked down upon. “Thank you,” she said, though it meant she repeated herself. She didn’t know what else to say, but the gesture deserved something earnest. She swallowed and made herself speak. “Although I don’t know that such a thing is the biggest concern yet. I don’t know if that’s what our future will hold. If I am to be honest, I’m not sure we have a future at all.”

Sera stopped and turned toward her, face scrunched with puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Firal replaced the box’s lid. “I’m not entirely certain he still wishes for that. For… me.”

For a long time, all Sera did was stare. Then, at last, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sputtering laugh. “Oh, darling, you have nothing to worry about there.”

A crinkle formed between Firal’s brows. How could she sound so confident? “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

Sera swept a thumb across her eyelid and grinned wide. “Ah, forgive me. I know. I know you don’t. It’s because you haven’t been here, listening to the way he speaks of you when you’re gone. Most women in the Triad could only dream of a man who speaks of them so romantically.”

Romantic? Rune? That was hardly the man Firal knew. “You must be mistaken.”

“Certainly not. I’ve heard him myself, waxing on about the way you illuminate his life and everything is shadowed without you.” The statement came with a grand flourish, and Sera wiped her mouth as if to catch a giggle before it could escape.

“Well that’s not the way he acts,” Firal protested. “Everything he does now is so cold and calculated.”

“Of course it is,” Sera agreed.

The implication she’d missed something left Firal exasperated. “Well, why?”

“Because,” the Master mage said, her tone sweet and soothing. “You’re here.”

As if she could be anywhere else. “And that means?”

Sera’s smile softened and she touched Firal’s arm. “He has so much more to lose.”

The tea that was not

One cold morning, while our region was shut down due to the advent of snow, I discovered I was out of my favorite vanilla chai that serves as my go-to fast cup of tea. It’s nothing fancy, even though it’s tasty, and I’ve shared a review of it before. This was my second disappointment of the day. The first had been that while we were promised nine to ten inches of snow, we only got five, which is a good snow here, but remarkably ordinary compared to the snows of my Illinois youth.

I have no concerns about driving my Mustang in the snow. I learned to drive in a Mustang, and after your first winter driving involves a 30-mile commute in a foot of snow with an inch of ice underneath it while in a rear-wheel-drive vehicle, a couple inches of good packing snow on a 30-degree day is nothing. But our house is on a hill, and I do know my car’s limits. The refreeze under the snow on our wind-chilled driveway meant if I left, I could go places just fine, but we would not be getting back up the hill and I would be forced to leave my baby exposed to the elements.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Fortunately, I soon recalled a box of tea my husband had brought home from work. He does that, sometimes; he’s told all his coworkers that I love tea, so whenever they have something new, a teabag or two tends to come home in my husband’s pockets for me to try.

Such was the case with this pretty little box of caramel chai from one Harrington Smythe Tea Company.

The package boasted being a part of a holiday tea selection, so I knew it had to be something someone got last winter. Tea keeps remarkably well, so I wasn’t concerned about the age, considering it was sealed well and the tea in its unremarkable sachets was still pleasantly fragrant. It boasted good flavor for a simple bagged tea, so I thought I would share a short review complimenting the balance of warm but mild chai spices with a savory caramel that dominates the aftertaste. I suppose I’ve still done that, but when I went to look up the company to link to this tea, a curious thing happened.

It doesn’t seem to exist.

I turned up one record for a Harrington Smythe company; it was a trademark for the name, filed in 2008 and expired in 2015. But that Harrington Smythe produced goods like lotions and beard conditioners, not tea, and I sincerely doubted this tea had been sitting around for ten years while it waited for someone to drink it. For one, the packaging aesthetic struck me as too modern. All the same, the absence of the company’s existence was puzzling. Tea companies come and go all the time–years back, I reviewed a handful of varieties from Persimmon Tree Tea, and they’ve been defunct for years. (Thank goodness I found a suitable replacement for their Earl Grey!) But the difference between Harrington Smythe and Persimmon Tree Tea is that the latter turns up when you search for it. A quick Google search shows plenty of footprint left behind by the company. Traces of the site that once was, photos of the simple but nice canisters the teas came in, reviews on websites much like mine.

For Harrington Smythe Tea Company, there was nothing.

So where did this come from? Where has the company gone? Is this the only box of their caramel chai in existence? Is the brand some ephemeral front for some other industry? The only clue was a small line on the back: Distributed by Life Plus Style.

That name turned up a company for gourmet foods. I thought I was getting somewhere. I found their website. And then every page was a placeholder, showing theoretical products in obviously Photoshopped images, largely unbranded, with shopping buttons that didn’t work. There was no storefront. No actual presence for the company. Nothing.

I was foiled.

I suppose this tea doesn’t exist.