Close
post-featured-image

Excerpt Reveal: The Last Crown by Elżbieta Cherezińska

The Last CrownAcross Baltic shores, English battlegrounds, and the land of Northen Lights, The Last Crown is the follow up to The Widow Queen, and the epic conclusion of Swietoslawa’s journey from Polish princess to Queen of Denmark & Sweden and Queen Mother of England.

The Last Crown will be available on September 6th, 2022. Please enjoy the following excerpt!

 

 


CHAPTER ONE

THE BALTIC SEA

The night from which the moon was stolen is cold and gloomy. It takes its vengeance with irregular gusts of wind and waves which treacherously flood the deck. Unpunished and confident in its invisibility, the night tangles the ropes, tugs at the sails, and whispers misleading directions. Its scrawny arms sink into the ocean’s depths, searching for drowned men and drowsy fish. Running its fingers through the waters, it picks out that which cannot be revived and that which cannot rot in salty waters. A moonless night is not particular, but it’s in a rush, chased by the dawn on its heels. It wants to surprise its pursuer with a deck decorated by its dead catches. It throws its treasure overboard with a hollow splash and disappears to escape the notice of dawn’s scout, daybreak.

 

Astrid watched Tyra doze. The princess was snoring gently with her mouth open. It’s because of the poppyseed brew I gave her, Astrid thought. Or she has a cold. Even princesses get blocked noses, after all.

Morcar Frog had provided every comfort, or at least that which was possible aboard a merchant ship. There was a small tent stretched out between the gunwales which offered protection from the wind, sun, and rain, as well as from the crew’s curious stares. They were also given warm blankets and almost-warm meals. And wine, good red wine from the merchant’s supplies. Astrid sipped it as she waited for Tyra to wake. She wasn’t thinking about her, she was thinking about herself. About how life always seemed to place her near Olav but never quite in the right position. She’d thought that there could be nothing worse than bringing his son into the world, but fate had written another verse of this song and now she had aided Tyra’s abduction so that this foreign girl could become Olav’s wife.

oreign girl could become Olav’s wife. If only it had been Świętosława. Her salty sister, so sharp and fierce. Astrid could have done it for Świętosława and been happy for her, but no, she was acting against her sister as much as against her own heart. “My lady is in labor!” She’d heard the servants’ cries when she’d slipped unnoticed through the kitchens of Roskilde’s manor. If she had gone to the queen’s chambers instead of to Tyra’s solitary rooms . . . If she had broken her word . . . No, she would never have done that. She had always been too mature for that. Mieszko would call her his “wise daughter Astrid.” Yes, she was wise. And what good had that ever done her?

Tyra opened her eyes.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

“On a ship.”

Tyra rose from her makeshift bed and leaned on one arm. Sleep had undone her three braids, and strands of hair, damp with sweat, spiraled in locks by her face. She rubbed her forehead and swollen eyelids.

“On a ship . . .” she repeated. “So, it worked, did it?”

“Yes. Do you want some wine?”

“Is it Friday today?”

“Yes.”

“No, I can’t today. I drink only water on Fridays.”

“As you wish,” Astrid replied as she took another gulp. “I find wine helps with the seasickness.”

Tyra blinked. Astrid hated women who fluttered their eyelashes. She was always surprised that men fell for such a cheap trick.

“So, you’re my savior,” Tyra said. “I’m sorry, but in all the excitement I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Astrid.”

“Astrid . . .” Tyra seemed to regain her senses and reached for the pouch at her belt, rummaging in it until she pulled out a denar. “Duke Burizleif’s sister?” She looked at Astrid’s brother’s name etched into the coin.

“Yes.”

“I hadn’t expected that Master Gretter’s mission would bear fruit so soon. Your brother is an uncommonly proactive ruler, and I will be forever grateful to him for saving me from Sven’s clutches. I’m very curious to meet my future husband.”

What is this? Astrid wondered. Does she always talk this way?

“Tell me about my sister,” she requested, swallowing more wine.

“Sister?” Tyra looked surprised. “Oh, forgive me, my lady! Where’s my head! The queen is your and your brother’s sister . . .”

What a dolt! Astrid thought, immediately blaming the insult on the wine she had consumed. Since her cup was empty, though, she poured herself some more.

“Yes, I met your sister in church and only then did I know her true nature. Because she is so regal in front of the people. Regal and beautiful. That monster Sven forced me to attend his feasts, where I would see the queen from afar. But she . . . forgive me, Astrid, but at the feasts your sister was just a queen to me, distant and foreign. She has two lynxes on a leash that walk with her, and before her walks a great, bald monster with a scarred face. There is also the boy who has a wolf’s eyes and the horrible Jorun, Sven’s comrade, and his axemen who chant your sister’s name: “Sigrid Storråda!” My brother wants her to be known as Gunhild, but it hasn’t stuck at court . . . Can I have some water?” Tyra paused and moistened her dry lips.

“Here.” Astrid handed her a cup.

The princess swallowed a few mouthfuls, but when she noticed Astrid watching her, she slowed down.

“Are you hungry, my lady?” Astrid asked.

“Perhaps, but I told you that I fast on Fridays. What should I call you? If you’re Duke Burizleif and Queen Sigrid’s sister, shouldn’t I be addressing you as a princess?”

“Call me Lady of Wolin, that will suffice. You were telling me of my sister.”

“Oh, yes. What was I saying?”

“You told me her new name, that her husband wanted to call her Gunhild.”

“An awful idea. The old Queen Gunhild, though it is embarrassing to say since she was my aunt, practiced . . . do you know?” Tyra fearfully made the sign of the cross and looked at Astrid meaningfully as she whispered: “Seidr. Do you understand?”

“She was a witch,” Astrid said.

“Yes. And she died like a witch. They threw her into the swamp.” Tyra shuddered at the thought. “No wonder the name didn’t take. The people know that your sister is a Christian queen, but Sven’s men, the ones who traveled with him to Sigtuna, decided they had brought back Sigrid Storråda, and that’s what they prefer to call her. Astrid!” Tyra suddenly grabbed her hand. “Is the queen privy to our plans? Sven will suspect her, he knew that we had a good relationship, that we met for mass . . .”

“No, my lady. My sister knows nothing,” Astrid replied, feeling nauseous.

She stood up and shakily walked out of the tent. She had to lean over the gunwale to vomit. The wine had done nothing for her seasickness or her guilt. Świętosława’s bright face stubbornly kept appearing in her mind’s eye. By the time she returned to Tyra, the girl had untangled her hair and was brushing it out.

“I should prepare to meet my husband,” she said, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

As if on cue! Astrid thought with distaste.

“It will be another week or two before you reach him, but you can start preparing now if you wish,” she told the princess.

“So long?” Tyra was surprised. “The sailors say the route to Nidaros is much shorter.”

“You won’t be sailing the whole way. Morcar will drop us off soon and we will proceed on horseback. We must lose our pursuers.”

Tyra looked worried, as if she only now realized that the entire journey was dangerous, not just the escape.

“Tell me, Astrid, how did you get me out of the manor? How did I reach the ship? Forgive me, but I can’t recall . . . I only remember the moment in which you entered my room and showed me the coin to prove that Duke Burizleif had sent you, and you said: ‘You’ll be safe when you wake up,’ and then you gave me something to drink. I don’t remember anything else . . .”

“I gave you a brew from poppyseeds,” Astrid told her.

Because I suspected that courage was not your strong suit, she thought, but she kept it to herself.

“When you fell asleep, we hid you in a great chest in which Morcar’s men had carried the weapons Sven had purchased earlier. We then carried you on board, right under your brother’s nose.”

“What?”

“Sven sat comfortably in a great chair as he examined Morcar’s shiny merchandise and we walked right past him.”

“That’s incredible!” Tyra clapped her hands in joy.

Will Olav be happy with her? Astrid asked herself, feeling her stomach grow heavy again. I’m vile; it is envy that speaks through me, she thought, bringing herself down even further

“What about the pursuers?” Tyra asked. “Do you think he sent any?”

“I’m certain he did, and I hope that his men were fooled by the group of riders who went west, toward Trelleborg. It was their job to draw Sven’s attention away from the port.”

“Is Morcar in danger?” Tyra asked in a whisper.

“Don’t be naïve,” Astrid retorted. “Everyone who played a part in this scheme faces Sven’s wrath.”

“Forgive me, Lady of Wolin. It’s the poppyseed which has robbed me of my clarity of thought.”

They spoke no more. Astrid lay down with her back to Tyra, pretending to be asleep. She wished she really was asleep so she could get away from her own intrusive thoughts. She had tricked Świętosława and undertaken the mission to bring Tyra out of Roskilde for the sole purpose of seeing Olav again. That was the truth, the embarrassing secret which weighed down her conscience. She had agreed to help in this endeavor only so she might look into his pale, translucent eyes once more, so she could smell the salt on his hair and hear his voice. She wanted to see him after all the years that had passed since Geira’s death, after everything that had happened. Damn it! What a fool I am! she thought with disdain and pulled the blanket over her head. Before sleep took her, she had made up her mind.

The next morning, Morcar’s ship sailed into a small bay by the estuary of Göta älv. Geivar, the chief of the house of scouts from Jom, was waiting for them.

“My Lady of Wolin,” he greeted Astrid when she stepped onto dry land. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Geivar. Princess Tyra is with us. I think that she could use a day of rest before we move on.”

“Whatever you think best, Astrid,” Geivar replied.

“Is that your husband, the famous Jarl Sigvald, the Jomsviking leader?” Tyra asked.

“No. This is the chief of silence.” Astrid chuckled. “You have the honor of meeting Geivar, who is the eye and ear of Jomsborg. He will be responsible for your journey from here. And if it makes any difference, he used to be a companion to Olav Tryggvason.”

“I’m happy to meet you, Geivar.” Tyra bowed her head in greeting and, unexpectedly, smiled. “It’s extraordinary! Your husband abducted Sven during the war with Eric, while you, Astrid, have abducted me from Roskilde, and now we can both go to Olav under the care of his old friend. It is all so exciting . . .”

“Forgive me, my lady, but we must alter our plans,” Astrid interrupted her sharply. “I won’t accompany you any further. I will return to my husband.”

POLAND

Bolesław stared gloomily at the silver coffin lid.

“You did the best you could,” said Zarad, but his voice sounded hollow. “You paid for Adalbert’s body with its weight in silver, you brought back his remains, you even managed to get back his head.”

“This was Sobiesław’s last brother. My uncle killed his entire family two years ago.”

“My lord,” Zarad argued, “he still has a half brother. The one who escaped the Prussians. Radim, or whatever his name was . . .”

“It’s strange.” Bolesław leaned over the coffin lid and saw his own distorted reflection in the polished silver. “The pagans killed only Adalbert, sparing his brother and vicar Bogusz. Do you have any idea why?”

“There are two reasons I can think of. First, Radim and the others fled like cowards and left Adalbert to face the Prussians alone. Second, the pagans, by killing only the bishop, wanted to send a message to communicate that while they are refusing the mission, they do not want a war.”

“You’re right,” Bolesław agreed distractedly. He leaned over the coffin lid again. “It’s ghastly.” He showed Zarad his reflection in the lid. “And true.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” Zarad sounded worried. “I’m only a simple soldier. If you want to read into some signs or something, perhaps I should call for Bishop Unger?”

“I’m the one responsible for the destruction of the entire Sławnikowic dynasty,”* Bolesław said. “I supported their ambitions, their rivalry with the Přemyslid dynasty. They were important to me—such strong allies, the dukes of Libice . . .”

“Do you blame yourself, brother?” a deep voice asked from the direction of the chapel wall.

At first, Zarad and Bolesław glanced at each other in terror.

“Ghost,” Zarad whispered.

But it was Sobiesław who emerged from the shadows, clad in dark penitential robes.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said apologetically. “I was watching over the body and I fell asleep on the bench by the wall. I haven’t left this place, even though I know it won’t change anything. My headless brother will not rise again.”

Bolesław felt uneasy knowing that his friend had overheard his words. He saw Sobiesław’s dirty hair and untrimmed beard. The duke of Libice was suffering. It was only recently that his family had been rivalling the Přemyslids for influence in Bohemia. They had been powerful, wealthy, famous, and independent. Adalbert had twice abandoned the Praguian diocese; Sobiesław had fought at his side against the Veleti. In light of the swiftly deteriorating relations between the Přemyslids and the empire, their joint plan to overthrow the duke of Prague and replace him with Sobiesław seemed to be so close to fruition. His uncle Boleslav had cut it all short with the cruel murders, and now the death of the bishop of Prague when on a mission in Prussia concluded the destructive act.

Sobiesław came closer, throwing an arm around Bolesław and forcing them both to lean over the coffin. The smooth surface of the silver reflected both their faces.

“Do you see, brother?”

The duke could smell his stale breath.

“The fault is not yours alone, share it with me.” Sobiesław let go of Bolesław and laughed like a madman. “But it doesn’t matter, it’s an illusion anyway. Anyone who leans over my brother’s coffin would feel guilty. The living like to see themselves in the deaths of others. Do you want to know who is responsible for all my family’s misfortunes? Here he is!”

He retrieved a silver coin from his pouch and placed it on the coffin lid with a clang. Bolesław picked it up. There was an eagle taking flight on one side, and a hand holding a dagger on the other.

“And there’s my name around the edge. By hammering ‘Duke Sobiesław’ onto the coin I condemned the dynasty of Libice myself. My own family!” Sobiesław’s eyes flashed wildly. “The Přemyslid duke couldn’t bear it and paid me back with his blade. If we were innocent, would God have allowed Adalbert to have died such a horrible death? No. God has pointed a finger at us. He wanted us to vanish from this world . . .”

“Sobiesław!” Bishop Unger interrupted him as he entered the chapel. “Be silent! You cannot judge vanity with vanity. It is not for you to deliver God’s judgment; it is not your place to try to understand His perspective. Even amidst your suffering and grief for your loved ones, you must maintain some sense. Do you know why? To avoid questioning God’s will. Control yourself, Duke!”

Sobiesław took a step back, while Unger issued orders to the servants who followed him:

“It’s too dark. Light the torches and chase away the shadows which do not suit the Lord’s light, because here I bring the word of God to those in need.”

Bolesław took a careful look at Unger. His bishop was not a man to waste his words.

“Are you feeling all right, Unger?” he asked.

“Perfectly. My lord, Sobiesław, you have seen your own reflections in Adalbert’s coffin as you searched for those responsible for his death. Look again, now that the chapel is brightened by light. What do you see?”

“The radiance reflected off the metal,” Sobiesław muttered.

Only in the light did it become clear how deeply grief’s claws had wounded him. The lines on the face of the duke of Libice were covered by a dirty beard, while the strands of unwashed hair made him look like a grubby old man, though he was only just older than Bolesław.

“Radiance,” Unger repeated. “You’re right. Today it is the metal that is radiant, but tomorrow it will be your brother’s heavenly fame. Adalbert, in giving his life while on mission among the pagans, in the moment of his death became the Church’s martyr. Its Holy son. Do you understand?”

It won’t bring back his brother, but perhaps it might bring him some comfort, thought Bolesław.

“He knew the wealthiest men of this world,” Unger continued. “He was friendly with Rome’s leaders. Emperor Otto referred to him as his dear companion on his earthly path. A martyr who walked among us like Christ amidst the Apostles. Do you understand?” Unger asked hopefully, but he shook his head when he looked at them. “No, you don’t.”

Bolesław felt as if he was in the middle of a lesson, but thankfully Unger did not wait for an answer.

“In such times when the Church of Pope Sylvester searches for new saints, saints who can rise to the challenges with which the modern world faces them, we, in Gniezno, have the remains of a saint who gave his life for his faith, just as was done in the old days. We have a treasure!” Unger exclaimed, and Bolesław finally understood.

“How long will the canonization take?” he asked soberly.

“A martyr is canonized on the day of his death.” Unger smiled. “Though we will, of course, send a delegation to Rome. I expect Emperor Otto will be supportive, since after all he was the one who sent Adalbert on his mission.”

“No, Bishop,” Bolesław announced firmly. “From now on this is not the emperor’s mission, but mine. Otto sent him to the Veleti and we’ve all agreed that was unwise because of the war. I sent him to the Prussians, where he became God’s martyr.”

“I admire your wisdom, my lord.” Unger bowed his head. “Your mission. What would you say to finding a middle ground? We could say it’s a joint mission? Yours and the emperor’s? That would help to spread Adalbert’s cult.”

“Yes, all right. But only because you have just taught us that vanity is a sin.”

“By sharing fame with the emperor, you’re giving evidence of . . .”

“Pity?”

“No.”

“Caution?” the duke corrected himself.

“Prudence, my lord,” Unger concluded.


Click below to pre-order your copy of The Last Crown, coming September 6th, 2022!

Placeholder of amazon -31

Image Placeholder of bn- 19

Image Placeholder of booksamillion- 37

ibooks2 72

indiebound

Place holder  of bookshop- 16

post-featured-image

What’s New from Forge this Winter

A new year is upon us, which means a slew of new books are arriving on the scene from Forge! We’re so excited to share the lineup of amazing books we have coming your way this winter. If you’re on the hunt for some books to curl up with during these chillier months of the year, take a look at what Forge has in store for you!


Cutthroat Dogs by Loren D. Estleman

Placeholder of  -35“Someone is dead who shouldn’t be, and the wrong man is in prison.”

Nearly twenty years ago, college freshman April Goss was found dead in her bathtub, an apparent suicide, but suspicion soon fell on her boyfriend. Dan Corbeil was convicted of her murder and sent to prison. Case closed.

Or is it?

Available to read now!

A Thousand Steps by T. Jefferson Parker

A Thousand Steps-1Laguna Beach, California, 1968. The Age of Aquarius is in full swing. Timothy Leary is a rock star. LSD is God. Folks from all over are flocking to Laguna, seeking peace, love, and enlightenment.

Matt Anthony is just trying get by.

Matt is sixteen, broke, and never sure where his next meal is coming from. Mom’s a stoner, his deadbeat dad is a no-show, his brother’s fighting in Nam . . . and his big sister Jazz has just gone missing. The cops figure she’s just another runaway hippie chick, enjoying a summer of love, but Matt doesn’t believe it. Not after another missing girl turns up dead on the beach.

All Matt really wants to do is get his driver’s license and ask out the girl he’s been crushing on since fourth grade, yet it’s up to him to find his sister. But in a town where the cops don’t trust the hippies and the hippies don’t trust the cops, uncovering what’s really happened to Jazz is going to force him to grow up fast.

If it’s not already too late.

Available to read now!

Margaret Truman’s Murder at the CDC by Margaret Truman and Jon Land

Margaret Truman's Murder at the CDC2017: A military transport on a secret run to dispose of its deadly contents vanishes without a trace.

The present: A mass shooting on the steps of the Capitol nearly claims the life of Robert Brixton’s grandson.

No stranger to high-stakes investigations, Brixton embarks on a trail to uncover the motive behind the shooting. On the way he finds himself probing the attempted murder of the daughter of his best friend, who works at the Washington offices of the CDC.

The connection between the mass shooting and Alexandra’s poisoning lies in that long-lost military transport that has been recovered by forces determined to change America forever. Those forces are led by radical separatist leader Deacon Frank Wilhyte, whose goal is nothing short of bringing on a second Civil War.

Brixton joins forces with Kelly Lofton, a former Baltimore homicide detective. She has her own reasons for wanting to find the truth behind the shooting on the Capitol steps, and is the only person with the direct knowledge Brixton needs. But chasing the truth places them in the cross-hairs of both Wilhyte’s legions and his Washington enablers.

Coming 2.15.22!

The Chase by Candice Fox

The Chase

“Are you listening, Warden?”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to let them out.”

“Which inmates are we talking about?”

“All of them.”

With that, the largest manhunt in United States history is on. In response to a hostage situation, more than 600 inmates from the Pronghorn Correctional Facility, including everyone on Death Row, are released into the Nevada Desert. Criminals considered the worst of the worst, monsters with dark, violent pasts, are getting farther away by the second.

John Kradle, convicted of murdering his wife and son, is one of the escapees. Now, desperate to discover what really happened that night, Kradle must avoid capture and work quickly to prove his innocence as law enforcement closes in on the fugitives.

Death Row Supervisor, and now fugitive-hunter, Celine Osbourne has focused all of her energy on catching Kradle and bringing him back to Death Row. She has very personal reasons for hating him – and she knows exactly where he’s heading…

Coming 3.8.22!

Assassin’s Edge by Ward Larsen

image alt textA U.S. spy plane crashes off the northern coast of Russia at the same time that a Mossad operative is abducted from a street in Kazakhstan. The two events seem unrelated, but as suspicions rise, the CIA calls in its premier operative, David Slaton.

When wreckage from the aircraft is discovered on a remote Arctic island, Slaton and a team are sent on a clandestine mission to investigate. While they comb a frigid Russian island at the top of the world, disaster strikes yet again: a U.S. Navy destroyer sinks in the Black Sea.

Evidence begins mounting that these disparate events are linked, controlled by an unseen hand. A mysterious source, code name Lazarus, provides tantalizing clues about another impending strike. Yet Lazarus has an agenda that is deeply personal, a thirst for revenge against a handful of clandestine operators. Prime among them: David Slaton.

Coming 4.12.22!

Traitor by David Hagberg

image alt text1When McGarvey’s best friend, Otto, is charged with treason, Mac and his wife, Petey, set out on a desperate odyssey to clear Otto’s name. Crossing oceans and continents, their journey will take them from Japan to the US to Pakistan to Russia. Caught in a Kremlin crossfire between two warring intel agencies, Mac and Petey must fight for their lives every step of the way.

And the stakes could not be higher.

Coming 4.26.22!

And here are some great books coming out in trade paperback!

Waiting for the Night Song by Julie Carrick Dalton

Waiting for the Night Song-1Cadie Kessler has spent decades trying to cover up one truth. One moment. But deep down, didn’t she always know her secret would surface?

An urgent message from her long-estranged best friend Daniela Garcia brings Cadie, now a forestry researcher, back to her childhood home. There, Cadie and Daniela are forced to face a dark secret that ended both their idyllic childhood bond and the magical summer that takes up more space in Cadie’s memory then all her other years combined.

Now grown up, bound by long-held oaths, and faced with truths she does not wish to see, Cadie must decide what she is willing to sacrifice to protect the people and the forest she loves, as drought, foreclosures, and wildfire spark tensions between displaced migrant farm workers and locals.

Waiting for the Night Song is a love song to the natural beauty around us, a call to fight for what we believe in, and a reminder that the truth will always rise.

Available to read now! Reading group guide also available.

My Brilliant Life by Ae-ran Kim; translated by Chi-Young Kim

My Brilliant Life-1Areum lives life to its fullest, vicariously through the stories of his parents, conversations with Little Grandpa Jang—his sixty-year-old neighbor and best friend—and through the books he reads to visit the places he would otherwise never see.

For several months, Areum has been working on a manuscript, piecing together his parents’ often embellished stories about his family and childhood. He hopes to present it on his birthday, as a final gift to his mom and dad; their own falling-in-love story.

Through it all, Areum and his family will have you laughing and crying, for all the right reasons.

Coming 2.1.22! Reading group guide also available.

Her Perfect Life by Hank Phillippi Ryan

Her Perfect Life-1Everyone knows Lily Atwood—and that may be her biggest problem. The beloved television reporter has it all—fame, fortune, Emmys, an adorable seven-year-old daughter, and the hashtag her loving fans created: #PerfectLily. To keep it, all she has to do is protect one life-changing secret.

Her own.

Lily has an anonymous source who feeds her story tips—but suddenly, the source begins telling Lily inside information about her own life. How does he—or she—know the truth?

Lily understands that no one reveals a secret unless they have a reason. Now she’s terrified someone is determined to destroy her world—and with it, everyone and everything she holds dear.

How much will she risk to keep her perfect life?

Coming 3.8.22! Reading group guide also available.

The Lights of Sugarberry Cove by Heather Webber

The Lights of Sugarberry Cove-1Sadie Way Scott has been avoiding her family and hometown of Sugarberry Cove, Alabama, since she nearly drowned in the lake just outside her mother’s B&B. Eight years later, Sadie is the host of a much-loved show about southern cooking and family, but despite her success, she wonders why she was saved. What is she supposed to do?

Sadie’s sister, Leala Clare, is still haunted by the guilt she feels over the night her sister almost died. Now, at a crossroads in her marriage, Leala has everything she ever thought she wanted—so why is she so unhappy?

When their mother suffers a minor heart attack just before Sugarberry Cove’s famous water lantern festival, the two sisters come home to run the inn while she recovers. It’s the last place either of them wants to be, but with a little help from the inn’s quirky guests, the sisters may come to terms with their strained relationships, accept the past, and rediscover a little lake magic.

Coming 3.1.22! Reading group guide also available.

The Widow Queen by Elzbieta Cherezinska

The Widow QueenThe bold one, they call her—too bold for most.

To her father, the great duke of Poland, Swietoslawa and her two sisters represent three chances for an alliance. Three marriages on which to build his empire.

But Swietoslawa refuses to be simply a pawn in her father’s schemes; she seeks a throne of her own, with no husband by her side.

The gods may grant her wish, but crowns sit heavy, and power is a sword that cuts both ways.

Coming 3.15.22! Reading group guide also available.

Comes the War by Ed Ruggero

Comes the War-1April 1944, the fifty-fifth month of the war in Europe. The entire island of Britain fairly buzzes with the coiled energy of a million men poised to leap the Channel to France, the first, riskiest step in the Allies’ long slog to the heart of Germany and the end of the war.

Lieutenant Eddie Harkins is tasked to investigate the murder of Helen Batcheller, an OSS analyst. Harkins is assigned a British driver, Private Pamela Lowell, to aid in his investigation. Lowell is smart, brave and resourceful; like Harkins, she is prone to speak her mind even when it doesn’t help her.

Soon a suspect is arrested and Harkins is ordered to stop digging. Suspicious, he continues his investigation only to find himself trapped in a web of Soviet secrets. As bombs fall, Harkins must solve the murder and reveal the spies before it is too late.

Coming 3.29.22!

A Dog’s Courage by W. Bruce Cameron

A Dog's CourageBella was once a lost dog, but now she lives happily with her people, Lucas and Olivia, only occasionally recalling the hardships in her past. Then a weekend camping trip turns into a harrowing struggle for survival when the Rocky Mountains are engulfed by the biggest wildfire in American history. The raging inferno separates Bella from her people and she is lost once more.

Alone in the wilderness, Bella unexpectedly finds herself responsible for the safety of two defenseless mountain lion cubs. Now she’s torn between two equally urgent goals. More than anything, she wants to find her way home to Lucas and Olivia, but not if it means abandoning her new family to danger. And danger abounds, from predators hunting them to the flames threatening at every turn.

Can Bella ever get back to where she truly belongs?

A Dog’s Courage is more than a fast-paced adventure, more than a devoted dog’s struggle to survive, it’s a story asking that we believe in our dogs as much as they believe in us.

Coming 4.5.22!

post-featured-image

4 of Our Favorite Epic Heroines

Place holder  of - 73Świętosława, mythic queen of yore and heroine of The Widow Queen by Elżbieta Cherezińska, is likely one of the best but most forgotten figureheads in fiction. Świętosława’s story is one for the ages: a throne, a love triangle, and power struggles in medieval Poland. Elżbieta Cherezińska pulls Świętosława’s story into the forefront in The Widow Queen, on sale now!

 

 


Margaret of Anjou

I discovered Margaret of Anjou when I was cast to play her in my college Shakespeare Society’s production of Richard III. It was so, so much fun, I got to prowl around the stage cursing everyone out. She’s often cut out of film renditions of Richard III, which is the true tragedy of that play, because her speeches have some of the bard’s best threats/insults. When I looked her up, I discovered the historical Margaret was just as awesome as the fictionalized version of her. She was a major player in The War of the Roses, she led armies, founded Queens College, Cambridge, and managed to survive the entire War of the Roses.

Julia, Associate Marketing Manager

Circe from Circe by Madeline Miller

I love the old mythes, but love mythic fiction even more. In Circe, Madeline Miller fleshes out the story of a villainous witch from Homer’s Odyssey who lives on an island and turns men into pigs. But Homer’s Odyssey isn’t about Circe, which sucks because she’s so cool. Which brings us back to why I love epic retellings, where we can finally read the forgotten stories of rock’n heroines (and baddies) that could have been the main character.”

a cat, Marketing Coordinator

Lady Macbeth from Macbeth

“Out of all the Shakespeare works I had to read in high school English, my favorite was Macbeth, specifically for Lady Macbeth. My English teacher went crazy for her, and the attitude was infectious; Lady Macbeth truly was a unique character, worthy of discussion. While Macbeth was the “hero” of the Scottish play, hacking and killing his way to achieve his dreams, Lady Macbeth was in his ear every step of the way, urging him to keep going. And Lady Macbeth has got to have one of the best monologues in any Shakespeare play when she is having a breakdown since she keeps hallucinating blood on her hands. Even though Lady Macbeth had a tragic end, her storyline is truly what makes the play, in my opinion.

Lizzy, Marketing Intern

Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones

There are many epic heroines in the Game of Thrones TV series, as well as the A Song of Ice and Fire book series that the show is based on, but my favorite by far is Brienne of Tarth. Since she’s a woman, she’s not allowed to serve as a knight until the very end of the show, but her skill, loyalty, and commitment to protecting those she serves far outweighs any of her peers. One of my favorite things about Brienne is that she defies the cultural expectations of what it means to be a woman and doesn’t let anyone tell her who she should be or how she should act. She even says epic lines like, “All my life men like you have sneered at me. And all my life I’ve been knocking men like you into the dust”.

Sarah, Digital Marketing Coordinator

Order Your Copy of The Widow Queen—Available Now!

Place holder  of amazon- 68

Place holder  of bn- 81

Image Place holder  of booksamillion- 20

ibooks2 68

indiebound

post-featured-image

Forge Your Own Book Club: The Widow Queen by Elżbieta Cherezińska

Poster Placeholder of - 4The bold one, they call her—too bold for most. To her father, the great duke of Poland, Świętosława and her two sisters represent three chances for an alliance. Three marriages on which to build his empire. But Świętosława refuses to be simply a pawn in her father’s schemes; she seeks a throne of her own, with no husband by her side. The gods may grant her wish, but crowns sit heavy, and power is a sword that cuts both ways.

The Widow Queen tells the story of a powerful woman that has gone untold for too long. Fans of history, epic adventure and bold heroines will find everything they want and more! If you’re planning on reading this epic historical tale with your book club, read on for our recommendations on what food, drink, and music you should have to accompany your discussion, as well as what to talk about and what to read next! 


What to drink:

Boozy book clubs are in luck for this Polish adventure. Pick up a bottle of Polish vodka like Belvedere or Polish beer like Żywiec and serve either ice cold. Book clubs who prefer a non-alcoholic will be thrilled to try kompot. It’s a fruity and refreshing drink that’s so easy to make. We have suggested some fruits below, but this recipe would be delicious with any number of other fruits!

5 plums

  • 3 cups of cherries
  • 3 cups of blueberries
  • 1 gal of water
  • 3/4 cup of sugar or to taste

Instructions:

  • Bring 1 gal of water to a boil.
  • As water begins to boil, add fruit and bring water back to a boil.
  • Lower heat and let the mixture boil for 30 min uncovered.
  • Remove from heat and stir in 3/4 cup of sugar or to taste.
  • Let kompot cool completely, strain off the juice and refrigerate. Serve chilled.

What to eat:

There’s no greater tribute to polish cuisine than a plate full of Polish sausage and pierogies. If your book club is looking for a less hearty meal remember, bagels originated in Poland! 

What to listen to:

A playlist of the piano pieces by Polish composer Frédéric Chopin is the perfect background music for your discussion.

What to discuss:

Download the Widow Queen Reading Group Guide for insightful questions to get the discussion going.

9781250218001RGG1

What to read next:

If you’re interested in reading more Polish literature in translation, we highly recommend Flights by Nobel Prize winner Olga Tokarczuk or Blood of Elves by Andrzej Sapkowski, the inspiration for the Netflix series The Witcher. For more thrilling takes on historical fiction, you can’t go wrong with Nottingham and Lionhearts by Nathan Makaryk, The Half-Drowned King by Linnea Hartsuyker or Lady Macbeth by Susan Fraser King.

Order Your Copy of The Widow Queen—Available Now!

Poster Placeholder of amazon- 13

Placeholder of bn -26

Image Place holder  of booksamillion- 37

ibooks2 97

indiebound

post-featured-image

The Strength of a Rumour and the Power of Imagination

amazons

bns

booksamillions

ibooks2 34

indiebounds

Image Placeholder of - 7The Widow Queen by Elżbieta Cherezińska is the epic story of Świętosława, and a vividly-imagined story of an incredible queen whose life and name were all but forgotten—until now.

Elżbieta has joined us on the blog today to dive into the stories and history that inspired her novel, and power that rumors have in shaping our perception of history. Read her thoughts below, and grab your copy of The Widow Queen today!


By Elżbieta Cherezińska

Picture the north of Iceland in the grip of winter. The sun shines for barely a few hours a day. Gusts of wind viciously rip through the air. Leaden clouds shed flakes of sticky snow which freeze into an icy crust as soon as the weak winter sun sets. On nights that are calm and clear the sky blooms with the breathtaking northern lights. The long night knows how to dazzle.

The medieval Benedictine abbey in Iceland’s Thingeyrar did not look like what one might imagine when asked to picture a refined church building. Its ruins have failed the test of time for one simple reason: it had not been built from wood or stone, much less brick. Like most houses in Iceland, it had been made from peat. The low, long, and squat constructions with grass-covered roofs evoke the hobbit holes from Tolkein’s Middle-earth. They had no windows, so the only light in summer came in through smoke holes and open doors. In winter, it emanated from the long hearths which ran across the middle of the floors, and from smoky tallow lamps.

Let’s look at what was happening in the world nine hundred years ago: in distant and sunny Italy, the redbearded Emperor Frederick fights the Pope for power in Europe; the Crusaders have long since taken Jerusalem; the Templars guard the tomb of the Lord. Meanwhile, in the abbey in Thingeyrar, in the far north, the monks are hard at work. Following monastic practice, the day begins before dawn (even if dawn never breaks). Prayers and work. The young novices clean the fireplaces which have burned out during the night. They carry out the yellow ash that peat leaves behind when it burns. In this land where trees are scarce, peat is the fuel of choice. They carry buckets full of water next door, to the kitchen. They start a fire. The brother responsible for the kitchen brings out some dried fish and the remnants of a goat’s cheese from the pantry. Since conversation is forbidden, the meal is consumed in silence. The monks, however, have created a sign language of gestures and blinks that allows them to communicate without making a sound. The wind which howls outside the hut may be the only noise to be heard in the small refectory, but anyone who has eyes can see that emotions are about to boil over all around the table.

We know the names of only a few monks who were in Thingeyrar in the twelfth century: Abbot Karl Jonsson, Gunnlaug Leifsson and Oddr Snorrason. The last of these is my favourite, and his is the story I wish to share. He and Gunnlaug were the ones who had the most to say to one another. They were both writing sagas about Olav Tryggvason. They wrote in Latin by flickering candlelight and with watering eyes – courtesy of the smoke emitted by tallow candles. The Benedictine rule, ora et labora, pray and work, left no room for laziness. Between the Liturgy of the Hours, in the time that was dedicated to work, Oddr would stand at his pulpit and write. His monastic calling had been tested more than once over the years before he began working on the saga. One day he had had enough, and he decided to leave the abbey. He walked into the small chapel to say his farewell prayers, and found instead the dead Viking king, Olav Tryggvason. Olav spoke to him: I suffered for you, so I think you might want to suffer for me, too. Oddr went back to work, and Olav Tryggvason’s Saga was created. (Odrr, if you saw Olav the way I saw him – young, blond and incredibly sexy – then I can’t blame you in the least for choosing to stay). Odrr wrote the Saga because he wanted his beloved king to be made a saint, and it bothered him that this had not happened in the immediate aftermath of the king’s death. Considering existing traditions, it should have. In the Middle Ages, a ruler who had christened his country was almost always made a saint, like Charlemagne, or Knyaz Vladimir the Great in Russia. Only two rulers were exceptions to this unwritten rule: the Polish Mieszko and the Norwegian Olav (the one whom Odrr saw in the chapel). You will encounter them both in The Widow Queen.

The passionate Odrr believed that if he wrote down the story of Olav’s life, the world would recognize the late king’s greatness, the eyes of the Church Fathers would view his achievements kindly, and Olav Tryggvason would be proclaimed a saint. Odrr’s passion for his research, however, made him go too far. He wrote down everything he discovered, recording all the stories which circulated Iceland. He thus revealed too much. Not for the Icelanders (his Saga was swiftly translated into Old Norse), since in their tales Olav were the same as in Snorrason’s Saga. But the rest of the world read the narrative, too, and its content ensured that beatification was out of the question.

Who is Olav Tryggvason in Snorrason’s saga? He is Superman. If he walks into battle, he emerges victorious. If he builds a ship, it is the largest ship to ever have been built (you will encounter Long Snake in the second volume, The Last Crown). He can throw entire handfuls of javelins at a time (with both hands), and he catches speeding arrows in mid-flight. He climbs inaccessible mountains to rescue his less agile companions. No warrior or sailor is his equal. He is a champion swimmer, and he can take off his chainmail underwater. He uses his silver tongue to subdue rulers and seduce women. He shows no mercy when he decides to Christen Norway. His subjects are given a choice – baptism or death. The wily heathen demons stand no chance against him. If they create deadly underwater vortexes, Olav settles the waves. If they change their form, he catches them anyway. While the first section of Olav Tryggvason’s Saga is a correctly composed chronicle, it is the second part, which tells of Olav’s adventures in the far north, that is my personal favourite. With the swift change of setting, situation and character, it resembles a video reel, as if Oddr wrote down everything that Olav might have seen or heard. If Odrr filtered the stories from Iceland at all, then I cannot imagine what the tales sounded like in their original form!

Why did the memory of the Norwegian king remain so vivid in Iceland? Because he was the one who brought Christianity to the island in the year 1000. This was also the reason for which the Icelandic monk Odrr considered himself an heir to Olav’s legacy. Olav Tryggvason spent five bloodthirsty years introducing Christianity to Norway. He destroyed statues of Odin and Thor and burned their temples. He killed the jarls who refused baptism. Olav subjected his most obstinate jarls to the so-called “trial by serpent”, which involved a hollow horn with holes at both ends, one of which was placed in the victim’s mouth while a snake was placed into the horn at the other end. Olav then set fire to the horn, thus forcing the serpent to seek an escape route, and the only way out led through the back of the unfortunate Viking’s throat.

News of Olav’s exploits reached Iceland before he himself did. In the long nights spent by smoky peatfires, people fearfully exchanged tales of the Norwegian king. By the time Olav sent messengers to the island to announce that he wanted to bring Christianity to them, they knew what to expect. They held an assembly, a council of free people. They debated and had countless disagreements, because really, who wanted to replace the mighty Thor with the weak Christ? Could the Virgin Mary take the place of sexy Freya? Common sense, however, eventually prevailed, and the assembly accepted Olav Tryggvason’s offer. That is how Iceland became known throughout Europe for being the only country which accepted Christianity as a result of a democratic vote. The Icelanders proved themselves to be the exception to the rule that governs human history – they were able to learn from the mistakes of others. And, as often happens in negotiations, because they accepted the offer instead of resisting, they walked away from the table with more favourable terms for themselves (as well as a few other things that are usually only found in the small print at the end of the contract). The king allowed them to continue eating horsemeat and leaving offerings for the old gods, so long as this was done in secret, with no witnesses, and only in private homes. They also continued to leave their unwanted children to die out in the wilderness (a cruel tradition which continued for a long time, despite the Church’s best efforts to abolish it).

Many of the tales about Olav which Odrr recorded have been confirmed by other sources. I used many of these in the writing of my novel. The Battle of Svolder (also known as the battle of the three kings at Øresund), in all its detail and precision, was particularly important. For me, however, the most significant part of the saga is the the rumour according to which the battle of Øresund was brought about by Sigrid Storråda’s plotting. Storråda is none other than the Polish Świętosława: our Widow Queen.

Like other medieval women, Świętosława is rarely mentioned in the chronciles. Not even her name appears. She is referred to solely by the position she occupied beside the men in her life: “Mieszko’s daughter”, “Bolesław’s sister”, “King Eric’s widow”, “King Sven’s wife” and, finally, “the mother of the kings Harald and Cnut”. Only Oddr Snorrason, the Icelandic monk who lived over a century after her death, referred to her by her second name, her Scandinavian name: Sigrid Storråda. Sigrid the Haughty. In Oddr’s account of Olav’s life, rather than giving his heart to just one person, the beautiful warrior king had many women. But, according to Snorrason, Sigrid was the one who spun the deadly web of intrigue which stretched from the King of Swedes, her son by her first husband, through her second husband the Danish king, to Sigvald, the Jarl of the famous mercenary warriors, the Jomsvikings. Sigvald also happened to be her brother-in-law, husband to the mysterious Astrid who appears in monks’ records. According to Odrr, Sigrid despised Olav because he had broken their engagement years before. The wounded pride of a dangerous woman. Those were the rumours which spread across Iceland a hundred years after the battle at Øresund had been fought.

Where is the grain of truth in this rumour? I have spent years trying to figure it out. I created complicated family trees, connecting what monk Odrr recorded with what history tells us. For Odrr, what mattered was Olav, his hero – the monk didn’t concern himself with what happened to Sigrid Storråda after Olav’s death. He didn’t know that two years after the great battle at Øresund, her victorious husband, King Sven, banished her (which was recorded by a reliable chronicler, although he provided no explanation for Sven’s actions). If, as Oddr’s account claims, it was her plotting which had led to her husband’s victory, why did he subsequently send her away? That is a question for a writer.

Was Sigrid’s wounded pride truly the reason for her plotting? Or did her husband send her away because he realized that it wasn’t hatred that had inspired her actions after all, but love?

Thank you, Odrr Snorrason, for listening to the rumours which spread across Iceland. Thank you for listening to what the sailors had to say when they visited your island, and to the stories that women exchanged in whispers and with blushing cheeks by the fires at night. My version of events could not exist without yours. We would never have learned the delightfully risqué details of Queen Sigrid, Świętosława, the Widow Queen’s, life without you first noting them. And I don’t hold it against you, monk, my collegue, that you made a demon out of Sigrid. We each of us work in the best interestes of our hero, isn’t that right? You wanted to create an image of a warrior king, a saint. Buried in your narrative I found a proud queen.

Rumours are powerful, and the most interesting ones are about the people we all know, even if we have never met them. In the past, rumours concerned rulers. Today, rulers have been replaced by politicions, stars, and celebrities. We absorb the details of their lives to reassure ourselves that the richest members of this world love, envy, anger, and suffer, just as we, the commoners, do. My old friend Odrr of Iceland intertwined fact and rumour in his saga as he wrote in surrounded by dirt and the flickering light of tallow candles. He was lucky that his parchment survived, lucky that his brothers, the monks, translated and copied his work so many times that a version of it has endured to this day.

In the modern world, rumours travel faster. A photo appears with a single click, and all it takes is some editing and a strong heading for Twitter or Instagram to share it far and wide. In the past, a rumour spread by storytellers gained flavour and colour over time, just like wine does. A rumour would grow into a story and become part of the collective memory. Humanity’s passion for storytelling is our greatest strength. Our ancestors shared tales by the fire to distribute joy, fear, warnings, or merely to entertain one another. And we, the people of the twenty-first century, are no different. We live here and now. We work in shops and corporations, we fly to the moon and tend gardens, but once we finish our work, we like to let our imaginations run wild. We like to escape on the wings of a good story, to turn into queens and Vikings, warriors and explorers, for as long as the narrative lasts. That is our power. The power of imagination.

Order Your Copy of The Widow Queen—Available Now!

Poster Placeholder of amazon- 68

Placeholder of bn -63

Poster Placeholder of booksamillion- 26

ibooks2 6

indiebound

post-featured-image

Historical Fiction Novels We’re Excited About This Season

From stories of forgotten queens to mysteries set during World War II, Forge has a historical fiction novel for every reader coming out this season. If you’ve been thinking of picking up a page-turning novel set in the past, read our team’s recommendations below!


Place holder  of - 53The Widow Queen by Elzbieta Cherezinska

First published in Polish, and now to be released in English, Elzbieta Cherezinska’s historical novel The Widow Queen follows the epic life of a real Polish queen that history forgot. Swietoslawa is one of three daughters to the great duke of Poland, who has his eyes set on creating advantageous matches for the sisters. But Swietoslawa, who’s nickname is The Bold One (as she is too bold for most) wants no part in her father’s plans, wants to be queen and rule alone – with no king attached. The Widow Queen comes out on April 6th.

Lizzy Hosty, Marketing Intern

Image Placeholder of - 15The Eagle & The Viper by Loren D. Estleman

Is there anything Loren D. Estleman can’t write? Renowned for both his mystery books and his western books, in The Eagle and the Viper, he takes on a Christmas Eve plot to kill Napoleon in 1800. It has all the page-turning suspense you would expect from this master writer as well as a thrilling new take on a moment in history that would have repercussions for years to come.

Jennifer, Senior Marketing Manager

Poster Placeholder of - 24The Paradise Affair by Bill Pronzini

For those of you who love a good historical mystery series, look no further! Bill Pronzini’s Carpenter and Quincannon Mystery series follows detective partners Sabrina Carpenter and John Quincannon as they solve a variety of “whodunit” mysteries. The books are all set around the late 19th century and typically take place in San Francisco. The ninth and newest book in the series is The Paradise Affair, and it follows our two detectives as they chase down two con men who have fled to Hawaii. Each of the books in the series can be read as a standalone, so you can go ahead and dive into The Paradise Affair and take a trip to Hawaii with Carpenter and Quincannon now! If you’re a fan of the Netflix show Peaky Blinders, then this series is definitely for you.

Sarah, Digital Marketing Coordinator

Image Place holder  of - 68Comes the War by Ed Ruggero

If you’re looking for a gripping book set against the heroism and heartbreak of WWII, then look no further than former Army officer Ed Ruggero’s Comes the War. The main character, Lieutenant Eddie Harkins, is assigned to investigate the murder of Helen Batcheller, an OSS analyst. Harkins is paired with a British driver, Private Pamela Lowell, to aid in the investigation. Soon ​after, ​a suspect is quickly arrested and Harkins is ​told to stop his search for answers. ​Yet the swift arrest causes him to become ​suspicious,​ so, against orders,​ he ​decides to ​​press on with ​the investigation​. ​​But the deeper he digs, the further he gets himself entangled ​​in a web of deadly Soviet secrets. As bombs ​drop and war rages on, ​​​​Harkins must ​rush to ​solve the murder and ​expose the spies​…​all before it​’s ​too late. Comes the War brilliantly captures the timeless stories of ordinary people swept up in extraordinary circumstances and it’s a perfect read for all historical fiction lovers!​

Ariana, Marketing Coordinator

Placeholder of  -90Finn Mac Cool by Morgan Llywelyn

In college, we read Flann O’Brien’s masterpiece, At Swim Two Birds, which heavily features the Irish folk hero, Finn Mac Cool. Even though I’m Irish American, I had never heard of him, but my interest was piqued. So, I was delighted when Forge reissued Morgan Llywelyn’s novel, Finn Mac Cool. Historians aren’t sure how much of Mac Cool is real, and how much is legend, but Llywelyn is an expert at both Irish history and mythology, so she handles walking the line between both worlds beautifully.

Julia, Associate Marketing Manager

post-featured-image

Get a First Look at the Cover for The Widow Queen by Elzbieta Cherezinska!

amazons

bns

booksamillions

ibooks2 53

indiebounds

Forge Books is so excited to offer an exclusive first look at the cover of THE WIDOW QUEEN bestselling and award-winning author, Elżbieta Cherezińska.

Elżbieta Cherezińska is beloved and highly-acclaimed in Poland, where she is has published 14 award-winning books. THE WIDOW QUEEN is her first novel to be translated to English, and it goes on sale April 6, 2021.Place holder  of - 68

The Widow Queen tells the epic story of Świętosława, who is the daughter of a great duke of Poland. To him, Świętosława and her two sisters represent three chances of an alliance; three marriages on which to build his empire. But the powerful and headstrong Świętosława seeks a throne of her own, with no husband by her side, and she refuses to be simply a pawn in her father’s plans.

The Widow Queen is the vividly-imagined story of an incredible queen whose life and name were all but forgotten—until now.

The novel already has some major fans:

“Elżbieta Cherezińska writes with great depth and imagination, bringing to life seductive and detailed worlds.”—Olga Tokarczuk, Nobel Prize Laureate and Man Booker Prize winning author of Flights

The Widow Queen is the story of a woman standing strong in a world run by men, and of the sacrifices we must make for power and love. Elżbieta Cherezińska brings epic history to life with her own unique and recognizable voice. Her stories have emotion, drama, and make even the most well-known historical events feel exciting and fresh.”—Tomek Baginski, Executive Producer, The Witcher, Netflix

“A fascinating and forgotten corner of history . . . Cherezińska brings to life a world of violence and beauty, superstition and intrigue.” —Linnea Hartsuyker, author of The Half-Drowned King

“Fascinating, authentic, and beautifully told, The Widow Queen is the story of a forgotten Polish princess in an era of warriors, the headstrong, clever Świętosława —twice a queen, mother of kings. An impressive and compelling story brought vividly to life!” —Susan Fraser King, author of Lady Macbeth and Queen Hereafter

The Widow Queen is a genuine gift for historical fiction enthusiasts: a deeply-detailed story of power, politics, and love—and the impossibility of keeping all three. In Świętosława, Elżbieta Cherezińska reveals to us a complex woman who was ignored by historians, rightfully elevating her to an equal standing with her more-famous allies and enemies. This carefully-crafted novel lives up to its protagonist’s title: The Bold One.”—Nathan Makaryk, author of Nottingham

“Look no further for your next great adventure… This hidden history of a forgotten yet vitally important heroine brings Świętosława into the limelight she so richly deserves.”—Octavia Randolph, author of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga

Here’s an exclusive first look at the cover for THE WIDOW QUEEN by Elzbieta Cherezinska, and keep scrolling down to read a special first sneak peek:

Image Place holder  of - 76

Cover Design by Katie Klimowicz

Part I

Lambs to the Slaughter

The Piast House

984-985

 

Chapter 1

Poland

 

The island in the middle of the frozen lake, the home of the great Polish duke, was lit by cold moonlight.

Like every winter, the ice connected the island to the surrounding banks, but the stronghold could not be reached by crossing the frozen waters. The bridges were the only way to reach the duke’s dwelling, which was guarded by double ramparts, high as ash trees. Two bridges, like mooring ropes holding boats in place. West and East. Two arms, like a mother’s, nursing her child. The western bridge led to the road to Poznań. The eastern – to Gniezno. Between them was the isle of Ostrów Lednicki, hidden like a treasure. After all, it was a treasure hold. The dynasty’s hidden nest. The place where the duke’s children were raised. And the bridges, like umbilical cords, could lead those children into the world. Two bridges, two children who had almost reached adulthood, and ice all around them, on a night lit up by a winter’s full moon.

 

ŚWIETOSŁAWA let her eyelids fall shut. She was sitting on a wide bench with her legs tucked beneath her, a servant combing her long hair. Small clouds of mist escaped with her every breath. She was breathing deeper and deeper, until she finally rested her head on the soft fox fur that covered the bench. Her hair fluttered as it fell below the backrest. The hand holding the comb froze in midair.

“Is she asleep?” the servant asked, looking to the corner of the chamber, where a girl in a simple woolen dress sat on an iron-clad chest. She sat in the same position as Świętosława, with her legs tucked under her, head cocked to one side. Her face revealed nothing.

***

BOLESŁAW moved his shoulders to settle his chainmail over his leather caftan. He buckled his belt. He checked that his knife slid smoothly from its sheath. Sweeping hair away from his face, he glanced at his waiting comrades. Dark-eyed Zarad, ginger Bjornar and fairhaired, skinny Jaksa; they stood at the chamber’s door, watching him tensely. Two dogs lay at Bolesław’s feet.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Your cloak,” Jaksa said, throwing him the wolf-fur lined wool.

“Gloves,” Bjornar added as he passed them over.

“And your sword.” Zarad’s eyes flashed in the chamber’s darkness.

One of the dogs raised its head, alert.

“No,” Bolesław said, pulling on his gloves. A barely discernable shadow flickered across his face. “That wasn’t Father’s order.”

The other three nodded as if on command, and Zarad whistled quietly with admiration for the absent man.

“The Duke,” he added.

They left the room, leaving the door open. Bolesław called back over his shoulder:

“Duszan, guard the dogs!”

Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the palladium, then – nothing. A young man emerged from the shadows. Slender and tall, dressed inconspicuously, unarmed. The dogs whined. Duszan walked over and patted their heads. He poured water into their bowls and began to pick up the items strewn around the room. He placed the sword carefully back on its stand.

***

ŚWIETOSŁAWA lay draped over the bench.

“Is the princess asleep?” the servant repeated the question insistently.

The girl rose from the chest silently and walked over to the princess’s still form. She crouched next to Świetosława and, gently sweeping away her hair, she looked in the princess’s face. The silent girl raised her eyes to the servant and nodded in confirmation.

The servant sighed with relief. She covered Świetosława with a blanket and picked up the objects scattered around them. Two bone combs, a hairband decorated with silver, silk hair ribbons for plaits. She closed it all in a box and glanced nervously around the room. A cup of now-cold tea stood on the edge of the table. The servant poured it into the fire, and the remnants evaporated quickly. She dried her fingers on the edge of her dress.

“Take off her shoes when she wakes up. Help her get into bed, cover her and wait by the fire. Anyway, you know what to do,” she said to the girl, and left without waiting for a response.

The door closed behind her with a hollow clunk.

Świętosława was a master at faking sleep. Now, she opened her eyes, which were dark with anger.

“What a bitch,” she whispered to the girl crouched in front of her.

The girl placed a finger on her lips and gestured toward the door. Świętosława remained on the bench, but pushed away the covers. They could hear footsteps approaching the other side of the door. The two looked at each other, keeping still. Then the silent girl took the blanket and laid it on the stone floor. The princess was wearing tall, hobnailed boots, but they made no sound as the girls walked carefully across the soft fabric.

***

BOLESŁAW listened to the rhythm of footsteps on the bridge. Counting the steady footfalls helped to steady his own thoughts. One, two. One, two. One, two. After another moment, he stepped onto the bridge too, Bjornar and Zarad by his side, Jaksa bringing up the rear.

The East Bridge. As a boy, it had taken him four hundred steps to cross it. Then, three hundred. Every year, he would check, until now, at sixteen, it took him the same number of steps as it took a grown man. Two hundred and fifty.

Father took only strong, fit, well-built men into his personal squad. Those who only needed two hundred and fifty steps to cross the East Bridge. Father. The Duke. Bestowed by their people with love and fear in equal measure. A master of politics, who switched alliances faster than the wind changes direction. A warrior at the head of a boundlessly loyal army. A father with an iron hand on the back of his son’s neck. Bolesław did only what his father wanted. So, what did he want tonight? The night before the winter festival? Why had his father ordered him to come, unarmed, to the harbor by the East Bridge? One, two, one, two. Bolesław tried again to let the rhythm of their steps in the night’s silence calm his racing thoughts.

For sixteen years, Bolesław had been the duke’s only son. Until a year ago, when Father’s wife — whose reign had begun after the death of Bolesław’s mother, Dobrawa — had given birth to a son. A son to whom the duke had given his own name, Mieszko the Second.

It hurt, like a slap in the face. Until then, Dobrawa’s two children, like the island’s two bridges, had been the only ones that mattered. They would secure their father’s legacy as the first ruler of a united Poland.

Father had more daughters, from the olden days, the old wives, but that was a different story. None of them could threaten his sister’s position, the daughter of Dobrawa, the woman Mieszko had given up the old religion for, had taken the baptism and forsaken all other gods and wives for. Świętosława would be ok. Daughters were the seals of peace, alliances, ceasefires. But the heir is always the son. The son!

A few days earlier, there had been a feast to celebrate Duchess Oda, as beautiful as a dancing flame but as cold as ice, and her newborn son. Oda wearing new golden ear rings, the child—the wedge between Boleslaw and his father—on her lap.

“My Mieszko!” Father had toasted and laughed, Bolesław gritting his teeth, and Oda listening to a monk read the story of Abraham and Isaac. When Abraham was building the altar on top of the mountain, Oda blushed and interrupted the monk with a swish of her slender, ringed hand.

“Enough. Mieszko is too young to listen to these horrors.” But the Duke had protested: “If he wants to be a duke, he should listen, just like Abraham listened to the commands of his god. Unconditionally.” He had ordered more mead brought out then, as if this word — unconditionally — gave him pleasure. He drank with his squad and didn’t see how Oda’s expression brightened the closer the firstborn son was to being sacrificed in the monk’s tale. Bolesław, though, couldn’t take his eyes off her. He watched as she stroked her son’s blond head, hugging him to her breast; how she raised her chin commandingly. And that was why, now, as he walked the Eastern Bridge at his father’s orders, he felt fear. Fear which he tried to dispel with the confident rhythm of his footsteps. One, two. One, two. Was there an altar awaiting him at the docks? One, two. He touched the knife at his belt absentmindedly. He had another in his boot. One, two. Whatever happened next, he wasn’t going to be a lamb led to slaughter.

***

ŚWIĘTOSŁAWA listened by the door. She heard the clang of weaponry against a belt’s metal fittings. It sounded like two, maybe three men, accompanied by the click of a woman’s shoes.

“Is she asleep?” The haughty voice could only belong to Oda. Świętosława could have sworn she smelled the cloying scent of the rose oil the Duchess dabbed on her temples and heard the musical chime of her new, prized golden ear rings.

“As you commanded, my lady,” replied Juta, the servant who had been combing her hair only moments before. “She’s asleep, and won’t wake up anytime soon.”

Świętosława gritted her teeth. She should have guessed whose orders the servant had been following.

“Good. Is she alone?”

“Yes. That is, only Dusza is with her, the clod.”

“Good. You can retire for the evening, too,” The hint of a German accent, Oda’s mother tongue, colouring her command. Then the click of the servant’s shoes retreated and grew faint, along with the metallic clang of the duchess’s guard.

Silence fell behind the door. Świętosława turned and looked into the silent girl’s grey eyes. They gave away nothing. Świętosława climbed nimbly onto the bench by the wall and pulled herself up to reach the high window. She pushed the wooden window-frame, and an icy breeze swept into the chamber. Two lines of torches were visible in the night, gliding towards land over the East Bridge.

One, two… she counted in her head. …nine, ten… Father is leading a whole squad out of Ostrów. On the night before Koliada? Her heart beat faster. Maybe it was time? For what other reason would a squad have to leave the stronghold at night, if not to greet an important guest?

She jumped off the bench. She forgot to close the window, so Dusza, wordlessly, climbed up and did it for her.

A guest, Świętosława thought frantically. The most important one of all. The one whose name they are still keeping from me…

“Come on, Dusza,” she whispered. “Take your dress off. Tonight, we switch. I knew that…” Świętosława thought snake, but instead spat out: “Juta! She’s in the duchess’s service. I asked father to let me make my own decisions about the servants, but no. ‘My wife,’ he says. Yes, I tell him, she’s your wife, but not my mother! What was in the cup?” she looked at Dusza.

The girl stood in front of her in a white linen shift, her dress in hand, shivering in the cold room.

“Poison?” Świętosława asked.

Dusza shook her head and passed her dress to Świętosława, who turned and lifted her hair from her back. Dusza unlaced her mistress’s dress with deft fingers. She helped Świętosława undress and replace the princess’s fine garment with the rough wool one.

“So it wasn’t poison?” Świętosława repeated, taking a breath with difficulty. “It’s too tight. Your breasts are growing slower than mine.”

She touched her own, held in by the fabric.

“Or perhaps mine grow too fast, since Father has been talking about marriage so much? My marriage, to God knows who!”

She reached out a hand for Dusza’s cloak and hood.

“I’ll ask for new ones to be made for you in a larger size. Ones that will fit us both. But, you know, it’s a secret.” She winked at Dusza as she pulled her hood over her head. “Do I look like a respectable servant? One who must run across the bridge on important business at night?” She spun around, laughing.

Dusza looked at the princess, not answering.

“Come on, get into bed and cover yourself up. Sleep, my Dusza!” Świętosława whispered. “Tonight, you are the Piast princess. Just don’t get your hopes up for any sweet dreams.”

She closed the door behind her and, with the hood covering her head, she walked boldly through the narrow corridors of the palladium. This wasn’t the first time she and Dusza had done this. Escape, disguise, a small trick. Anything that would give her more information. “When will the delegates arrive?” she asked Father often, but he’d just laugh. “What tongue will I use with my husband?” she’d surprise him at the end of a feast, when his head would be swimming from drink, and in response he’d stick his tongue out at her. When he’d return from the hunt, she’d accost him with the question: “Where will I go? South, west or east?”

“The East Bridge…” she whispered now, the chill from the frozen lake embracing her. “My husband will come from the east!”

She pulled the cloak tighter and, running across the bridge, looked for the flicker of torches. She wanted to know. Which of her father’s alliances was she to guarantee? Kiev? Would it be Kiev? Duke Mieszko hadn’t declared war on Rus yet, and he was already planning peace? Ah! she thought, maybe the price of my hand is the return of the Red Cities which were stolen from us last summer?

Whatever awaited her this Koliada, she wasn’t going to be a lamb led to slaughter.

Order Your Copy of The Widow Queen, available on April 6, 2021:

Image Place holder  of amazon- 16

Image Place holder  of bn- 75

Place holder  of booksamillion- 79

ibooks2 9

indiebound

The owner of this website has made a commitment to accessibility and inclusion, please report any problems that you encounter using the contact form on this website. This site uses the WP ADA Compliance Check plugin to enhance accessibility.