K.M.’s
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(group member since Sep 05, 2018)
K.M.’s
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from the Apricots And Wolfsbane Book Chat group.
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For those savy historians, the release day for Apricots and Wolfsbane was the same day that Locusta murdered Claudius with poisoned mushrooms (but 1963 years later).
What do you think Lavinia would want for her birthday? Leave your thoughts in the comments!

Thank you for hanging out with me in this group :) I spent my day off updating the book trailer for Apricots and Wolfsbane which you can view here: https://youtu.be/Hm9N_A8sJEU
Please consider check it out and sharing with a friend.
You can also countdown to the 1-year anniversary of this Tudor/histfic with #13DaysOfPoisoners on Twitter and Facebook. Did any one catch the hint regarding the sequel a few days ago?
- Kara

My short story about the struggles of a female physicist at Harvard in 1906 is FREE during the month of October. You can find it and other fantastic short stories in the anthology "Flicker":
https://books.bookfunnel.com/shortand...
Flicker: Stories of Inner Flame

If Father Eustace gave her last confession she wouldn't have needed to start from the beginning. And given her relationship with Father Eustace, I think her attitude would have been more smug which would have affected the entire voice of the novel.
The fact she had to start from the beginning I think would have helped her with self reflection. Her last confession would not have been as meaningful to her without this forcing function.

Head on over to the"Crime Fighters and Femme Fatales" promotion and grab your free e-book: https://books.bookfunnel.com/dlwomenr...
Tell a friend this is their chance to reading this Historical Novel Society Editor's Choice novel! Perfect for fall reading!

Start a thread labeled with the Chapter Number and let's chat!


I savored the fear on my victim’s face as much as my own unlaced mead.
The sweetness of both danced on my palate.
God gave men power, but He gifted women with cunning.
The man’s eyes contained a lingering remnant of vibrancy, despite the departure of the soul they once cultivated.
I harbor a gruesome skill, but it is my God-given talent and as such, I felt an obligation to cultivate it nonetheless.
The more concerning question is what I am concocting next.
Reality is always more bitter than dreams, but the sting proves we are awake.
There is no merit in clinging to false hope, but the heart is not pacified by logic, not even an assassin’s.
What could be more intimate than knowing the time and place of another’s death?
The world would be a better place if men of such character steered more helms of our society. But in such a world, I would be unemployed.
Tending to a home would have been its own prison, and even at that moment, I preferred the one with stone walls.
Frustration resonated deep in my core until it blossomed into resentment. Yes, I blamed him for not dying. Filled with anger, the mark became personal.
Minutes later, I heard the Lady’s scream. If angels had parted the heavens and cast down in anthem, the sound would not have been as sweet.
Chances in life are rare. When moments arise, you must take them, regardless of consequence and regardless of risk. If you’re not willing to gamble everything, then you should not be in the game.
No one in this world, not King or Queen, nor merchant or assassin, grasps for power without accepting risk onto themselves.
A bitter wind billowed through the grotto causing the devotional candles at Her feet to dance. A reminder the fall yielded to winter in a reluctant abdication. For all of my sudden rise and success, a nagging concern took root in my gut. Over the past seasons, my career had blossomed like a spring flower. I hoped my rise would also not wither and die along as nature surrendered to the chill of winter.
My father's honored gaols turned into a morbid display of depravity lifted from my dreams.
Murder is easier plotted than performed. There is no going back, no opportunity for restitution. To be an assassin requires more than apricots and wolfsbane. This career takes determination, courage, ingenuity, and most important, self-assurance.
One person mattered to me more than the soul for which my heart craved: above all, I would protect myself.
It would have been wiser to cross the magistrate than the assassin.
“With luck, you vomit and experience nausea. In days, your organs will start to fail. Beyond that? If I knew, we wouldn’t need a test.”
The game is elevating, Edmund. You may find there is less use for pawns, especially ones who clutter the board.
What is inspiration, if not a whisper from God?
Instead, the fingers of insidious insecurity penetrated the mortar of my confidence.






