Story Snippets: Return to Callidora (Laurie)

Okay, I know it's a little early to start talking about Christmas with Thanksgiving still coming later this week, but please bear with me. Or come back and check out this post after you've turned your calendar to December :) 

Did you know I have a Christmas story published in an anthology called Christmas Fiction off the Beaten Path? My contribution, "Return to Callidora," was one of those story ideas that just wouldn't let me go. I kept picturing cute scenes between the main characters and brainstorming ways to make the plot work, and since the inspiration came after a dry spell it was so much fun to be writing again! It took me a while to find the right home for this fantasy-holiday-romance mashup of Shrek and The Pied Piper, but I'm so glad I did! (If you're curious about my thoughts on the other fantastic stories in Christmas Fiction off the Beaten Path, check out this post. And if you'd like to buy it, you can find it on Amazon or Barnes & Noble!)

Today I'm excited to share an excerpt from "Return to Callidora" - one of those moments between my main characters that just made my inner romantic grin from ear to ear :) As a quick recap, Princess Eveline has been locked in a dragon-guarded tower for years as protection from a vengeful sorceress, waiting for a worthy knight to rescue her. In the meantime, Ryker, a servant with an unusual ability to control animals (including dragons) with his music, brings her yearly supplies every Christmas. Ryker has just arrived at the tower after riding through a snowstorm on his valiant steed, Mushroom. Enjoy!

***

    Once we had Mushroom situated, Ryker and I each donned several saddlebags and headed for the kitchen. I lowered my bags to the floor and began rifling through.

    “Let’s get you something to eat. I have bread, and my strawberry preserves turned out well this year. Hopefully Cook sent the usual butter and cheese. Oh, and—”

    “Ev, slow down.” Ryker tugged at my arm. “I’ll last a few more minutes, I promise.”

    I straightened. “But your journey must’ve been miserable, in all that snow.”

    “I’m fine.” He stepped closer. “You’re the one I’m concerned about. How are you?”

    “Same as ever, as you can see.” I tried to keep my smile steady.

    He blew out a small chuckle. “Not quite the same. Your hair is longer. And your eyes...”

    I squirmed under his scrutiny.

    “A little wiser, perhaps.” His grin faded. “But you’ve been well? Plenty to eat and drink? No illnesses? No signs of Kirra?”

    “Yes. The well hasn’t run dry, my garden still grows, and illness is rare when one stays indoors at all times with no other human contact.”

    He winced and shifted his feet.

    “As for Kirra, to my knowledge she hasn’t come anywhere near. Though I’d hardly know what to look for if she had.”

    “Aodhan seems as sharp as ever, so you should be safe.”

    I nodded. “Now, about that meal. Do you like tomatoes? I can’t remember.”

    “Tomatoes sound wonderful.”

    Soon I had eggs and meat frying over a fire and a plate laden with vegetables, bread, and cheese set before Ryker.

    “There’s been quite a bit of talk about you lately, you know.” He swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate.

    “Me?” I prodded a sizzling egg. “I’m surprised anyone remembers I exist.”

    “No one’s forgotten about you—you’re practically legend in Callidora.” He cleared his throat. “It’s no secret you recently came of age.”

    “What does that matter? I could hardly host a ball to celebrate.” I transferred the cooked food onto another platter and approached the table.

    Ryker sighed. “Now that you’re eighteen, I think many would-be rescuers are just waiting until the snow clears.”

    “Really?” The plate clattered onto the table. “I don’t understand why anyone would bother. None of them have even met me.”

    “Your beauty is highly reputed throughout the kingdom.”

    “Is it?” My heart flailed, but the surge of vanity didn’t last. “But what if I don’t live up to my reputation? What if someone slays the dragon and then takes one look at me and heads back out the door?”

    He coughed, red tingeing his ears. “Not possible.”

    “I might be a disappointment.”

    “You won’t.”

    I lowered onto a chair and popped a cube of venison into my mouth. “My life will change so suddenly, all in one moment.”

    “A change for the better.” Ryker reached across the table for my hand. “You deserve to be surrounded by people who love you, wearing fancy gowns and attending banquets and dancing at balls.” He squeezed my fingers, then drew his arm back. “Not serving a meal to the poor musician you’re stuck with for company.”

    I threw a napkin at him. “You know I’m thrilled to have your company.”

    “Only because you have no other options.” He tossed the napkin back with a flourish.

    After he scraped the last bite from his plate, he rose and stretched. “I hope poor Mushroom’s warmed up a bit. We’d best be on our way.”

    “What?” I halted on my way to the wash basin. “You just got here.”

    His breath fluttered the hair on his forehead. “I know, but getting back won’t be any easier than the trip here. The daylight’s already gone.”

    “But you always stay for Christmas.”

    “That was when your tutor was still here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your parents wouldn’t like it.”

    “They never need to find out. I have your usual room prepared.” I grasped his arm. “Please? You can’t know what it’s like, being left alone for an entire year. When Frances went with you last time, I thought I was happy to see her go. Now I’d give anything for her lectures and scolding. To have someone to talk to.”

    “Oh, Eveline. I know it’s been hard.” He placed a warm hand on my back. “All right, I’ll stay. But just for one night.”

    I clapped. “Thank you! What fun we’ll have. With all the new supplies, I can cook something special.” My heart drooped. “Even that doesn’t seem like much, though. I wish you could stay longer.”

    “I definitely couldn’t agree to that.” He raised an eyebrow at my pout. “Just think how it would look to your rescuer to find a man already here.”

    “He wouldn’t have anything to worry about from you.”

    His jaw tightened. “Because I’m so very insignificant?”

    Ugh, men and their pride. “No, Ry, that’s not what I meant.” I stepped closer. “I just know you would never...take advantage of being alone with me.”

    “Of course I wouldn’t.” His cheeks turned pink. “But he wouldn’t know that.”

    “True. I can’t afford to send my knight into a jealous rage the moment he walks through the door.” I retreated to the wash basin. “But I still don’t see why my tutor had to be sent away.”

    “Apparently you were done with your studies.”

    I blew out a breath. “You know what I mean. Couldn’t I at least have a maid?”

    “And what would your brave knight do with the extra companion when he rescues you?” He smirked. “Leave her here? Heft her up onto his horse behind the two of you? Bring an extra mount?”

    “Oh, you’re impossible.” I flung a cascade of droplets toward him.

    He ducked. “Just thinking it through the way I’m sure your parents did. I doubt they would’ve forced you into solitude if they could’ve devised a good alternative.”

    “Maybe.” My sense of mischief faded. “I sometimes feel like they just took the easiest path. Locking me away until I can be someone else’s problem.”

    “Ev.” Ryker came to my side and squeezed my shoulder. “Your parents love you. It shows in their faces every year as they fret over whether they’ve packed enough supplies. I’m not sure they chose the best path when dealing with Kirra, but I believe they tried to do what they thought was right.”

    “Thanks. What would I do without you, Ry?”

    “Be a whole lot drier.” He splashed water into my face, and I shrieked.

***

Do you have any favorite Christmas-themed fantasy stories? What variations on the princess trapped in a tower trope have you read? I hope you have a very Happy Thanksgiving!! We're so very grateful for all of you!

Thanks for reading!

Laurie

Story Snippets: Son of the Shield (Mary)

 I am neck-deep in getting ready to release my epic fantasy novel, Son of the Shield, Book 1 of the Ransom Trilogy, in February, so I thought it would be fun to use that as my story snippet this month! (I wish I could share the cover art with this sample, but it's still in production so for now you'll just have to take my word for it being awesome!)

Son of the Shield features a lot of really intense and heavy scenes, but I decided to feature a more fun, lighthearted one...though I'm sure we can all empathize to some degree with the awkwardness Orienne is feeling. ; )

*

The sun was sinking in a bath of winter-golden light, casting sharp, crazy shadows through the leafless trees, and a gentle but frigid wind had drawn a thin veil of lacy clouds over the pale sky when Orienne made the walk back up the hill from the village to the fort.

She was bone-weary, but couldn’t remember when she’d last had such a pleasant afternoon. She’d spent the last several hours helping the women of the village fill their wood boxes, feed their animals, clean their barns, and finish a variety of other chores. They’d all thanked her profusely as though she’d made some great sacrifice, but in truth she almost felt as though she’d taken advantage of them, using their moment of need as an opportunity to indulge her own desires.

Their lives were so simple, so enviably perfect—of course not really perfect, as the problem of the Moorden fire and subsequent absence of the village’s men attested—but wasn’t that just the point? The primary problems in these people’s lives were an accidental fire and being short handed for afternoon chores. Not war, not tense diplomatic meetings, not absurd offers of armistice, not assassination attempts.

Just the simple, mundane problems of a simple, mundane life.

By comparison, it was perfect.

Not for the first time, Orienne contemplated resigning from her diplomatic position and leaving the capital for someplace like Sutton Village—Farindel boasted scores of such tiny, remote villages—since waiting for the war to end was proving in vain. But doing so would take her away from Allegar—Allegar, who had first committed himself as a soldier, and now dedicated his entire life to Farindel’s service as one of the Ransom. He was all the family she had left and she was loath to leave him for that reason, but it also felt so unfair, so selfish, to yearn so strongly for a life the war didn’t dictate, when he had accepted that role freely.

And now she was back in the place she had reasoned herself into so many times: that her only chance at a life free from war was to pray and hope for the war to end.

“Orienne, there you are!”

She stopped and pushed back the hood of her cloak as Allegar strode toward her across the fort’s courtyard, grinning.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said.

“Is anything wrong?”

“Hardly!” He put one arm around her shoulders and gestured with his other hand at a second man coming towards them. “Will you look at what the wind blew through the gates while you were out?”

The approaching man was about Allegar’s age, though not quite as tall, with blond hair, blue-gray eyes, and facial features that were vaguely familiar—more and more familiar, the longer she looked at him. He wore civilian clothes, but the sword and scabbard on his belt were marked with the shield-and-wyvern insignia of the military.

His eyes widened when he looked at her. “Allegar, this cannot be Orienne.”

He knew her—but from where? Orienne wanted to study his face more closely, hoping to locate a memory of him, but was afraid to risk making eye contact lest her eyes betray the awkwardness she felt.

Allegar laughed and squeezed Orienne’s shoulders. “A bit different than last time, eh?”

“A bit?” The man laughed, blinking in disbelief. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Orienne nudged Allegar’s ribcage with her elbow, trying to signal that she had no idea who this person was, but he said nothing, so she did her best to smile politely in spite of the blush she felt crawling up her neck. No doubt her eyes were as pink as her face.

“Please, forgive me for staring—I’m just so taken aback! It is so good to see you again, Orienne!” the stranger said, extending his hand, palm-down.

Orienne rested her hand on top of his a bit uneasily. “Hello,” she said, meeting his eyes only briefly. His smile stirred something in her, something she’d felt before. Why couldn’t she remember his name?

After a moment’s pause, he withdrew his hand and chuckled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Orienne cringed and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I know your face, but—I am so sorry—I have no name to put with it.”

The stranger glanced at Allegar, one side of his mouth tipped up in a mischievous smile. “Can I tell her now?”

Allegar leaned closer to Orienne and whispered: “Think Harrowby.”

Orienne shuffled through memories of the village where she and Allegar had grown up. Neighbors, relatives, friends… She gasped as the stranger suddenly fell into place among them. “Sorek Ronarres?”

He threw his head back. “Ha! You do remember!”

Remember? Orienne was shocked it had taken her so long to place him. She forced an uncomfortable laugh, trying in vain not to blush even more now that she realized who he was. “I—I can’t believe it, it must be…how many years?”

“Eleven, we figure,” Allegar said.

Eleven years ago Orienne was only twelve. Sorek was a lanky, awkward eighteen-year-old, Allegar’s best friend…and the sole object of Orienne’s girlish infatuation. Now, time had replaced his coltish gangliness with a mature, rugged physique and features. A healthy, well-maintained beard grew where before only thin, straggly wisps had struggled for existence, and his unbridled energy had settled into warm cheerfulness.

“You’ve…changed,” Orienne managed.

“I’ve changed?” Sorek laughed. “What about you? You were just a little girl when you two left Harrowby.”

Orienne groaned inwardly, remembering how she’d hung on everything Sorek said, the way her heart had fluttered every time he happened to glance her way…and the entire time she’d been nothing but “a little girl” in his eyes.

Story Snippets: Guardian Prince by Lauricia Matuska (Lauricia)

Greetings, all and happy fall. Only THE best season of the year. I adore the way the light takes on a richer tone and the air takes on a mysterious smell, and the mist... having grown up in a land-locked, semi-arid desert, I can't tell you enough how I adore misty mornings. I hope that you're finding this time of year just as enchanting.

Here's a snippet of my most recent release, Guardian Prince (book two in the Ceryn Roh series), for you to enjoy during these magical autumn days. When you've finished, I'd love to know what your favorite season is and why. Tell me in the comments below! 

        Sabine expected to walk into complete blackness. Instead, she found the cave faintly illuminated by a multitude of green luminescent specks draped like a canopy across the cave ceiling. At first, she compared them to stars—although she knew she was now inside the cliff and could not see the sky, she could think of no better way to describe them. Upon closer inspection, however, she noticed the lights were moving, squirming over one another, like—
         “Glow worms,” Koen stated, his head craned back to study the ceiling. “Gaoth will be beside himself when he learns of this.”
         “He eats them?” Sabine guessed.
         Koen chuckled dryly. “He can’t resist them though they make him very ill. His droppings glow for days.”
         Sabine grinned. Ahead of her, Gaelan snorted.
         A thought of Bree twinged Sabine’s heart. She wondered how the dog was doing without her, then reminded herself that Bree had Gaoth for company. Besides, Sabine would only be gone for a few sennites. The dog would be fine.
         For some reason she couldn’t explain, Sabine had expected the labyrinth to be constructed of carved stone, so the ruggedness of the path they now stood on surprised her. The glow worms were so numerous that they provided enough light to see by, but only just. Even so, everyone agreed it would be best to not use additional light, yet, in case it alerted the Rüddan to their presence. Because of this, Sabine stumbled several times as her toes got caught in shadow-concealed holes.
         Sabine checked the cuff often, worried that she would misjudge the distance between the twists and turns of the path. Fortunately, the glow on the armband seemed to fade behind them as they followed the trail, indicating where they were as they moved. Sabine was grateful for this, because the strain of peering through the gloom was making her head throb and her eyes ache so that when they came upon the first turn, she almost walked right past it.
         “Turn here,” she called, directing the others off the main path.
         “Are you sure?” Gaelan furrowed his brow. “We’ve already passed two branches just like this.”
         Sabine nodded. Displaying the armband, she explained how the path was fading as they followed it.
         “We’re here,” she pointed a fingernail to the spot where the black path behind them met with the red glow before them and turned right. “And we go there.”
         Gaelan nodded but said nothing before stepping into the new tunnel.
         Sabine led them like this for a while, constantly checking the armband and indicating turns as they came upon them. The others followed without much comment.
         Then the path ended.
         “What now?” Gaelan asked as they faced a wall that blocked any forward movement on the path.
         “The cuff says to turn right again,” Sabine said, looking from the cuff to the wall and back again.
         “I’d love to,” Gaelan remarked. “Would you like to tell me how?”
         “Look around,” Koen said. “Labyrinths are full of concealed paths. You just have to find them.”
Sabine’s face burned, the heat of embarrassment scalding her cheeks. What would she do if she had led them to a dead end? Could she have misread the armband, maybe misunderstood how it worked? She scanned the wall in front of her desperately, so focused that she almost missed the clue that revealed the hidden path Koen had suggested they find.
         It was the breath of cold air that caught her attention. She had stumbled yet again as she moved to inspect a new section of the wall and had paused to massage her ankle when the wisp of cold passed her face.
         “Did you feel that?” she called softly to the others.
         “Feel what?” Koen said as he drew near.
         “A small wind, as if from outside.”
         “Wind?” Gaelan’s voice carried across the path. “In a cave?”
         “Maybe a cross tunnel,” Aodhan countered.
         Sabine surveyed the wall doubtfully.
         “Don’t expect it to be obvious,” Koen cautioned. “The easy paths are often the deadly ones.”
Sabine nodded, not really sure what she was looking for until she felt another puff of cold air. Following the direction it came from, she examined the shadowy crannies and nooks until she found an opening that turned out to be much wider than it had initially appeared.
         “Over here,” she called to the others. “This crack is wider than it looks. If we go single-file, we can fit through it easily.”
         “The glow worms stop here, so we’ll need a light,” Aodhan said as he peered over her shoulder. “A dim one, though. The Rüddan will discover our presence soon enough without our announcing it.”
A moment later an orb of light blossomed in the darkness. Hovering near Koen’s shoulder, it was just bright enough to illuminate the path clearly. Sabine was glad for this since the new tunnel was just as rugged as the one they were leaving.
         The air grew colder as they walked. At first, Sabine welcomed it. The chill refreshed her as it cut through the still, dank cave air. Soon, however, it grew chilly. Not long after that, it became uncomfortable enough for Sabine to draw her cloak around her. Unfortunately, everything she wore was still damp, so the chill soon sank into her core.
         “Human, does that map of yours indicate any new turns?” Gaelan asked, apparently unfazed by the drop in temperature.
         Sabine checked the armband. “Not for a while yet.”
         “Then that gate is going to be a problem.”
         Squinting into the gloom ahead, Sabine envied her companions’ superior eyesight. She continued forward, reluctant to admit she saw nothing. “There’s no mark on the cuff to indicate any sort of barrier, but that’s not necessarily significant. It could be the map only marks distance and direction.”
        “Let’s hope so.”
         Just then, Sabine spied the gate, as tall and as wide as her former home in Khapor. Small black mounds dotted the ground before it, splayed randomly in a half-circle array. Yes, she agreed silently, wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff of a charred, acrid smell. Let’s hope so, indeed.

Story Snippets: On Stories by C.S. Lewis (Sarah)

 

 

This week, I have something a bit different to share—a snippet on stories from one of my favorite authors (C.S. Lewis) on the value of re-reading and what makes a story meaningful, from his essay On Stories:

The re-reader is looking not for actual surprises (which can come only once) but for a certain ideal surprisingness. The point has often been misunderstood. The man in Peacock thought that he had disposed of 'surprise' as an element in landscape gardening when he asked what happened if you walked through the garden for the second time. Wiseacre! In the only sense that matters the surprise works as well the twentieth time as the first. It is the quality of unexpectedness, not the fact that delights us. It is even better the second time. Knowing that the 'surprise' is coming we can now fully relish the fact that this path through the shrubbery doesn't look as if it were suddenly going to bring us out on the edge of the cliff. So in literature. We do not enjoy a story fully at the first reading. Not till the curiosity, the sheer narrative lust, has been given its sop and laid asleep, are we at leisure to savour the real beauties. Till then, it is like wasting great wine on a ravenous natural thirst which merely wants cold wetness. The children understand this well when they ask for the same story over and over again, and in the same words. They want to have again the 'surprise' of discovering that what seemed Little-Red-Riding-Hood's grandmother is really the wolf. It is better when you know it is coming: free from the shock of actual surprise you can attend better to the intrinsic surprisingness of the peripeteia.

Lewis has much more to say on the theory of story, which you can read in the full essay online or in his book On Stories And Other Essays in Literature, but I love the idea of meaningful stories being worth revisiting. What do you think? Do you re-read to savor your favorite tales? Do you think a story must be re-readable to be worth reading the first time?

Story Snippets: Illusionary (Desiree)

Hello, fellow story travelers!! Summer fun has officially bid us ado. And I’m torn on whether to mourn the loss or be excited for the next adventure I spy dancing along the horizon. 

I’m probably a mixture of both. :-) Which tends to be a new normal for me. Ha! 

Although, I am super excited for today’s Story Snippet! I do have a secret project in the works, and while I’m not sharing that one—just yet!—I would love to share a fun snapshot from my book, Illusionary, for those who are new to my writing. 

Kam and Reese are characters dear to my heart for a number of reasons. And I hope you enjoy this look at Kam’s tumble into the Land of Ur. Enjoy! 

——— 

Liv crossed over the top of the stairs as Kam turned to head out. Her sister spotted the bags in her hand. “What are you doing?” She blinked almost as if her brain refused to compute.

Kam squared her shoulders, ready for battle. “You may not like it, and you may not understand, but I have to do this.”

Liv’s brow creased. “Aren’t you a little old for running away?”

She lifted her chin. “It’s called moving out.”

“And where would you go?”

“I can crash at a friend’s house until after my trip—which would only be for a week. Not sure if nosey-Tina told butt-wipe that. Afterwards, I’ll … figure something out.” It couldn’t be too hard. People left home all the time.

She squeezed past her sister, but the strap of her camera bag caught the corner of the hand rail. Her feet staggered over the top step. She scrambled to find her footing.

“Come on, Kam—”

Liv tugged her shoulder to spin her around, but only succeeded in throwing Kam more off balance.

The soles of her flats slipped off the next step. Her fingers skimmed the railing, seizing nothing but air. The weight of her duffel bag tugged her backward and made gravity her new enemy.

Kam went airborne.

Her sister’s eyes bulged. She stretched out her hands to grab her.

The gem of her necklace heated against her chest. A spurt of golden light flashed.

Then sharp pain jolted through Kam’s hip. Another flare shot through her shoulder as she tumbled down the steps.

Over and over she rolled.

Her arm smacked against the banister. Her head cracked into the steps. Dots danced across her eyesight. Crashing into the landing, her body bounced off the floor and then sagged against the wall.

The faintest hint of earth stirred her senses from the prickling against her cheek. Golden light flooded her vision. Then everything went black. 

* 

Twittering birds tugged at Kam’s consciousness. Heat warmed her back. She groaned and stretched her legs out. Hair tickled her face, and she pushed it out of the way, propping herself up with the other arm.

Rubbing the back of her throbbing head, she blinked until squashed blades of green grass came into view. Something stuck to her forehead. She swatted at it, clearing away flecks of dirt.

She drew her legs up to sit upright. Her heart hammered into her ribs, and her eyes widened.

A wooden grove encircled her. Vibrant bushes dotted with red flecks swayed with the wind. Sunlight streamed through slits in the canopy of leaves above. Tiny, fluffy birds fluttered along the sunbeams, their merry tunes lending more credibility to her insanity.

“Whaa …” She fingered the knot growing on her head.

Unconscious and dreaming. That’s what was happening.

She staggered to her feet. Her muscles tightened, screaming in protest. She arched her back and then leaned to the side to stretch.

Pain shouldn’t occur in a dream. So hallucination was the next logical step, right? She must have cracked her head pretty hard. Rubbing her sore hip, she allowed her gaze to wander. Pieces of bread littered the ground near a far bush. She squinted, bringing cheese, meat, and a scrap of fabric into focus.

Something rustled the bush. She pressed against a nearby tree. The rough bark ground into her tender flesh.

A whoosh shot through the grove, followed by a stinging of her cheek and a vibration near her ear.

Multi-colored feathers of blue, green, and yellow stuck off the end of an arrow shaft.

Kam scooted over, her hair tangling against the tree trunk.

The arrowhead lay embedded mere centimeters from where her face had been.

“I assure you, wanderer,” a masculine voice called from beyond the brush. “That is the only warning my archer will give you.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She reached shaky fingers to her cheek, only to swallow a whimper when the tips drew back coated with blood.

Someone had shot at her. Actually shot at her! 

I hope you enjoyed this snippet of Illusionary! 

I can’t wait to share more story adventures with you soon!!

Story Snippets: Rumpled Rhett (Rachel)

Earlier this year, I introduced you to one of my heroes in my Writer’s Life post “TheSocks Must Go.” Well, Rhett, my huntsman who hates his new wife’s hole-ridden socks, is making his literary debut on August 31^st and his book is available for pre-order on multiple ebook platforms. The paperback will be available for order on Amazon on the 31^st as well.

So, as a treat, I am going to offer an unshared excerpt from the novel below. This is before the infamous socks incident and immediately after all parties have agreed to the arranged marriage and accompanying deal. They have removed to a tavern for a meal, and all the men, except Rhett, have begun a celebratory round of drinks.

Cat has slipped into her usual place, sitting in the shadows far from the action in the center of the room.

 

Cat

The stranger (the Huntsman) was huge, tall, broad-shouldered, and very clearly at ease with his ability to physically intimidate. I had been watching Osbert (the reeve’s man of business) fidget and cough his way through their discussion. From the scribbling, the paper shuffling, and the Huntsman’s grim expressions, they were probably discussing the contract. Still, the Huntsman never relaxed into his seat. Those dark eyes routinely scanned the room, locating and noting the orientation of each of us, even me. No one ever kept track of me. I wasn’t sure I liked the fact he kept glancing my way.

Then, the tavern keeper’s wife appeared with his dinner. The smell of cooked meat, flaky pastry, and savory vegetables filled my nose as the woman passed with the two loaded platters. My stomach roiled and growled in anticipation of food, but I ignored it. The meal wasn’t for me. It was never for me. I would eat a few scraps of whatever remained from the midday meal when I returned home if my brother didn’t get to them first.

The Huntsman stood. I felt the occupants of the room tense, well, the still sober ones. Keeping my face tilted slightly down as though I studied the table, I watched him from beneath half-lowered eyelids. He spoke to the tavern keeper's wife and then Osbert. Whatever he said pleased Osbert. I hadn’t seen the man smile in ages.

A flurry of movement to my right drew my attention. Bess was on her feet. Red lips puckered, hand on her hip to emphasize her curves, and a come-hither flutter to her eyelashes, she was ready for the stranger to notice and respond to her unspoken invitation.

That must have been why he rose. I had noticed his gaze hesitating briefly in the women’s direction a few times.

Unwilling to watch Bess land another conquest, I dropped my attention to my hands. Chapped and raw, they needed more salve. Tomorrow, I would seek out Widow Louisa and ask for a refill of the jar she had given me last year.

“Mind if I sit here?”

The rough, deep tones resonated in my bones as my head snapped up in surprise. I just blinked at him for a moment. Why was he here? Bess wanted him. What Bess wanted, she took.

“Nod if you can’t find your tongue, or Osbert might attempt to murder me.”

“Osbert would never.”

He chuckled that odd rusty laugh of his and set his mug on the table between us. Strangely, the liquid inside didn’t smell of ale or cider. He placed the platter of food next to the mug before turning around to look for a chair. Moments later, he was sitting just around the side of the table to my left, his knee almost bumping mine.

I tucked my knee further under the table.

Despite the fact he made no indication that he had noticed my movement, I had the impression that he observed it all. I suspected that nothing slipped his notice. Instead of commenting on my avoidance, though, he calmly leaned back to untie a pouch from his belt before dropping it on the table. Then, inclining forward with companionableness as though we were the best of friends, he began rummaging through the interior of the bag.

“I have something for you.” His long fingers pulled out an even smaller pouch. This he spilled onto the tabletop beneath the protective curve of his other hand. No one could see the contents save the two of us. It was just as well because my brother and his associates might’ve been very tempted to do something rash if they could. A small pile of gold flans, three signet rings clearly made for large male fingers, and an intricately detailed moonflower made of silver and gold. From the midst of this collection, he plucked a delicate band of gold. Fashioned in the likeness of a vine, it curled in and out, winding around itself in an endless circle.

“What is it?” The question slipped out before I could hold it back. Surely he didn’t intend for me to wear it.

“A symbol.” He met my gaze. His eyes weren’t black or even brown. They were a blue so dark and intense that it swallowed the light. The color reminded me of the evening sky as the light faded, taking the wild, colorful sunset with it. The blue of the sky right before the blackness of night crept across to rule till morning.

“A symbol of what?” I fixed my attention on the ring instead.

“Fidelity.”

The reverence in his voice made me glance at his face again. Strong features, a rather large nose, and a defined chin gave him a face that could not be called handsome, not that there were many handsome men for me to compare him to. His face fit the rest of him, clearly masculine and intimidating without being ugly.

He continued. “It was given to my grandmother by my grandfather and then passed down to my father. He gave it to my mother. It is one of the few things I still possess that I know for certain was my father’s.” He set the ring on the table next to his mug before sweeping the rest of the expensive trinkets back into the tiny pouch. He returned it to the larger bag. Then, he plucked out another small pouch, which he set on the table too.

“Master Huntsman.” The tavern keeper approached the table hesitantly. “The food you ordered.” Setting a platter slightly smaller in size and content before me, he cleared his throat expectantly.

“Would you prefer ale or cider, Cat?” the Huntsman asked.

“I don’t drink ale,” I reminded the tavern keeper, not that he would know since I never frequented the tavern.

“I thought as much.” He motioned to his wife, who brought a mug of cider and set it before me. “Is that all?” he asked my companion.

“Yes, thank you.” The Huntsman didn’t bother looking up from whatever he was doing with the new pouch.

The scent of cooked meat filled my nose, making me dizzy.

“Eat, Cat.”

I glanced at him. He hadn’t even looked my way. Instead, he was fully intent on pouring some dried leaves into a small ball made of metal mesh attached to a delicate chain. This he closed and dropped into his mug, clasping the chain around the handle so it didn’t disappear into the liquid in his cup.

“What is that?” I asked.

He closed the pouch and returned it to his bag, reattaching it to his belt. “Tea.”

“Are you ill?” He didn’t appear sick.

“No.”

“I only drink willow bark tea when I am sick.” My nose wrinkled of its own accord. I hated the bitter taste.

“This isn’t willow bark tea.” A flick of his glance my way with a slight smile made me blink.

“What kind of tea is it?”

“A combination of a couple spices and herbs. A friend of mine makes it for me. Would you like to try?”

The smell rising with the steam from his cup was tempting, but I wasn’t in the mind to take another risk this day. “Perhaps another time.”

“I realized that I didn’t ask you.” He stirred his tea with a spoon.

“Asked me what?”

“To marry me.”

 I frowned at him. “You asked me if I was certain.”

“And you said you didn’t have a choice. I am giving you a choice.”

I frowned down at the ring. It lay on the rough-hewn tabletop, glinting faintly in the dim light. Around us, the crowd roared with laughter at someone’s joke, and the women in the corner chattered. Meanwhile, the man next to me waited. His calm silence enveloped us, stilling the panic that had been breaking over me in waves. Perhaps this might not be as bad as I feared.

  

To find out her answer, you can pre-order the book here.

Story Snippets: Fairy Lights in Deep Magic, Winter 2019 (Laurie)

I hope everyone's having a fabulous summer so far! I'm just sitting here staring at the calendar, wondering how July could possibly be more than halfway done already...

Anyway, is anyone familiar with Deep Magic? It's an awesome e-zine of clean fantasy and science fiction, featuring many short stories and some excerpts from longer works. I was so sad to hear that their Summer, 2021 issue will be their last! *sniff* But it also makes me more grateful than ever that my steampunk Cinderella retelling, "Fairy Lights," was chosen for their Winter issue back in 2019! Definitely one of the highlights of my writing journey thus far :) 

So today, I thought I'd share an excerpt of that story with you! In this scene, Raella's stepmother and stepsisters have just finished getting ready for a ball at the palace, and Raella is eager to show them her latest invention. Enjoy! (You can find the Winter, 2019 issue of Deep Magic HERE and a list of all the issues HERE.)

I rubbed my sweaty palms against my cropped pants. Time for the big reveal. “Of course. The carriage is all ready for you out front.” The moment they’d sequestered themselves to get ready for the ball, I’d given Dagen a quick lesson, then driven the carriage out just beyond the porch and polished off the layers of dust.

I led the way out the door, pressing my lips together to hide my grin.

“But where’s the horse?” Mother placed her hands on her hips. “Dagen, what is the meaning of this?”

He winked at me from his perch on the driver’s seat. “It seems we don’t need Dolly anymore.” The top of his balding head almost disappeared beneath the layer of fringe dangling from the front canopy.

Mother huffed. “Of all the idiotic—”

“It’s true.” I rushed ahead of them to Dagen’s side. “You asked me to fix the carriage and I added...well, an enhancement. The carriage drives itself now.” My grin finally escaped my attempts to subdue it. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“And a surprise it is. Quite an accomplishment, Raella.” Mother’s expression was more sour than ever.

“You mean it has an engine?” Dianthe squinted into the dim light cast by the nearest street lamp.

“Yes, precisely. Once I pull this lever, the heating element will—”

“But think of all that horrid steam.” Dianthe wrinkled her nose. “Mother, we cannot attend the ball in such a contraption. No one will want to come within miles of us.”

“Perhaps they’ll think it’s interesting.” Herra gave me a half-smile.

“It will be the only one, at least for this ball.” I placed my hand on the twisted metal of the tall front wheel. “But after everyone’s seen it, by the next event I’m sure dozens will—”

“That’s enough, Raella.” Mother had walked to the far side of the carriage, now she rounded it to face us. “Of course you’re proud of your invention, but we can’t possibly consider driving it to Prince Hendrick’s ball. What if it breaks down on the way, or starts a fire that ruins other carriages? No, Dagen will hitch up Dolly this instant, and we’ll be on our way. I presume it still functions as a horse-drawn carriage?”

I dragged the toe of my boot across the dirt. “Not exactly. I’m still trying to sort out...”

Dianthe whimpered.

Mother’s exaggerated sigh could have emanated from a steamship. “Then we’ll go on the cart. Dagen, I want it ready in five minutes.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” He shot me a sympathetic glance as he scurried to the barn.

“Girls, let’s return to the house before our dresses get covered in dirt.” Mother stalked past me up the porch stairs.

Herra lifted her skirt, the buckles of her knee-high boots glinting in the moonlight. “I thought it was a neat idea.” Her voice barely reached me as she shuffled by.

Dianthe’s stiff posture mimicked Mother’s. “When will you learn your tinkering is a useless, unladylike waste of time?”

#

I glanced up from where I’d crumpled onto the front porch. The cart was no longer in sight, only a trail of dust left in its wake. My hands returned to my face. How had I fooled myself into thinking they’d understand this time? That they might even appreciate my efforts? A stream of tears escaped between my fingers, and I didn’t bother to stop them. No one was here to see.

A point of pink light flickered, followed by a buzz. I swiped my sleeve across my eyes. Farther in the distance, a green twinkle of light hovered in the air. I might have guessed the fairies would be out the night of a ball, but why so far from the palace? The tiny creatures attended to the queen and other noblewomen, but no one of such rank lived this far from the center of town.

I pushed off from the porch’s splintering wood and stretched my legs. Might as well return the carriage to the barn for the night. A yellow light blinked to my right, then pale blue to my left. How many fairies were here? Maybe they weren’t allowed in the palace during events as grand as Prince Hendrick’s ball. Shaking my head, I started for the carriage.

A woman clad in shimmering white materialized before me.

I lurched back with a screech. “Who are you? And how—?”

“My apologies; I suppose that was a bit startling.” Her voice had the resonance of a bell, vibrant and commanding. “They told me you were on the porch, but, well, I guess now you’re not.”

“I was just...” Wait. I didn’t owe any explanations to this bizarre apparition. “What is your purpose here?”

“Ah, a practical girl. Well, I might as well share the good news right at the start. You’ve been chosen to attend the ball.”

“Excuse me?”

More tiny lights glimmered around her shoulders, appearing and disappearing so quickly I couldn’t keep track of them all. The buzzing in the air grew to a hum. “I am Louvaine, mistress of fairies, and if you must know, I have come under a bit of criticism lately. Something about magic misuse. It’s all nonsense, of course, but I thought Prince Hendrick’s ball was the ideal opportunity to clear my name with a good deed. So, I sent out my fairies. ‘Ladies,’ I told them, ‘Find a girl who’s miserable about not going to the ball. One with the potential to be a true belle.’ And of all the crying girls in town, they chose you. We’ll get you looking like a princess, and to the ball you shall go!”

This cannot be happening. “That is very kind of you, but I have no desire to go to the ball. My crying was about something else.”

“Nonsense. You’re a young, pretty girl”—she stepped back to appraise my attire—“who only needs some assistance with her wardrobe to be presentable. The perfect recipient of our help.”

“No, I mean it. I’m sure another one of the crying girls would be much more appreciative of such an opportunity.”

She released a weary sigh. “I know your kind, dear girl. The martyrs who never want anything for themselves, who claim they don’t mind slaving their lives away without any frivolity, then cry about it in secret. You will go to the ball, and you will look spectacular. Ladies.” She snapped her fingers, and every light blinked on in a dizzying assortment of colors. “Escort Miss—”

Her brows raised expectantly.

“Raella.”

“Escort Miss Raella inside, get her bathed, if necessary, and into one of your finest gowns.” She pointed toward the house, and the fairies swarmed like a colony of tunnel bees. “And do something about that hair!”

My feet rooted to the ground as I squinted against the roiling lights. Had I fallen asleep while sitting on the porch? Or had my loneliness since Daddy’s death finally driven me mad?

Gentle pressure on my back inched me forward. Whether dream or reality, apparently it was time for me to get dressed.

Story Snippet: The Last Will and Testament of Captain Nemo (Mary)

 Here in the height of summer, most people find their thoughts (if not their actual bodies) drifting to the pool or the beach. For my part, I just got back from a much-needed trip to the river and it was SO refreshing.

Which got me to thinking about water, and I decided that for this episode of Story Snippets I would share an excerpt from my nautical fantasy novelette, The Last Will and Testament of Captain Nemo - a mashup of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.

***

Close by the Rackliffe estate was a stretch of beach where, Eyrál knew, the younger Lord Rackliffe was wont to go riding in the early mornings. It was to this place that she travelled, and waited until just before dawn to swallow the witch’s draught.

How the transformation took place, she never knew. Upon swallowing the draught she found her vision distorted, her ears pierced by a deafening ringing, and her senses scattered by an overwhelming dizziness. In this condition she lay on the sand, unknowing, until Lord Rackliffe did indeed happen upon her.

He saw her lying senseless, still half in the water, and drew the natural conclusion that she was the victim of a shipwreck, as he himself had so recently been. Upon discovering that she still lived, but being unable to rouse her, he lifted her in his arms and began carrying her back to his father’s house, utterly unaware that in his arms he bore the woman to whom he owed his life.

Into this situation, Eyrál awoke: borne in the arms of the man whom she had spent the last months loving from afar. And in that moment, her love for him grew deeper still, and she leaned her head on his shoulder and rested in her love and his nearness.

Lord Rackliffe, for his part, took Eyrál back to his father’s house and saw that she received the ministrations appropriate to the circumstance of a shipwrecked woman. His efforts to ascertain her name, as well as every other line of questioning or conversation, were met only with silence, for the Mer speak a language unique to them. Eyrál understood not a word that was spoken by Lord Rackliffe or any of his household, and dared not speak a word in her own tongue for fear of betraying her identity. Instead, she maintained an unbroken silence until those around her reached the consensus that she was a mute.

As she had in the way of worldly possessions only the sharkskin garment she had been wearing when she swallowed the witch’s draught, a wardrobe was provided for her. As she had never before possessed human legs or feet, she found walking both painful and difficult. This was easily explained in the minds of her hosts, who believed she simply needed time to convalesce. She mastered her newfound limbs quickly, however, and within a few days was walking well, though her feet remained tender and delicate.

Over the span of her convalescence, Lord Rackliffe grew fond of her as one would of a foundling dog, and treated her as one, but so hopelessly in love was she that she suffered all without complaint—even with gratitude! When he had her dressed as a pageboy so that no one would question her accompanying him on hunting trips, she complied with a naïve sweetness that only made his behavior more repulsive by comparison. When he placed a cushion on the floor outside the door to his private rooms for her to sleep on at night—as if she, a princess of the Mer and the savior of his very life, were truly nothing more than a favored dog!—she accepted all with gladness.

Her sweetness of temper and beauty of spirit made her a favorite among everyone in the Rackliffes’ household, from the Lord and Lady to the lowliest servant. However, if she believed that her perfect devotion and saintly submission to Lord Rackliffe’s unforgivable cruelty would win his love, she was sadly mistaken. While she slept on her cushion outside his door and accompanied him on his hunts and attended his lavish shipboard parties, his affections were being lost to another: the temple maiden who had discovered him on the beach where Eyrál had dragged him after the sinking of his ship.

A few months after Eyrál’s arrival, an announcement was made of the younger Lord Rackliffe’s engagement to that same temple girl, the daughter of a wealthy and influential Egyptian businessman. Arrangements for the wedding were made, a grand celebration aboard Lord Rackliffe’s finest ship was planned, and of course, Eyrál was invited.

The Mer princess knew full well that Lord Rackliffe’s impending marriage would mean her death, thanks to the sea-witch’s spell, and her heart broke at the realization that the man for whom she had sacrificed everything—for whom she was about to give her life!—shared nothing of her devotion. And yet so great was her love of him, and so good was her heart, even in the face of losing both love and life, that she held up her head, smiled upon Lord Rackliffe and his new bride, embraced them both to show her goodwill, and danced with more joy and abandon than any of the other guests at the celebration.

The wedding night came. The guests, weary from their revelry, retired to their cabins. Lord Rackliffe and his bride withdrew to the tent that had been erected for them in the middle of the ship. Only the night watchman and Eyrál still stirred.

As she stood at the bow of the ship, a cry came to her from the sea. Her sisters, distressed by her rash and vain pursuit of the prince, had themselves gone to the sea-witch to seek a counter-spell, one that would allow their sister to return to her life among the Mer. The witch had granted their boon in the form of a knife. If Eyrál were to use this knife to slay the prince before the approaching sunrise brought her death, her Mer form would return to her and she would be free to rejoin her sisters.

Pained by their mournful entreaties, Eyrál accepted the knife her sisters offered and stole into the tent where Lord Rackliffe and his bride blissfully slept in each other’s arms. But so great was her love, so good was her heart, that even in the face of her own destruction she could not take his life.

She returned to the bow of the ship and looked down to where her sisters eagerly waited. But to their dismay, she cast the knife from her and withdrew to the center of the ship, away from their sight so that she might not inflict upon them the pain of witnessing her end.

The sky colored, the sun rose, and yet Eyrál did not die as she had anticipated. No, indeed, for the witch’s spell had not required the love of Lord Rackliffe himself; it had only required the love of a human—and there was a human on board that ship who loved her with body, heart, and soul: myself.

***

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt! If you'd like to read the rest of the story, you can find it here.