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8 Books to Read After You Watch Dune: Part Two

March 8, 2024March 6, 2024Rachel Taylor8 Comments

Yeah, we’re into Dune. Dune lots of reading 📚😎

The spice must flow, and so will our sci-fi book recommendations! But what’s that you say? You’re not just looking for any space opera, you’re looking for the particular space opera that’s going to satisfy the exact reason why you’re already planning to see Dune: Part Two again? Fear not! Our recommendations are sorted by what got you excited for Dune!

By Julia Bergen

If you’re excited to see Dune because:

Dune seems really cool:

You should read: Dune: The Heir of Caladan by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

When you need Dune, you need Dune! Dune: The Heir of Caladan is the conclusion of a prequel trilogy by Brian Herbert, Frank Herbert’s son, and science fiction legend Kevin J. Anderson. This saga began with Dune: The Duke of Caladan, continued with Dune: The Lady of Caladan, and tells the story of the Atreides family’s rise to power, and this particular volume details how Paul becomes the leader he needs to be before the events of Dune.

**No, really. Dune is the coolest and you’ll throw yourself into the maw of a sandworm if you don’t get more immediately:**

You should read: Princess of Dune by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

When you need Dune, you need Dune! Set a few years before the events of Dune, this story explores the lives of Paul’s love Chani and his wife, the Princess Irulan. Both women will impact the trajectory of the whole galaxy as Paul Atreides brings it hurdling to its destiny.

You love crazy space monsters:

You should read: To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini

The sandworms in Dune are definitely some of the creepiest monsters in SF, and their connection to the spice is shrouded in mystery. While you wait to see sandworms on the screen, you can dive into the mystery of the creature discovered by a xenobiologist during what was supposed to be a routine survey mission on an uncolonized planet. And make sure to check out Fractal Noise for more tales in the same universe!

You love dudes fighting in suits in space:

You should read: Red Rising by Pierce Brown

If you’re most looking forward to seeing how Villeneuve envisions the stillsuits necessary to survive on the desert planet Arrakis, and to see some sweet suit fight scenes, calm you suited bloodthirst with a book about genetically perfected superhumans wearing futuristic body armor battling it out in a Hunger Games-esque competition for the solar system’s best job opportunities.

You love PEW PEW PEW space battles:

You should read: You Sexy Thing by Cat Rambo

Perfect reading if you want to be able to practically hear that “PEW PEW PEW” noise, and maybe even a Wilhelm scream or two while you’re reading. A group of retired space soldiers gets dragged back into war when they’re forced onto a sentient ship that’s convinced it’s being stolen, and in addition must survive the machinations of a sadistic pirate king.

You love space politics:

You should read: The Genesis of Misery by Neon Yang

If you can’t resist competing galactic empires and political machinations in space, dive into The Genesis of Misery. A nobody from a nowhere mining planet becomes the center of a power struggle between dangerous players and royal families because of their forbidden powers. Plus, like Dune it’s full of prophecy and space magic.

No, seriously, you LIVE FOR space politics:

You should read: A Desolation Called Peace Arkady Martine

Oh, so you’re one of those, huh? No judgment, just book recommendations here, my friend. And you definitely need to feast your eyes on A Desolation Called Peace, which should give you all the space politics you could possibly want. An ambassador from a backwater planet must untangle the webs of subterfuge at the center of the Teixcalaanli Empire.

You love space politics, but not as much as you love love.

You should read: Winter’s Orbit by Everina Maxwell

If you can’t wait for Dune’s space politic glory, but you’re also looking forward to scenes between Paul and Chani, then as soon as it’s on sale you need to get your hands on this romantic space opera. Two neuromodified psychics, a flirty socialite and a duty-bound soldier, find themselves at the center of a decades-old power struggle and a dangerous treasure-hunt. If they sync their minds, they might avoid life under military control, but they’d be giving up their free will. And what are these FEELINGS they’re having for each other?

Which one are you reading? Let us know in the comments!

Lists / What's New

8 Haunted House Fantasy Reads to Delight with Fright!

August 11, 2023August 15, 2023a cat2 Comments

The haunted house is a classic horror set piece. What’s supposed to be a place of reprieve is an iron cage; ensnaring you, forcing you to confront a myriad of ghosts, ghouls, and secrets best left buried. Here are eight titles starring houses to contain your worst nightmares—be they demons, a gaggle of ghosts, or unabashed intimacy.

by Kaleb Russell

Masters of Death by Olivie Blake

Viola Marek is both struggling real estate agent and vampire, a facet of identity that both presents a range of different problems and solutions in one’s life. Tragically, it won’t help her un-haunt the house she needs to sell. That’s where Fox D’Mora enters the picture. He’s a medium, so he can help with Viola’s ghost dilemma, but he’s also a complicated sham. He’s not really a medium, but he is the godson of Death (entity). As the quantity of immortal and undying beings tangled with Viola’s ghost house rises, the game begins. It’s a special one. One the immortals play. There is only one rule: Don’t lose.

The Mystery at Dunvegan Castle by T.L. Huchu

Everyone’s favorite fifteen-year-old ghostalker, Ropa, arrives at the worldwide Society of Skeptical Enquirers’ biennial conference just in time to be tied into a mystery—a locked room mystery, if an entire creepy haunted castle on lockdown counts. One of the magical attendees has stolen a valuable magical scroll. That’s bad news. But here’s the good news: Ropa can access a unique network of information and intrigue: the castle ghosts.

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey

At the behest of her estranged mother, Vera Crowder returns home in spite of the tragic memories it holds; memories of the bodies her beloved father (moonlighting as a serial killer) left buried there. One day, Vera starts finding notes written in her father’s handwriting. If it’s not the leech of an artist her mother has chosen to house leaving them, then who is? To find the truth, Vera must dig deep and uncover secrets she’s been running from all her life.

The Family Plot by Cherie Priest

To save their family’s floundering salvage company, Dahlia Dutton is tasked by her father to oversee the stripping of an esteemed heiress’s family estate. Unbeknownst to Dahlia and her crew, there’s a sinister presence at the aged estate looking to wreak chaos before the job is done. The Family Plot is an atmospheric modern Gothic that will leave you reeling.

Library of the Dead by TL Huchu

The first book in Huchu’s Edinburgh Nights series contains a bevy of haunted houses as a precocious teen explores the haunted underside of modern Edinburgh, speaking to the dead, looking for leads to find the one responsible for snatching children and leaving them empty husks. Huchu’s rendition of Edinburgh is a lush, evocative one that gives the ghosts in this story an air of wonder in lieu of abject fear.

Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones

One night, a young Blackfoot boy named Junior wakes up to find the ghost of his recently deceased father wandering the house dressed in full Blackfoot regalia. To prove to himself he’s real, Junior takes to meticulously diagramming the house’s interior, recording when and where his father appears. It quickly becomes apparent his father’s reappearance is something deeply sinister. Like much of Jones’ work, there is an ache to the writing that’s impossible to ignore. Espousing a kind of hurt that lingers long after you’ve turned the last page.

The Bone Orchard by Sara A. Mueller

Sole survivor of a race of necromancers, Charm is a prisoner of the Emperor with nothing but her children and her bone trees to bring her solace. One day, as the Emperor lays in his deathbed, he gives Charm one final command: learn which one of his conniving sons is his murderer. She can succeed and be set free, but that entails betraying the ghosts of her fallen people in the process. Will she follow the will of her dead master or forsake the sanctity of the empire to sate her hunger for vengeance? Trade in a haunted house for a haunted bordello and you

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

Charon House is perhaps the most ideal haunted house one would want to reside in; that is, unless you have a paralyzing fear of intimacy, the kind of warm and kind intimacy Klune’s work is best known for. Charon House is a place where the dead crossover with the help of its good natured owner Hugo and the deliciously sarcastic reaper named Mei, although not before helping themselves to hot tea and the most scrumptious scones. But our protagonist, Wallace Price, isn’t ready to pass on. Due to his dour demeanor and cold-heartedness, he’s missed out on all the goodness life has to offer. So, with the help of Hugo, he attempts to live a lifetime in 7 days. Under The Whispering Door is a heartwarming haunted house book about coming to terms with loss and seeking out new beginnings.

Excerpts / What's New

Excerpt: Dune: The Heir of Caladan by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

October 17, 2022March 21, 2024a cat1 Comment

In Dune: The Heir of Caladan, the climactic novel in the Caladan trilogy by New York Times bestselling authors Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson, we step into the shoes of Paul Atreides. A not yet a man in years, he is about to enter a world he could never have imagined.

The story that began with Duke Leto Atreides’s rise to power, then continued with the consequences of Lady Jessica’s betrayal, will now conclude with Paul becoming the leader that he needs to be on the way to his pivotal role as Muad’Dib.

Any Dune fan will devour this tale of a legend coming into his own.

Please enjoy this free excerpt of Dune: The Heir of Caladan by Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson, on sale 11/22/22.

1

In his dim bedchamber, Paul lay awake on an unusually warm evening, his covers thrown aside. He felt very alone in Castle Caladan and adrift, uneasy that Duke Leto and Lady Jessica were far away and separated from each other. Gurney Halleck was gone, too.

But he was the heir to noble House Atreides, and he had to think like a Duke. He was about to turn fifteen, and Caladan was his responsibility, at least temporarily while his father was gone.

He knew that the Duke’s mission was of utmost importance, and he recalled the recorded message his father had left for him. “Watch this only if I don’t come back,” Leto had said, placing the shigawire spool in the young man’s palm. “I hope you never need to view it. You know why I’m doing this, why I’m taking such a risk.” And in the Duke’s expression, Paul saw a genuine realization of the danger to which he was exposing himself—willingly, for the sake of the Imperium.

Now, Paul tried to sleep in the uncomfortable heat, feeling sticky sweat on his skin. The day had been unseasonably hot without the sea breezes that customarily skimmed over the water and moderated temperatures along the coast. As bad luck would have it, the castle’s mechanical air-cooling system had failed at just such a time. Caladan engineers had inspected the mechanism, consulted manuals provided by the Ixian manufacturer, and apologized to the young man that repairs could not be completed without securing parts from off-planet.

Paul was not a delicate noble child, so he could deal with such discomfort, preferring to adapt to the weather and ignore it as much as possible, a human surviving the elements. Open windows and sea breezes were welcome to him. With the wilderness excursions he’d made with his father, the young man felt relaxed without being enclosed within a structure.

For security reasons, as well as the expected decorum of a ducal heir, he couldn’t be footloose and aloof. He had to play the part of a young nobleman residing in the ancient castle, ready on a moment’s notice to rule in Leto’s place. It was what his father expected of him, the same as old Duke Paulus Atreides had demanded of his own son a generation before.

To make his father proud, Paul would meet those expectations, but he rather liked the idea of doing things people did not anticipate.

The boy tossed and turned in the darkness, wiped perspiration from his brow. Finally, he swung out of bed and carried a sheet and pillow out onto the small balcony of his bedroom, where he lay down in his thin nightclothes. The tile balcony was hard and warm, still radiating heat from the day. With a sigh, he gazed up at the gently twinkling stars in the crystal-clear night.

Across his field of vision danced stars whose names he knew, the ones his father and Dr. Yueh had taught him—Seille, Ikam, Jylar, and many others, all part of the vast galactic Imperium. But none of the brightest stars overhead at this time of year belonged to powerful noble families. Caladan did not have a particularly favorable location—not physically close to the capital, Kaitain, and not on any major Heighliner shipping or passenger routes. Other Landsraad Houses had equally unfavorable locations, but some managed to excel even so. Paul wondered about the future of House Atreides, and what his part might be in that unfolding story.

As he lay there, he heard a fluttering of wings. One of his father’s trained hawks landed on the stone railing of the balcony. In the low light, the magnificent creature looked sidelong at him, then took up a sentry position, turning its head first one way and then the other.

Paul realized that the bird had not come here by coincidence. The head of Atreides security, Thufir Hawat, somehow knew that the young man had gone out onto the balcony, and he’d sent the hawk. The old warrior Mentat and his staff had been working with these birds in recent weeks, part of the falconry group maintained by the Duke. These specialized birds had surveillance equipment secured to their bodies.

Thufir worried constantly about young Paul’s welfare, complaining about the “unnecessary risks” the fourteen-year-old had been taking, such as climbing steep cliffs and flying aircraft into dangerous storms over the sea. Duncan Idaho had accompanied him on such risky endeavors, calling them maneuvers to stretch the young man’s abilities. He had sworn never to let Paul come to harm, but even Duncan had been concerned. “Perhaps we’re going a bit too far,” the Swordmaster admitted to the boy. “Thufir wants you to train, but within limits.”

The Mentat watched the Atreides heir like a hawk, figuratively and now literally.

Paul extended his hand to the bird on the rail. It watched him, then looked away, continuing its sentry duty. Paul could see the small lenses on its feathers, a transponder at its throat. No doubt, the old Mentat was reviewing images right now.

“Thufir, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself on my own castle balcony.”

The transponder emitted a small, but discernible voice. “It is not possible to concern myself ‘too much’ with your welfare, young Master. If harm were to befall you under my watch, my abilities would be worth nothing. Now, I want you to have a restful sleep.”

Paul lay back on his pillow. “Thufir thank you for your concern.”

He used a Bene Gesserit mental exercise his mother had taught him to remove troubling thoughts, so he could open the doorway to sleep. His body was exhausted after another long day of training with Duncan.

With warm sea breezes around him and the hawk standing sentinel above him, Paul drifted into a slumber of darkness and solitude which shifted

gradually into a desert landscape, bright sun on hot dunes. He stood on an expanse of sand, squinting at a rock escarpment baked in the sun. In the dream, it was morning in that distant place, but already warm, portending another hot day.

A figure made its way down a trail on the great rock, moving athletically in a desert costume. At the bottom of the rock, opened a burnoose to reveal the elfin features of a young woman with skin darker than his own and hair matted with dust.

He’d seen her before in dream after dream, and the voice was familiar as well, drifting over him like a breeze from the desert. “Tell me about the waters of your homeworld, Usul.”

Having experienced this in many haunting variations, he felt it was more than a dream, and he always awakened in the middle of it. This time, he managed to remain in the other reality a little longer, but as his dream-self struggled to speak a response, to ask questions, the landscape and the intriguing young woman faded from view.

Much later at night, when the breezes turned damp and chill, he lay awake on the open balcony, again resorting to thought exercises. He counted the nobles in the Atreides line who had preceded him. The castle had stood for twenty-six generations on this commanding spot overlooking the sea, originally constructed by Earl Kanius Atreides. Not the first Atreides to rule Caladan, he had envisioned a great fortress on this rocky promontory, commissioning the grand blueprints when he was only nineteen years old, not much older than Paul was now.

Earl Kanius had seen the mighty castle completed in little more than a decade, along with the gardens and a thriving coastal village. Paul recalled a filmbook image of his ancestor’s face, and then thought of the successors of Kanius, counting each one all the way up to Paulus Atreides, his own grandfather, whose painting hung in the castle’s dining hall.

But when Paul tried to summon the next image in the line, his father, he could only summon a fuzzy, undefined outline. He missed the man so much and hoped he would come home soon.

He felt the weight of all the work done by Kanius and the other Atreides, all the planning they’d had to do and the decisions they’d made to empower their Great House. He finally drifted into a deep, troubled sleep.

2

The planet Elegy had lovely forests, rivers, and lakes, but it was not Jessica’s true home, and its beauty was not the same as the ocean world of Caladan. She tried to console herself with the thought—the hope—that she was merely a visitor here, and that she would return soon to Duke Leto and their son, Paul. But each day away from them made her more settled here, increasingly immersed in the life of Viscount Giandro Tull as his bound con-

cubine, on orders of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood.

Troubled, she sat now in the compact but nicely appointed office that the handsome Viscount had provided for her. His small administration building was concealed from the manor house by a grove of lichen trees. Giandro’s own office was down the hall, and she watched a steady flow of functionaries hurry past her own, including a surprisingly large number of uniformed military officers. Despite all the appearances and the trappings of daily business, Jessica had now learned the nobleman’s true plans.

Only a few days ago, prowling secretly through the forests to watch Viscount Tull as he rode off on a fine thoroughbred, Jessica had spied him receiving a mysterious weapons shipment into a hidden underground bunker. That was how she’d learned that Giandro Tull was a silent supporter of the violent Noble Commonwealth rebellion.

That revelation changed everything about their relationship, but since he had arranged for her to go on her own mission to save Paul, Jessica owed the man a great deal. After she confronted Giandro, he had taken her into his confidence, but still did not reveal the deeply personal reason he had decided to support the overthrow of the Corrino throne. The two were still understanding their new roles, and alliances.

Jessica busied herself completing paper order forms for lichenweave fabrics, filling in a ledger book by hand—an outdated system, but she found it

refreshing. Duke Leto had done much of his administrative work by hand as well.

Trusting her, considering their shared deep secrets, Giandro had expanded Jessica’s role in his household, asking her to help with the ordering of supplies. She considered the assignment an excellent camouflage role, and he gave her the freedom to procure whatever she wanted. Out of nostalgia, Jessica tried to order a shipment of moonfish from Caladan, only to learn that the product was no longer available. She wondered what might be going on back at the place she still considered home.

Giandro Tull had thriving business dealings, some surreptitiously connected to the rebellion. And now that Sardaukar had searched and cleared his operations, he had grown bolder. Apparently, his overt support of Jaxson Aru had begun soon afterward. Jessica still didn’t understand why.

In the short time she’d known the nobleman, she had come to respect him, had even grown fond of him—within the limits that she herself had set up. Though he had publicly announced her as his concubine—which satisfied the Bene Gesserit and other observers—he displayed no romantic or sexual interest in her, or in anyone.

It was not the relationship many people thought it was, but it worked efficiently for both of them. Let others assume what they wished. Meanwhile, she would do anything necessary to change her assignment and go back to Leto and Paul.

She sighed. Under other circumstances, she might have accepted remaining with House Tull. But not after knowing Leto. In him, in the Duke of Caladan, Jessica had found as close to an ideal partner as she could imagine . . . even after the terrible quarrel that had broken them apart. Though she knew that Leto doubted her, her love for him remained strong. She had already stained herself in the eyes of the Sisterhood by choosing to give birth to the son Leto wanted, instead of the daughter she’d been commanded to bear. . . .

In the corridor outside her office, she heard something fall to the floor as a uniformed military officer rushed by. Glancing up, she saw him kneeling to gather papers he had spilled, stuffing them into a leather case. He was one of the soldier bodyguards who had joined Giandro out in the hills to receive the illicit weapons shipment. After snatching the papers from the floor, the man hurried to the Viscount’s office.

Jessica noticed that one of the loose papers had slid under her door, a technical drawing of some kind. She retrieved it, but the officer had already ducked into the Viscount’s office. She felt a chill as she glanced at the drawing—it appeared to be related to the hidden weapon shipments and a new military design.

Remembering the flustered urgency on the man’s face, she walked briskly down the hall to give him the missing document. She pushed past the clerk who guarded the Viscount’s office, who called after her, startled, as if he didn’t recognize the new concubine.

Hearing the commotion, Giandro opened the inner door, caught her eye. “Jessica! What is it?”

Inside, standing before the broad wooden desk, the flustered officer was arranging his documents.

Jessica held up the technical drawing. “I assume this is something important.” The officer looked up from the desk, horrified. “I’m, I’m s-sorry, my Lord!

An inexcusable lapse on my part.”

“But fortuitous.” Giandro ushered Jessica inside as he gave a reassuring nod to the confused clerk in the outer office, then closed the door for privacy. “We are lucky Jessica is the one who found the document, rather than someone who would do us harm.”

She looked down, playing demure. “I am not here to serve a political role.” She noticed the blue-spiral Tull crest in the middle of the old desk, partially obscured by papers.

“Spoken with the wisdom of a Bene Gesserit,” he said. “But of course I value your wisdom and opinions. This is Lef-Major Zaldir, one of our experts on a new project.” He gave the officer a meaningful glance. “Jessica is fully aware of our plans, and I trust her implicitly.”

Zaldir was both alarmed and surprised. “Even even about this, sir?”

“Even about this.”

Jessica had glanced at the drawing. “I am not familiar with this design. I saw the previous weapons delivery, though I wasn’t supposed to. Were these devices among them?”

Giandro gave her a warm smile. “It’s distressing that you spied on me, and more distressing that you succeeded, but in the end, it was serendipity. Having you aware of our efforts makes many things smoother for us.”

Zaldir took the paper back, inserted it into proper order. He looked anxious. “The first prototypes of the shield nullifiers are packaged and ready to be shipped off.” When he looked up at Jessica again, sweat beaded on his brow. “Does she . . . does she know about?”

“Yes, she knows the new shipment is bound for Jaxson Aru.”

Jessica covered her reaction. She hadn’t, in fact, known that. She lowered her voice. “That man’s penchant for grand and bloody statements is not to my liking.” On Otorio, Leto had been one of those innocent bystanders who barely escaped from the massacre. So many others had been killed, and the incident had greatly shaken him.

Troubled by her obvious reticence, Giandro gestured Jessica to a seat beside the Lef-Major. The antique chairs also bore the crest of House Tull. He frowned and said, “Though I support the Noble Commonwealth—for reasons that I consider sufficient—I don’t always agree with Jaxson’s tactics. I would prefer a less violent, yet more effective, approach. Hence, this new weapon design is for defensive purposes, rather than aggression.” He glanced around his private office, as if to double-check his own security. “This room is blocked and shielded. We may discuss freely. Lef-Major, tell her about the nullifiers.”

Though the officer still seemed uncertain to have Jessica brought into the circle of extreme confidence, Zaldir pulled the technical documents toward him. “These devices level the playing field and give our allies equal standing against a far superior Imperial foe.” Clearly more interested in the technical details than in military protocol, he grew more animated as he talked. “Our ingenious new nullifier can short out personal shields within a certain radius. Once such a device is activated, our opponents will be vulnerable to simple projectile weapons, needle guns, antique pistols—a vulnerability they will never expect. Imagine the invincible Sardaukar suddenly mowed down by mere bullets!”

Grasping the implications, Jessica nodded. The invention and use of personal shields had rendered all projectile weapons obsolete in major combat for thousands of years. No one would think to defend against such a thing. The introduction of Tull’s shield nullifiers would impose a fundamental change in warfare—again.

The Viscount scanned the report. “Of course, much more significant pentashields and house shields would not be affected. But, oh, what a surprise in personal combat!”

She nodded. “The Sardaukar won’t realize the rebels possess such defenses. If they ever do track down Jaxson Aru or his Noble Commonwealth base, they’ll charge forward in force.” She allowed herself the smallest smile. “Thus exposing themselves to destruction.”

During her recent secret trip to Caladan to save Paul, she had spoken with her son, but Leto was gone on a mysterious mission of his own. Bound by a promise, Paul had not revealed to her what his father was doing, but Jessica had gleaned hints from Giandro Tull that Leto might have made overtures to the rebels as well. It did not seem possible . . . unless Leto had some other reason for doing so.

Looking up, she saw the nobleman’s eyes dance, and he said, “We will send a shipment of the prototype shield nullifiers to a rendezvous point, where Jaxson can retrieve them for distribution to the rebels. I will include a message for him, so that he knows the true importance of these devices.”

Lef-Major Zaldir gathered his papers. “The unmarked crates are ready outside your stables, my Lord. Security will clear the area, so that you may record your message. We can encrypt and encode within a bonded ridulian crystal so that no one but Jaxson Aru may activate the recording.”

Giandro rose from his seat behind the antique desk. “Jessica will stand with me as I record. I want my new concubine at my side.”

Jessica felt a sudden flare of alarm. What if Leto did see the message, in his dealings with the rebel leader? “I would prefer not to be placed on public display, my Lord.”

He chuckled, not understanding her concern. “Not to worry, this will be the most private of communiqués.” He donned a brown military jacket with silver-and-gold epaulets and ribbing, then prepared the words for his message.

Pre-Order Dune: The Heir of Caladan Here:

What's New

Excerpt: The Sword’s Elegy by Brian D. Anderson

September 2, 2022March 21, 2024a cat1 Comment

The Sword’s Elegy is the third book in a new epic fantasy trilogy from successful self-published author Brian D. Anderson, perfect for fans of The Wheel of Time and The Sword of Truth.

The doom of humankind has at last been realized. Belkar’s prison is broken and his army is on the move. The nations of Lamoria, unaware of the greater danger, look to repel the aggression of Ralmarstad.

Mariyah and Lem, certain that only the magic of the Bards can save them, desperately search for that lost knowledge. But friends and allies are what they need to complete their task. And they are in short supply. For, while peril often brings out the best in us, it also brings out the worst.

In the end, it is not great power, terrible armies, or mighty warriors who will influence the course of fate. But two lovers and the unbreakable bond they share. All questions are answered. All mysteries revealed. And even Belkar will learn that fate, once tempted, cannot be denied.

Please enjoy this free excerpt of The Sword’s Elegy by Brian D. Anderson, on sale 11/1/22.

2

Lem’s heart froze. “Are you sure?”

The young girl carrying a bundle of cloth across her back nodded somberly. “Gothmora too. Fifty thousand soldiers is what I hear. And more are coming, if what my uncle told me is right.”

“Is your uncle a soldier?” Mariyah asked.

The girl shook her head. “Cloth merchant. But he was in Ubania when the Ralmarstads landed. Had to leave an entire shipment behind, otherwise he’d have been trapped there.”

Lem and Mariyah exchanged worried glances. “I’m sure Loria’s all right,” Lem said.

Mariyah closed her eyes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I am too.”

Lem turned his attention back to the girl. “Thank you. I hope your uncle recovers from his bad fortune.”

The girl shrugged. “He’s got plenty of gold. Maybe now he’ll retire.”

Lem smiled, then waited until she continued on her way before speaking to Mariyah. “Do you want to go to Ubania?”

“No,” Mariyah replied. “If Loria escaped, she would go to the enclave.”

Lem looked out on the road ahead, leading to Throm. He now regretted the detour. A simple inquiry would have told them what had happened. Had they not spotted one hun- dred or so Lytonian soldiers camped along the roadside the previous night, it would not have occurred to him to ask the young lady for news.

“Before you say a word,” Mariyah added, “we’re not turning back. I insist on seeing Shemi. And you need your balisari.”

Lem doubted Shemi was still in Throm. Travil had told him that should war break out, he intended to take Shemi to Gath, where he owned a small cabin deep in the forest where no one was likely to find them. Somewhere they could be alone, where Shemi could wander the woods in peace and heal from the pain of being parted from Lem. It had taken no small measure of convincing to get his uncle to agree. But Lem needed to know he was safe. Travil had left detailed instructions on how to find them, a condition Shemi had insisted upon, and he’d made Lem recite the directions from memory. Of course, going to Gath would bring them closer to Ralmarstad. Under the circumstances, Travil might de- cide it was better to go elsewhere. If so, Shemi would be sure to leave word on how to find them. And from the conver- sations he’d had with Mariyah, she would not do anything else until she at least knew where Shemi was. They had gone through so much together, and it was clear she felt enormous guilt for bringing him with her.

Shemi aside, Lem was grateful to be recovering his balisari. It was all he had left of home . . . and his mother. It didn’t seem real that the instrument he had plucked away at as a child, thrown over his back countless times on his way to a festival or celebration, held more value than everything in Vylari. Then again, had people known that he was playing a balisari crafted by power of the ancient bards and used for the creation of magic, likely they’d have taken it and cast it into the Sunflow.

Mariyah was eager to see if they could combine their powers and was excited to learn that he’d been given a book containing Bard magic. But Lem remained wary. There was nothing to guide them; no indication as to the purpose be- hind the spells. While true that Bard magic was said to be benign, there was no guarantee of this. It was Bard magic that had enabled Belkar to come to power. Lem and Mari- yah could inadvertently cause tremendous harm. Of course, this was assuming they could combine their power in the first place. He’d seen Mariyah cast a few simple spells since their escape from Belkar’s clutches, and while each had its own unique tempo and timbre, the mechanics of them were a mystery. It was like trying to learn to weave a quilt with a ball of yarn and no instruction or even an example to go by. Given time, Lem was sure he could figure it out. But time was not a thing they had in abundance. It could very well come down to making random attempts, hoping to stumble onto something useful. But for the time being, he thought it best to wait until all other options were exhausted—not that they had many.

Mariyah passed the reins over to Lem. “If Ralmarstad has landed armies in Ubania and Gothmora, they’ll move on the other city states first.”

“Will they fight back?”

Mariyah shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But I doubt it. None have more than city guards to mount a defense with. A few Thaumas might be willing to fight if they find themselves trapped. Not enough to stop them, though.”

Lem urged the wagon forward with a snap of his wrist and a click of the tongue. “With the Archbishop in exile, there’s nothing standing in their way, then.” He noticed Mariyah had lowered her head, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “Still thinking about Loria?”

“No.” She turned her head to give Lem a dire look. “Belkar. If Ralmarstad is attacking, it means he’s free.”

Lem felt a chill race through his body. “So he’s coming?”

“I don’t know. Not yet I think. If he was, I would . . . feel it.”

“How long do you think we have?”

She shook her head, returning her gaze downward. “I don’t know. If I understood the magic that imprisoned him better, I might be able to say. I know enough to tell you that breaking free would have left him weak. He’ll need time to recover, and more to bring his army through the breech.” She slammed her foot into the floorboards. “I’m so stupid!”

Lem was taken aback by her sudden outburst. “What’s wrong?”

“We should never have left the mountain.”

“Why not?”

Mariyah’s face was flush and her jaw tight. But she did not reply. Why should they have stayed? Surely Belkar would have killed them both if they had. He wanted to press her, but knew enough not to. When Mariyah was angry, it was better to wait until she had time to calm down, and particu- larly when she was angry with herself. Hot-blooded was how her mother frequently described her. But Lem had detected a change. It was subtle, but noticeable nonetheless. Between Lem and Mariyah, Mariyah had always been the more fo- cused and capable. And while her temper did occasionally get her in trouble, more often than not she was the one her friends would look to when disagreements arose. It was the same with her family. A perfect blend of her father’s tenacity and her mother’s insight and empathy. Certainly she had matured. So had he. But the change in Mariyah was some- how deeper; more profound. It was as if she were in constant conflict with herself, the interlocutor a hidden voice with which she did not always agree.

It took Mariyah more than an hour to break from her melancholy.

“I was thinking about what to do when this is all over,” Mariyah remarked, reaching over to slip her arm around Lem.

“I think I’d like to travel with you while you play.”

Lem leaned his head against hers. “You don’t want to go home?”

“Long enough to see my parents,” she replied. “But I don’t think I could go back. It wouldn’t be the same.”

“I think your mother would tie you to a tree before she’d let you go again.”

“She’ll understand. It’s Father I worry about.” She leaned up and cocked her head at Lem. “Do you really want to go home?”

Lem thought for a moment. “I don’t know. When I left, I thought that I’d never be able to return, even if I tried. After all, the barrier would stop me.”

“I can get us past the barrier.”

“If I did want to go back to Vylari . . .” He paused until she met his gaze. “Would you come with me?”

Mariyah laughed softly and gave him a gentle kiss. “Of course I would. But do you think you can go back?” she asked.

Her smile remained, but there was a touch of sadness in her voice.

“I . . . I don’t know. Now that you’re here, I don’t really care where I am. Shemi has Travil, so he doesn’t need me.”

“I think Shemi would have something to say about that.” “Shemi deserves a life of his own,” Lem said.

“And you don’t think he could have one with you there?” Lem felt a tightness in his gut. “It wouldn’t be me. Not the me he knew. I kept him with me far longer than I should
have.”

“Neither of us are the same as we were when we left,” Mariyah said. “Vylari is a world within a world. Unchanging. Cut off. Like a flower sealed in glass, unable to grow, unable to die. Unable to spread its pollen and pass on its beauty.”

Lem had never thought of it that way. For him, Vylari was the embodiment of what life should be. The people were kind, for the most part, and took great pleasure in the sim- ple things that invariably passed unheeded in Lamoria—like the distinct aroma of wet grass after a light rain or the lonely call of an owl at dusk. But Mariyah was right to say it was unchanging. Still, Lem had no desire to see it change. That Vylari was at that very moment exactly as it was the day he crossed the barrier was a great comfort.

Mariyah climbed into the back, rummaged around for a few minutes, and then returned holding a map of Lamoria she had purchased a few days prior.

“If we hurry,” she said, running her finger over the paper, “we might make it to the enclave ahead of Loria.”

Though he had suggested it, Lem was unsure how wise it was going there. He was a Bard. A real Bard. Despite Mariyah’s assurances that the Thaumas would not try to harm him, Lem could tell this was weighing on her mind also. He didn’t want her to be forced into a confrontation. And should the Thaumas threaten him, that was precisely what would happen.

“I know the fastest routes through Syleria,” he said.

Mariyah looked up from the map and smiled. “Sorry. I forget sometimes how well traveled you are. This was my first trip away from Ubania.” She averted her eyes and folded the map. “It’s strange. Vylari is our home. I can still feel it waiting for us. But Ubania . . . the manor, even my room . . . That’s home too.”

Lem gave her a sideways look. “Ubania?”

Mariyah nodded. “Yes. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s special to me in a way not even my family’s vineyard is. It’s where I found out who I really am. What my potential is as a person.”

“I don’t understand,” Lem said. “They imprisoned you there. Forced you to serve against your will.” Even though Lady Camdon had freed her, it didn’t change the manner in which Mariyah had been brought. Or that other innocent people in Ubania were not so fortunate as to have someone like Lady Camdon pay for their indenture.

“I know. But I was also forced to face my fears . . . and conquer them.”

“You dealt with it better than I would have,” he said. She tossed the map into the back and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I think you might surprise yourself.” She lifted her eyes to his. “Do you think I’ve really changed?”

Lem kissed her forehead. “For the better.”

Mariyah straightened and frowned. “I mean it, Lem.

Have I changed to you?”

Lem sighed. “I’m not sure how to answer.” “Honestly.”

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t know how to answer you.

I’m not good with words like you are.” “Then do your best,” she said.

Lem thought for a long, careful moment. “You are the same person I’ve always known. But you’re also a person I’ve never known. I see you and think about how much you’ve had to endure to survive. When you told me about the men you killed just before Belkar captured you, I was shocked . . . but then, I wasn’t. Or how you are able to tease out secrets from the Ubanian nobles and use the information as lever- age. My mind tells me that I shouldn’t be surprised. How many times did you catch people trying to swindle your fa- ther? You’ve always been able to read the intentions of oth- ers.” He paused, searching for the words to express what he was thinking. “My mother told me just before she died that one day you would become a woman. That I shouldn’t expect you to be a little girl forever. If I did, I would never be able to love you the way you needed to be loved, and one day, I’d wake up and a stranger would be looking back at me. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time. But I think I do now.”

Lem reached out and took her hand. “I want to be the man you need me to be. And the man you want me to be. When I was the Blade of Kylor, I thought I could only be one and not the other. That I was being who you needed so that you could be free. But doing so meant I could never be who you wanted.”

“I hope you know that’s not true,” she said.

“I do. That’s why I understand what my mother meant. The girl I knew will always be a part of you. But the woman you’ve become is so much more. She is stronger, smarter, more resourceful, kinder and yet harsher. Her anger is greater and yet tempered with far more self-control. She has seen things that would have sent the young girl you were weeping into a corner.”

“Sometimes I did,” she said, smiling and wiping her eyes free of unexpected tears.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t there to watch you become the woman you are. This is my first time meeting her.”

“And now that you’ve met me?” More tears fell, though not tears of sorrow.

“I still feel the way I did on the first day we met: lucky.”

Mariyah snatched the reins away and pulled the wagon to an abrupt halt, leaving Lem looking startled. But before he could ask what was wrong, she pulled him in for a long, crushing kiss. The sudden show of affection took Lem aback for a moment. But he quickly recovered and returned the kiss fully.

When their lips parted, he smiled at her. “What was that for?”

“Being lucky,” she said.

They continued for a time, the mood one of optimism and contentment. It was in the moments their hearts were closest that the danger approaching from all sides felt dis- tant. It was in these brief respites that Lem found himself able to think about the future in a way that did not feel as if he were lying to himself.

About four miles from Throm, they saw a row of conical tents lining either side of the road. Several Lytonian soldiers were stopping wagons and pedestrians, with some turning back, others continuing on their way.

A young woman in civilian attire approached their wagon, wearing a serious expression.

“Are you residents?” she asked.

“I am,” Lem replied. “What’s happening here?”

“Then you’ll need to provide your name and address to the sergeant before you’re allowed to cross the town border,” she said, ignoring Lem’s question.

Mariyah leaned across to say something, but Lem’s hand on her arm had her reluctantly holding her tongue.

“Best not to cause a stir,” Lem said. “Let’s just get my things, see if Shemi is still here, and go.”

It was hard for Mariyah to let unwarranted rudeness go unanswered. That much had not changed.

The sergeant up ahead did not find his name on the town registry. Not surprising, given that he rented the apartment on a monthly basis. Fortunately one of the city guards who was aiding the soldiers recognized him.

“Why all the commotion?” Lem asked.

The guard looked at him incredulously. “You can’t be se- rious? Ralmarstad is coming. Every town between here and the capital is evacuating.”

“Do you know my uncle—Shemi?” Lem asked. When the guard didn’t show any sign of recognition, he added: “He’d be with Travil.”

“Oh, Shemi. Yeah. I think I did. Can’t say when, though. So much going on and all. Probably gone by now. Most everybody is. Only a few stragglers left. And folks like you just returning.”

“Where are people going?” Mariyah asked.

“East, for the most part. I hear the whole Lytonian army is mustering. The Sylerians too. These chaps were sent to see that everyone gets out in time. Nowhere near the sea is safe.” He blew out a breath. “Guess I’ll be hanging up my guard uniform soon and joining in.”

The guard handed Lem a temporary pass, should he be stopped and questioned, and waved them through.

“You think they could really be coming so soon?” Lem asked.

Mariyah shrugged. “What little I know about warfare is from books. But it would take a long time to muster an army large enough to attack Lytonia.”

Lem considered this as the wagon slowly trundled forward. She was right; a sizable enough force would take time to assemble. Not only that but they would need the ships to transport them. He’d assumed that Ralmarstad would at- tack Garmathia and continue west to Xancartha.

“There are some small islands northwest of Lobin,” Lem said. “You think they could have launched the attack from there?”

“Couldn’t say. I guess it doesn’t really matter. So long as we stay ahead of them.”

Lem was reluctant to correct her. “But if they launched from the islands, it means they could land anywhere. For all we know, they’re on their way here as we speak.”

She took his point. “Then we need to get rid of the wagon.” Once in town, they found that the guard had been correct. Only a few people were about, mostly shopkeepers and a few residents furiously loading wagons in a mad scramble to evacuate. To his dismay, the apartment he and Shemi had rented was empty and Judd’s home was abandoned. They hurried to where Travil had told him he lived—a small house with a workshop in the rear at the south end of town. But it was empty too.

Mariyah was deeply disappointed not to have caught Shemi in time. “You think he took your things with him?”

Losing his balisari was a blow. Lem forced an unconvincing smile. “It doesn’t matter. I can get another one. In truth, it was the only thing I had of any worth. The rest was just clothes.”

Mariyah placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he has it.” She could tell he was upset. She could always tell what he was feeling and knew he was being intentionally dismissive to hide the pain of the loss. Even were it not his mother’s, a balisari would be difficult to find.

It was getting late and the inn was closed, so they decided to sleep on the floor of his old apartment. Lem scrounged up a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine from a shoemaker who was just readying to depart and, along with some dried figs and jerky from their provisions, they had a quiet meal on the balcony.

As the sun set, a strange silence fell over Throm, broken intermittently by unintelligible shouts and the smashing of glass. It was nothing like the calm one found away from the cities and towns. The blackness of night in the forest was teeming with life and vitality, even if it was hidden from sight. This was more akin to death. Throm was a corpse splayed out on the field, the carrion feeders circling in anticipation of a meal. Darkness without spirit.

“It feels like the end,” Mariyah remarked solemnly.

They had pushed the chairs aside and were seated on a blanket, peering out through the cast iron railing. Neither had touched a bite.

“It is,” Lem said. “At least it’s the end of something.

Though I’m not entirely sure what.”

“Do you ever wish we’d stayed in Vylari?”

Lem lowered his head and tried to imagine the cottage in which he had grown from a boy to a man. The fields and hills he and Shemi had spent countless hours exploring. The banks of the Sunflow River. But it was dulled and out of focus.

“I did in the beginning,” he replied quietly. “But not anymore.” He looked out upon the deserted streets. “We’re a part of this. If we had stayed, Belkar would have found us eventually. At least now we can do something.”

A few times he had considered that had they stayed, Belkar might not have found Vylari at all. He wouldn’t have been searching for it. But it was a foolish notion, and one not worth mentioning out loud.

“I hope we can. And I really will go home, if that’s what you want.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I know you would. But to be honest, I’ve seen so much. Done so much. I’m nothing like anyone in Vylari, not anymore. Not that I ever was to begin with. But it’s hard to picture myself teaching children and playing the festivals again. I’m just not that person any- more.”

“So you want to stay in Lamoria?”

“I want to stay with you,” he said, grinning to lift the mood. “Maybe we can live on a boat. Or on top of a mountain. Wherever you want.”

“I’m being serious,” she said, though her smile was grow- ing. “When this is over, do you want to go home?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know where home is. Shemi has found where he belongs. But other than being at your side, I don’t know where I do.” He expected her to say something to convince him that he was wrong; that Vylari was still his home. But instead she nodded slowly and shifted to lean against his chest.

“All I know is that I want to see my parents,” Mariyah said, finally sipping her wine. “But I was thinking the same thing. When I picture the people back home, it’s like they’re . . .”

“Innocent.”

“Yes. Exactly. I’m afraid I would somehow corrupt them.”

Lem kissed the top of her head. “I think Vylari could use a bit of corruption.”

Mariyah tilted back to look him in the eye. “Do you really believe that?”

“I’m not sure,” Lem said. “But sooner or later, the world will find them. Sooner is my guess. As it is, they wouldn’t be prepared for it.”

“Maybe that’s a reason to go home,” Mariyah offered. “Get them ready for what’s coming.”

Lem laughed. “Can you see your father selling wine to Lamorians?”

Mariyah drained her glass. “I could see him retiring on the gold his wine would earn.”

They were speaking nonsense, and they both knew it. But it felt good to pretend. The truth was that the people of Vylari would be terrified if faced with the prospect of being ex- posed to the rest of the world. The panic and chaos it would cause was incalculable. But one thing Lem had said was true: whether or not Belkar was defeated, the world would find them eventually.

They picked at their food and finished half the bottle be- fore deciding they’d had enough. Neither was tired, and Lem doubted he would get much sleep that night. Mariyah told him she preferred not to go inside. They were in no danger of rain, and their blankets were thick enough to fight off the cold.

“I’ve never liked an empty house,” she said. “I remember.”

A few months prior to their betrothal, they had gone with Mariyah’s mother to her cousin’s newly built home to help her paint the interior. The furniture had yet to be brought over, and they had laid out blankets in the living room. Both women were up and outside sleeping on the porch before midnight. Lem recalled his relief upon joining them, the house feeling disturbingly like a dead husk—an empty thing where life did not belong.

They settled down as well as could be expected, the warmth of their bodies more than adequate to keep them comfortable.

“Did you hear that?”

Lem was half dozing. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. A few moments later, the distant but unmistakable call of a horn drifted on the air.

Mariyah rose to her feet and leaned over the railing just as another horn blew. “I think we should go.”

Before Lem could respond, the stomping of feet on the stairs had them rushing inside. Lem grabbed his pack to retrieve his vysix dagger, but Mariyah stopped him.

“You’re never to use that again,” she said, then grinned as she turned to face the door, hands spread wide. “Don’t worry. We’re safe.”

The door flew open, and Lem cursed himself for forgetting to lock it. Mariyah’s hands glowed bright red, casting unnat- ural shadows on the walls and floor.

A stocky man in the brown robe of a monk hurried inside. Seeing Mariyah, he stopped short and raised his hands.

“I’m a friend,” he blurted out, stepping back a pace.

“I know all my friends,” Mariyah said, her tone cold and dangerous. “And I don’t know you.”

“I’m Brother Umar,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I was sent to bring you to Xancartha.”

“Then you can turn around and go back,” Lem said. “I told Rothmore: I’m finished.”

The horn sounded, this time closer.

“Ralmarstad landed in Sansiona,” he said. “They’re heading straight for Throm this very minute.”

Lem and Mariyah exchanged knowing looks.

“Then you’d better run,” Lem said. “And you can tell Rothmore I will never step foot in the Temple again.”

The monk looked anxious, understandable with the Ral- marstad army nearby. “I have your balisari,” he said. “Come with me and I’ll return it to you.”

Lem sniffed. “Keep it. I have another.”

“You’ll give it back now,” Mariyah interjected. A thin ribbon of yellow light sprang from her palm and wrapped around the man’s throat.

His eyes bulged, and a few seconds later he was forced to his knees as he clawed futilely at the spell.

“Mariyah,” Lem said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not worth the effort.”

“It was your mother’s,” she said. “And I’m certain he’ll be more than happy to give it back. Won’t you?”

The man nodded frenziedly, spitting out what were meant to be words but came out as gargled hisses. When the ribbon vanished, he fell to his side, coughing and wheezing.

“Where is it?” Mariyah demanded.

“I don’t have it here,” the monk managed to choke out. “It’s on a boat, waiting to take us to Malvoria.”

Lem grumbled. If it hadn’t been his mother’s instrument, he’d have left it behind without a second thought. After all, there was a replacement at the college. “Take us there,” he said. “But I’m not getting on the boat. Understood?”
The monk struggled to his feet. “Yes. But we need to hurry. The Ralmarstads are moving swiftly.”

Outside several horses were heard passing at full gallop, and the horn blew once again, this time coming from within the town. The borders had been breached. Likely the Lyto- nian soldiers had abandoned their posts.
Mariyah and Lem snatched up their packs and bolted for the door, the monk on their heels. There was no time for the horses and wagon.

“Through there,” Brother Umar said, pointing across the main avenue to an alley between two shops a few yards farther south.

Lem glanced down the street to see a line of torches round- ing the corner roughly five blocks away. He had no idea how many foes Mariyah could overcome with her magic, but it wasn’t likely to be an entire army.

Brother Umar stopped at the far end and peered out. Lem could hear the stomping of many boots and the clanking of steel, from both behind and ahead. Throm was not a large town, but it was not a road stop either. It would take at least ten minutes to get beyond the town’s edge and several hours to reach the coast on foot. But that would take them in the wrong direction.

A voice called out as they were halfway across the next street. “Stop there!”

Lem could see four soldiers with swords drawn a block off to their right. Straining his eyes against the pale light of a half moon, he could make out the Ralmarstad sigil on their breastplates. Mariyah shoved him toward the promenade and stood in the center of the thoroughfare.

A stiff wind blew the hair from her face, and her eyes burned with a red glow. Lem felt a chill creeping up his spine. It was as if the stories of demon spirits he’d heard as a child had come to life. The flesh of her face and arms turned a slate gray as she clenched her fists tight.

“Come,” she said, her voice sounding at multiple pitches simultaneously. “See what your masters have sent you to find.”

Lem had never heard her speak this way. It was terrifying. “Thaumas!” shouted one of the soldiers.

“No,” she replied, the hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. “Something more.”

In a swirling flurry of motion, she swept her arms in a broad circle. Two of the soldiers immediately turned and fled.

They were the first to fall. There was the crunch of steel that sounded like thin glass being stepped on by a heavy boot, followed by a short yelp and a gasp. Blood exploded onto the street, bursting from every orifice. She waited until the two remaining foes were almost upon her before repeat- ing the spell.

Lem nearly emptied his stomach at the sight. Brother Umar could only stare at the scene horror-stricken, hands covering his mouth.

When Mariyah turned to face them, her cheeks, hair, and clothing were drenched in blood. But a quick wave of the hands remedied the situation, and in a flash the blood had evaporated. Her expression was not one of rage but a stone mask that bordered on indifference, as if she’d done nothing more significant than swatting a fly. But upon seeing Lem’s reaction, she gave him a pained look.

“I wish you didn’t have to see that,” Mariyah said.

Lem took a moment to regain his composure. “Why did you do that?”

“So no one will follow,” she replied, then turned to the monk. “Lead on.” It took a hard poke to his arm before he snapped out of his stupor. And when he did, he averted his eyes, clearly afraid.

As they made their way from town, Lem could not get the image out of his mind. He had killed scores of people. And he’d had experience with aggressive magic at the hands of Lady Camdon. But what Mariyah had done . . . she’d crushed the very armor they were wearing until they popped inside it like ripe grapes. She was right that anyone coming across the gruesome scene would be hesitant to follow their trail. But there had to have been another way.

The land between Throm and the shore was thinly wooded, providing little in the way of concealment. In the far distance, an orange glow lit the night sky, and from the direction Lem guessed that Sansiona was burning. Soon Throm would suffer the same fate. Lem felt a pang of regret that the peaceful little town would be reduced to ashes. He had actually thought of asking Mariyah if she would con- sider settling there, or barring that, at least buying a house. After all, it was Travil’s home and would likely have been Shemi’s as well. They would have wanted to visit regardless of where they eventually found themselves.

Brother Umar kept his distance from Mariyah as they wound their way a mile east and parallel to the highway. Occasionally they could hear the shouting of orders and the clatter of steel, but the monk deftly led them clear of the danger. Soon the flames from Sansiona were joined by those of Throm. Lem wondered if everyone was able to get out in time. He hoped so. Those caught by Ralmarstad would be interrogated then possibly killed. It wouldn’t matter that the townsfolk would not know anything of value or that they were not a threat. In the eyes of Ralmarstad, they were her- etics, and that was the only justification needed to perceive someone an enemy.

The light of dawn overcame that of the flames, and lines of black smoke carried with them the stench of death. They were forced into an open field to reach where the boat awaited, along with three hulking clerical guards. Despite their intimidating appearance, their eyes betrayed fear.

“We were about to leave,” a guard wearing a plumed helm said. “Ralmarstad patrols are bound to come this way soon enough.”

The other two were already shoving the small landing craft into the water.

“Where’s Lem’s balisari?” Mariyah demanded.

The monk averted his eyes. “Like I said, it’s waiting on the ship that brought me. I wouldn’t keep it here on shore.”

“Then you can send your guards to retrieve it,” Mariyah said.

“When we leave,” the guard chipped in, his gaze drifting to the direction of Sansiona. “We will not be coming back.”

“Please. Just come with us,” the monk implored. “I told you no,” Lem said. “And I meant it.”

The guard grabbed the monk’s arm. “If you’re coming, now is the time.”

Umar gave Lem a final beseeching look, then, receiving his answer through Lem’s silence, hurried into the boat.

Lem could see that Mariyah was fuming at the loss of the balisari, not to mention a wasted trip. But he knew that if they boarded the ship, the monk might attempt to hold them captive. And considering what Mariyah had done, he wasn’t about to put her into a position where she felt trapped. Not to say he feared they could not deal with the situation; but hav- ing witnessed what her powers could do, the slaughter of an entire ship’s crew was not worth recovering his instrument.

“We’ll get it back,” she said, taking his arm as they watched the guards rowing away as fast as they could manage.

“I know.”

The trouble to which Rothmore had gone to lure him to Xancartha suggested that he would not give up trying. But with war sweeping across Lamoria, Lem was confident he could stay well away. Ralmarstad would move against the holy city with the bulk of their army, and he was not about to get caught up in a siege. The other balisari would have to suffice. If they lived to see the end of this, he’d worry about it then.

“We should go to the enclave,” Mariyah said. “If there’s a way to stop Belkar, that’s where we’ll find it.”

Lem nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. At that moment, he felt small and quite insignificant—a state of being he hadn’t experienced since before becoming the Blade of Ky- lor. He had spent much of his time in Lamoria protecting the people he loved. Now, Shemi had Travil. And Mariyah . . . if there were a living being who could protect themselves better, he couldn’t imagine who it was. What good was he? Even if he still had his balisari, or acquired a new one, what then? What could he possibly learn that could help them fight someone like Belkar?

He would have to content himself with standing beside Mariyah, useless and impotent, while she made a stand against an immortal being whose power could enslave an entire world. He felt her hand slip into his. The impulse to go home had never been stronger.

It will pass, he thought. But that was a lie, and he knew it.

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Excerpts / What's New

Excerpt: The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal

August 19, 2022March 21, 2024a cat1 Comment

Hugo, Locus, and Nebula-Award winner Mary Robinette Kowal blends her no-nonsense approach to life in space with her talent for creating glittering high-society in this stylish SF mystery, The Spare Man.

Tesla Crane, a brilliant inventor and an heiress, is on her honeymoon on an interplanetary space liner, cruising between the Moon and Mars. She’s traveling incognito and is reveling in her anonymity. Then someone is murdered and the festering chowderheads who run security have the audacity to arrest her spouse. Armed with banter, martinis and her small service dog, Tesla is determined to solve the crime so that the newlyweds can get back to canoodling—and keep the real killer from striking again.

Please enjoy this free excerpt of The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal, on sale 10/11/2022.

1

Kneeling on the floor of their suite, Tesla Crane could just feel the vibrations of the centrifugal ring as it rotated around the interplanetary cruise ship Lindgren. Or more likely it was the hum of the air conditioning. The Terran-level ring was big enough that even the Coriolis effect was really only noticeable when throwing things.

“Gimlet, fetch.” She threw a chew toy for her Westie, and the little dog charged in the direction the plush sloth had started to go.

It curved in the air, leaving the small white dog staring in baffled confusion for a moment before she found it and pounced with enormous ferocity.

Tesla used the reprieve to return to stretching. She put her hands on the floor, and her new wedding ring caught her eye with the gleam of platinum-iridium—just like the historic kilogram standard, because her spouse knew she was a nerd. Smiling, she lowered her back into the cow position, feeling for twinges as she raised her head.

The ceiling had a digital sky shading to an Earth sunset. The simulated clouds changed shape and position in subtle response to an artificial wind. Not bad for a honeymoon.

On the couch, her joyfrie—fianc—spouse watched her over the edge of his embroidery hoop. Shal was compact, with warm brown skin beneath distressingly glossy curls. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.” Tesla lowered her head, arching her back as far as she could into cat position. As soon as her head was in reach, she got a faceful of little white dog. Wiggling with delight, the Westie planted tiny dog kisses along Tesla’s cheek. Laughing, she tried to dodge. “Gimlet! Not helping.”

Gimlet disagreed and swiped her tongue across Tesla’s nose.

From the couch, Shal lowered the blackwork he was stitching into the sleeve of a T-shirt. He patted the cushion beside him. “Gimlet, c’mere.”

Her dog abandoned Tesla and took a running leap onto the couch. She flopped with her nose on Shal’s embroidery hoop and stared up at him with adoration.

“I’m going to need that hoop back, little girl.”

She sighed and pushed closer, stumpy tail wagging.

“What’s that?” He scratched her ears, grinning. “Yes, Gimlet, I completely agree. We should stay in tonight.”

“But karaoke is tonight.” Tesla returned to cow position, feeling for anything out of alignment.

Or, rather, feeling for anything unacceptably out of alignment. Her spine had its own set of rules about what “normal” looked like. She had her Deep Brain Pain Suppressor dialed all the way down because doing her exercises with the DBPS on was an invitation for more pain later.

“And last night was the Orbit Transfer Party.” Shal was trying to ease the embroidery hoop out from under Gimlet, but she seemed to generate her own tiny canine gravity field sometimes. She wouldn’t hurt the embroidery, but when she was off-duty she was still a Westie. As they’d said at the training center, “She’s a dog, not a robot.”

“Be fair, watching the Moon recede was not a bad view. Although the sparkling was questionable . . .”

“Questionable is being kind.” He lifted Gimlet’s paw only to have her roll over onto her back. “Hey. Kid. C’mon.”

“Gimlet, leave it.”

Presented with a formal command from Tesla, Gimlet reacted with her service-dog training and pushed back from the embroidery hoop, but she still stared at Shal as if he existed solely to pet her. Which, to be fair, she did with everyone she met and not only Tesla’s joyfrien—fianc—spouse. Five days into their honeymoon, and it still didn’t seem real.

“Thanks.” He picked up the embroidery hoop and ran a finger over it looking for damage. “I’m just . . . Never mind.”

“What?” She reversed course, slowly edging back into cat position, or as much of it as she could manage with the rods in her spine. “I know that form of ‘never mind.’”

“All right . . .” He took his time tying off a knot and snipped it with the pair of scissors she’d given him as a wedding present. The badgers worked into the handles seemed to chase each other as the light played across the hand-forged metal. He set them down and lowered the hoop. “I’m not complaining, mind you, it’s only that between the transfer to Low Lunar Orbit, and then to the ship, and then . . . Point is, I thought, maybe, being on a honeymoon, that maybe we could get some alone time in.”

Tesla wrestled with the five different responses she wanted to make. On the one hand, sexy fun times with her new spouse were always appealing. On the other, she so rarely got to escape celebrity and just be a person.

When Shal had suggested a cruise to Mars for their honeymoon, she had been, at best, dubious. His reasoning was that most passengers would access only the ship’s local onboard network, since comms back to terrestrial or Martian databases were hellishly expensive. That meant he could pay the cruise line to reroute ID requests to a fake identity. Her beloved had been right. No one had recognized her yet as the heir to the Crane fortune. So staying in had its appeal, but going out was a limited-time offer. When they got to Mars, these tricks wouldn’t work.

But this was also Shal asking. She bent back to cow position. “Sure. If you want to. We can stay in.”

He sighed, with an edge of tension. “It’s all right. We’ll go.”

Tesla stopped stretching and looked at him. “I just agreed to stay in.”

“Yes. And that was your ‘I’m humoring you to do a thing I don’t want to do’ voice.” He ruffled Gimlet’s fur, not looking at Tesla.

Tesla lifted her head. “First of all, I don’t mind staying in. Honest. It’s just the . . . the novelty of being able to go someplace without bodyguards and planning and . . . But it’s not like staying in with my shiny new spouse is a hardship.”

“Hardship? I should hope I’m a hardship.” He grinned and waggled his brows suggestively.

She snorted and went back to stretching. “Nerd.”

“Accurate.” He pulled a skein of embroidery floss out of his craft bag. “Also, when you put it like that, I can get behind the novelty of going on a date with my shiny new spouse without anyone hovering. So let’s go out on the town.”

“And then come back for sexy fun times.” She pushed back to her knees and grabbed the arm of a chair to brace with as she rose to her feet.

He got the goofy sideways grin that sometimes crossed his face and always made her immediately want to take his pants off. “Ready for karaoke, Gimlet?”

“Oh. I don’t want to take her.”

“Really?” Shal raised his eyebrows. “And I don’t ask just because we get better seats when she’s with us. Your assistant usually scouts new places for triggers . . .”

“It’s karaoke.” When she got Gimlet, her therapist told her that her independence would increase because the dog was a tool—medical equipment wrapped in an adorable fuzzy package. But how was Tesla supposed to know if she was getting better if she didn’t take a chance occasionally? She crossed the room to Shal and gently pushed the hoop out of the way. Putting one knee on the couch by his thigh, she carefully lowered herself to straddle him. The twinge along the right side of her spine was acceptable. She smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “No one’s recognized me yet.”

Shal’s lips were warm and soft as he answered her. One hand ran down her back, providing stability without being obvious about it. She traced the line of his collarbone, feeling his heartbeat through her palm. Shal’s voice had roughened. “Please tell me you picked a short song.”

“Mm . . .” She nibbled his earlobe to keep him from fretting about the potential for flashback triggers. It was karaoke. On an interplanetary cruise ship, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like they would have pyro there. Breathing into his ear, she said, “Maybe you want to do a duet . . . ?”

“A duet, you say—”

Gimlet suddenly burst into a rolling series of DELIVERY IS GOING TO KILL US ALL barks a moment before a knock on the door finished breaking the mood. Her trainer would not be happy that Gimlet barked like this, but Tesla very, very much appreciated the deterrent that a yappy little dog could be at the door. Better than any intruder alarm. Shal sighed and helped Tesla stand up.

He gave her one more lingering kiss before looking at the door, where the Westie was protecting them from Evil Incarnate. “I’ll get it.”

Tesla had let him cross the room to the door before remembering that, with Shal’s bots, she could have answered it and not had to worry about paparazzi. The deep plum wig and eyebrow reshaping she sported were enough to throw the human eye off.

“Gimlet, come!” Tesla headed into the bedroom to distract the little dog.

Gimlet scurried into the room after her, still huffing with indignation that someone had knocked on the door. In the other room, Shal’s voice rose and fell in an indistinct conversation with whoever the villain was. Tesla smiled at her dog. “Door knockers. How dare.”

The Westie snorted in agreement.

“You showed them. We are so safe now.” Tesla sent Shal a ping to his Heads-Up Display. ::Who is it?::

A moment later her own HUD flashed a message in her lower-left field of vision. ::Room-service drone. Wrong room.::

Tesla rummaged through the jewelry she’d dropped on the bedroom vanity and picked out a diamond anklet. It was rather old-fashioned and not worth much, but she liked the way it sparkled.

Sitting on the bed, she tried to cross her leg over her knee so she could reach her ankle. Even pulling on her foot, she couldn’t quite get the heel to make contact. A band at the top of her pelvis tightened as she tried.

“I couldn’t get it to leave without accepting the delivery or trashing the order.” Shal walked into the room carrying a tray covered with a silver dome. “I didn’t want it to go to waste. Steak à la Lune.”

“Aha! I see your facade of virtue is beginning to crumble.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to get the anklet in place.

“First of all, lunar steaks are arguably vegetarian, since they’re entirely vat-grown. Second, Gimlet likes steak.”

Her dog sat under the tray, looking at it as if she had met her truest love. Tesla laughed. “Gimlet doesn’t get people food.”

“Fair. But my third point . . .” He whipped the lid off with a flourish. “It comes with frites à la truffe.”

The scent of fried starch and salt and the earthy joy of truffles wafted from a mound of fries.

“Compelling argument.”

Grinning, he set the tray on the side table and grabbed a fry. Slowly, he placed the fry in his mouth, closing his full lips around the crisp brown morsel. He winked, and his gaze traveled down the length of her leg to the anklet. He did not offer to help, and she loved him all over again for letting her fight her own battles. “So, what song did you pick out?”

“Don’t you want to be surprised?” She winked at him. “Or use your superior detecting skills to guess?”

“Retired.” He waved a fry at her. “But given what you sing in the shower, I’m betting it’ll be either a Mad Guinevere or something by HLX-1.”

“Mm . . .” Neither were bad guesses. She grimaced trying to catch hold of the bottom of the anklet and finally gave up. She could use the DBPS or she could accept help from her helpmate. Sighing, she held out the anklet. “Would you mind?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Shal knelt on one knee and patted the other.

Tesla rested her foot on his knee as he took the anklet from her. It took him seconds to fasten the gold-and-diamond band. Still kneeling, he ran his hands up her calf, making a circle at the back of her knee. Wetting his lips, Shal looked up at her. “I’m going to make one more pitch for taking Gimlet and then I’ll drop it.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She rested her hands on the bed and pressed down. “Okay, yes, you’re right. There’s a risk that there will be pyro or some other trigger and I might have a flashback. But if we take Gimlet, people are going to watch us. I . . . I just want one evening where no one stares at me.”

Shal smiled at her and bent forward to kiss her knee. “All right then.”

“That’s it? No fight?” Tesla pouted at him. “And here I was looking forward to makeup sex.”

He laughed and beat his chest. “Spouse! You must do as I say, for now we are married and you have no independent mind of your own! Grr!”

Gimlet barked at him.

Laughing, Tesla lowered her foot and leaned forward to kiss Shal on the forehead. “See? We can’t take her. She’d eat you alive.”

…

There was something magical about being anonymous. Listening to enthusiastic karaoke, Tesla sat nestled in a booth at the back of the R-Bar and scanned for their server. Spotting the distinctive long blue locs, Tesla raised her hand in the universal “I’m ready to order” signal and watched their server continue walking past without looking at her. Again. Anonymity would be marvelous, aside from the fact that she wanted a drink.

On her heads-up display, a message from her spouse pinged for attention: ::You’re going to laugh, but I forgot that your hair was purple.::

She subvocalized a reply to send via the HUD. ::Did you lose our booth?::

Shal had given up on the server before she had and taken another approach. ::Absolutely not. I’m at the bar—where apparently we are already considered regulars::

::And it’s just day two of the cruise.:: She almost opened the calendar in her HUD, but she was on vacation. The urge to check in with the office still itched under her skin, so she pulled Shal’s embroidery hoop over and consulted the pattern in her HUD. ::Well done, us.::

::The bartender sends her compliments on your hair::

::Which you had forgotten::

::And I want you to appreciate the deep and endearing vulnerability that I’m displaying by admitting my shocking mental lapse.::

Sitting alone in her booth, Tesla laughed, ignored by those around her. Out of habit, she’d picked a table in one of the round booths at the rear of the lounge as a way to have her back to a wall and a buffer between her and the world. She kept looking for Gimlet under the table, skin tightening for a moment every time the little dog wasn’t there, before she remembered that she’d done this on purpose. Thanks to Shal’s bots, she didn’t need to hide behind sunglasses or a courtesy mask; she would have been able to sit anywhere here. All of the cameras and attention were turned to the stage, where a crooner was belting out their karaoke selection with more enthusiasm than talent.

There was still an infectious joy in watching the curvy older passenger, with chartreuse pants around generous hips in the style from their teens, sing a song Tesla had never heard before. Everyone watched the stage. No one was taking a surreptitious snap of her laughter to sell to a gossip column.

Shal sent, ::I heard that::

::I’m across the bar!::

::There is never a day when I won’t recognize the sound of your voice in a crowd. Although . . . I AM used to trying to spot you behind a cluster of admirers—Oh. Got the drinks. En route to you.::

She slid to the edge of the booth to get a better view of the stage. No one “randomly” dropped by the booth wanting her to invest in their start-up or talk about one of her robot designs or magnify her tiny flaws. She was free to try karaoke and have no one care if she failed.

And then her internal radar lit up, needing no online tracker to orient to Shalmaneser Steward.

Or to use his pseudonym for this trip, Mishal Husband. By any name, her spouse.

Tesla crossed her legs, and the diamond anklet she wore glittered in the light as it emerged from the booth.

That sparkle caught Shal’s attention as he walked back to their table with a pair of cocktails. His eyes dropped to her ankle, and then traveled appreciatively up the length of her legs, warming her through the core as his gaze continued up and met hers.

His sharp features softened as he slid into the booth next to her. “We could go back to our cabin . . .”

Tesla leaned over, ignoring the twinge in her lower back, and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t be silly. My turn is nearly here, and we’ve waited this long.”

“I could’ve talked to the karaoke DJ.” Shal held out her Manhattan, with a real cherry mind you, and winked at her. She nearly changed her mind about waiting for the karaoke.

“I believe you mean ‘bribed.’ ” She lifted the Manhattan out of his hand. Detectives. They never really broke their habits. “What are you drinking?”

“A bribe is a conversation.” Shal glanced past her and waved away the close-up magician who had been following them around the ship after Tesla had overtipped him. “Martini. Stirred. New Prussian gin. Dolin Blanc for the vermouth. Two olives.”

Tesla rested her hand on his thigh, grateful beyond words for the bubble of safety he enforced around them. “Two olives? I like that you’re developing expensive tastes.”

“To go with my expensive spouse?” Shal laughed and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “Oh! I’ve just realized that we could shorten ‘Mishal’ to ‘Mi’ instead of ‘Shal’ on the cruise.”

“I thought the point of a pseudonym that could shorten to Shal was to make it less likely for me to slip on the name?” That was why they’d settled on “Mishal Husband” as his name for the cruise.

“Sure.” He grinned at her. “But this way you can introduce me to people as ‘Mi Husband.’”

“My Husband? Really?” She laughed. “You are such an archaic ner—”

“Not what we agreed!” From the booth next to them, a sharp voice cut through a gap in the song.

A balding white passenger with a gamer’s belly rounding out a sequined pullover and matching capelet stood facing the close-up magician at the end of the booth’s table.

Shal cocked his head to the side, watching. Whenever he concentrated, he got sleuthing face, which had this bright intensity to it, as if he were wringing meaning out of the air.

Tesla slid her hand up his thigh. ::Are you eavesdropping?::

The corner of his mouth twisted in a smile. ::Absolutely.::

The magician shrugged. His reply vanished into the music so that only the rhythms of speech said he was annoyed. The bald passenger jabbed a finger at the magician, who took a step back, arms going wide. A moment later, he plucked a card from the air and showed it to the passenger.

Something about it made the passenger’s face burn beet red.

::What do you think they’re arguing about?::

::Dunno, but none of them know each other well enough to move the conversation to pings.:: Shal set his hand on top of hers and ran a finger across the new wedding band.

::None?:: Tesla could only see two people from where she sat. ::Who else—::

“Both of you.” A third voice, in the husky alto range, interjected from deep in the booth. “We’ve all—”

Applause buried whatever they had all done as the crooner took a deep bow. A moment later, the karaoke host bounded onstage, all grins. “Let’s give a big round of applause again to Annie Smith and that fascinating rendition of ‘Who’s Laughing Now.’ Next up, Artesia Zuraw!”

Shal nudged her and slid to the end of the booth. “That’s you.”

“Oh! Right.” She had not recognized her own pseudonym. Tesla slipped out, twisting to stand, and her back spasmed. Her deep brain pain suppressor compensated automatically, slamming into its built-in safeties so the red cords of pain were present but muted.

She steadied herself on the edge of the table and used the motion to look into the booth next to theirs. At the back of the booth, an elegant passenger with bleach-blond hair and a soft, curving jawline watched the other two with obvious distaste.

“Artesia Zuraw? Are you here?”

Tesla raised her hand. “Coming!”

She reached for Gimlet’s leash—but she hadn’t brought her dog. This was fine. She could do this. Tesla hurried up to the stage, regretting the decision to leave her cane behind as her back tightened with each step. Dammit. She knew better than to twist when she was standing. She had to clutch the rail to manage the stairs.

The KJ met her with a blinding smile and a microphone. “Hello, my happy one! We are so delighted to have you on our stage! And what are you singing for us, Mx. Zuraw?”

She took the offered microphone, nerves overriding any pain. “Tess. Call me Tess, she/her . . .” She wasn’t used to feeling nervous. “I’m singing ‘Somewhere to Love’ by the Isolationists.”

“All right, everybody! Give it up for her and make her feel the love in this room!” The KJ bounced offstage as the first syncopated beats of the jaunty swingpunk tune started.

Tesla watched the lyrics pop up on her HUD as the glowing ball slid closer to the first line. Everyone was watching her and cheering with the same enthusiasm they’d shown her predecessor on the stage.

“Ooh-ooh, ooh-woh

I know this place around here—”

A tray of glasses shattered at the back of the room. At the booth next to theirs, the blond who’d been sitting in its depths was on their feet. Shal stood by them, with a hand out as if to prevent a fall. A swath of red stained their white dinner jacket.

For a moment, Tesla thought that they’d been stabbed, but their gaze was fixed on the server with long blue locs. Shattered glassware covered the floor around the pair. The stain was just red wine or an aperitif. As she watched, the garment self-cleaned, shedding the red liquid so the fabric bleached back to brilliant white. Tugging the jacket into place, the blonde stalked out of the R-Bar.

Everyone watched them go. Which was good, because Tesla had totally lost her place in the song. Being anonymous was very, very nice.

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Excerpts / What's New

Excerpt Reveal: Mystic Skies by Jason Denzel

August 18, 2022March 21, 2024a cat1 Comment

The final book in the enchanting epic fantasy series for fans of Robert Jordan, from the founder of Dragonmount.

The world is Changed.

Fifty-four years have passed since Crow Tallin, the catastrophic celestial event that merged Fayün and the human world. One devastating result of that cataclysm is that most human babies are born fused with fay spirits. The Mystics of Kelt Apar, once beloved, are blamed for this worldwide phenomenon.

On the island of Moth, the Barons have declared the Myst illegal and imprisoned all Mystics under house arrest. Under the watchful eyes of deadly Hunters, a much-older Pomella AnDone now lives as a prisoner at Kelt Apar with her granddaughter and apprentice Mia, as well as the rapidly declining High Mystic of Moth, Yarina Sineese.

When the time comes to conduct the ceremony intended to pass the title of High Mystic from Yarina to her successor Vivianna, something goes horribly wrong, leaving the lineage of Mystics in doubt.

With new rivals seeking to claim Moth for their own, Pomella must undergo a dangerous dreamwalk into the mind-bending and heart-wrenching Mystic Skies in order to learn the mystical name of the island itself.

In this epic conclusion to Jason Denzel’s The Mystic Trilogy, which spans decades and timeless realms and dreams, Pomella must confront her greatest and most personal challenge yet. For the Deep mysteries of the world will reveal themselves only to the most powerful and dedicated of Mystics.

Please enjoy this free excerpt of Mystic Skies by Jason Denzel, on sale 10/11/22.

1

On the island of Moth, beneath a gray- clouded sky, Pomella AnDone strolled through her garden with the High Mystic. Despite the early autumn season, the roses were in full bloom, growing beside a dizzying assortment of other flowers. Kelt Apar’s garden flourished year- round under Pomella’s care, a point she took particular pride in.

High Mystic Yarina sat in her wheeled chair with her hands folded on her lap, while Pomella pushed her along the winding
pebbled path. Pomella paused every couple of steps to examine or prune a flower.

“I have high hopes for the lilies this year,” Pomella said, making idle chitchat. Yarina, as usual, did not respond. Th e High Mystic nodded sleepily in her chair, likely not hearing what Pomella said. Yarina’s long white hair hung loose, covering her shoulders and the pale blue shawl that hung over her black robes. A thick blanket covered her lap to keep the chill away.

Thunder rumbled overhead, startling Pomella. She caught her thumb on a thorn. “Shite,” she muttered, pressing the dab of blood into her own night- black robes.

“I think we’re going to have a creek poured on us soon,” she said, looking at the roiling clouds. “You can count on Mothic rain like the moon phasing.”

The High Mystic moaned, the sound emanated not much more than a wheezing breath. Her eyes remained closed.

“Mistress?” Pomella said, leaning close. “P-mel,” Yarina breathed.

“I’m here,” Pomella replied, her voice full of concern. It was the most she’d heard the High Mystic speak in days.

“Is . . . it raining?” Yarina murmured.

“Not yet,” Pomella said. “Soon, though. I’ll take you inside.” The High Mystic’s hand lifted and fell on top of Pomella’s.

“Stay,” she said. Her eyes opened, revealing unfocused, clouded pupils. More than sixty years had passed since their first meet- ing, but the High Mystic’s eyes still saw beyond this world into a deeper reality than what other people perceived.

A sudden tension knotted in Pomella’s back as if she’d spent a full afternoon shouldering a heavy load. She had hoped to have a nice stroll, but now a flood of other concerns settled upon her.

Pomella peered over the edge of the garden to examine the wide grass lawn surrounding Kelt Apar’s central tower. A pair of black-robed Mystics walked along one of the pebbled paths, while Vlenar chopped wood near the Wall. There were no Hunters in sight, thank the Saints.

Shifting her robes, Pomella knelt beside the High Mystic’s roll- ing chair. She winced. Her knees had long ago ceased to be what they once were, but she still managed to find a reasonably com- fortable position.

Yarina reached a bony hand to touch Pomella’s hair. Later this fall would mark the High Mystic’s one hundred and second year. Pomella sat with as much patience as she could muster as the older woman twirled the deep white strands.

“Still a girl,” Yarina said.

Pomella forced a smile, and darted her gaze again toward Oxillian’s Wall. Named for its creator, the enormous hedge Wall that surrounded Kelt Apar had stood since Crow Tallin, fifty-four years ago. In more recent years, since the Mystic Accord and the coming of the Hunters, the Wall had been fortified with supple- mental walkways and watchtowers.

A pair of leather-clad Hunters walked atop its parapet, their attention focused inward toward the lawn. Even at a distance, the iron tips of their glaives sent a chill down Pomella’s spine.

Many of the Hunters stationed at Kelt Apar were out on one of their so-called patrols, but Carn and his cohorts would likely be back soon. Pomella focused again on the High Mystic, trying not to let the Hunters consume her mind.

“Oh, Mistress,” she said, “I stopped being a girl a long time ago.” “No,” Yarina said. She swallowed, and Pomella saw moisture well at the corners of her eyes. “No titles. We’re sisters.”

A lump of emotion welled in Pomella’s throat. In all their years together, Yarina had never said anything like that.

“The gardener’s daughters,” Yarina continued. “Remember?”
It seemed like the life of the stars, but Pomella understood what Yarina meant. “Yes,” she said. “Lal.” They’d shared the same mas- ter, and while many years had separated their tutelage with him, in the long view of decades they’d both been his students in their youth. They had both been like his daughters.

“Viv—Vivi—” Yarina tried.

“Vivianna isn’t here right now,” Pomella said. “It’s . . . time.”

The last word trailed off in a breathless whisper, and real fear gripped Pomella. One hundred and two years stretched the poten- tial life-span of all but the most wondrous Mystics. Yarina’s eyes moved in slow motion as though she were witnessing a beautiful, wide landscape. Perhaps she was. Pomella recognized what this was and had been long prepared for it. But like many significant moments of life, now that it was here, she felt the challenge of the moment gather before her like an oncoming storm.

“Yarina?” Pomella prompted.

The High Mystic exhaled a tiny breath. Her mouth moved as though she spoke slowly and silently to somebody Pomella could not see.

Wincing slightly at a pain in her creaky knees, Pomella stood.

She had to get the High Mystic back to the central tower.

Pomella closed her eyes and Unveiled the Myst. A swirling sen- sation of life, energy, and supreme awareness filled her. If the world was a painting, then the Myst was both the canvas and the paint, the painter and the brush, as well as the very inspiration for the art. The Myst was the energy of the universe, the breath that coursed through all existence. When Pomella reached out toward the Myst, she really reached for a part of herself. When it blossomed around her, it reaffirmed the truth of their inseparable natures.

“Ena,” Pomella whispered, and a heartbeat later her humming- bird gleamed from the sky and alighted onto her outstretched palm. The little fay bird’s partially corporeal feet were like twigs of cool water on her skin.

“Tell Mia, Dronas, and Master Kambay to meet us in the tower immediately. Have them prepare the anointment ceremony, in- cluding the paintings. Avoid the Hunters and be discreet.”

Ena radiated worry but buzzed away, young as ever, over the tall garden flowers toward the cabins where the Mystics lived.

Next, Pomella tapped the air, letting the familiar sound of a silver bell ting through the garden.

The ground rumbled and rose beside her. Dirt and stone lifted upward, forming the shape of a towering, bearded man. Roses and sunflowers from the surrounding garden pulled together along with other flowers to dot his body. Polished stones formed his eyes and fallen flower petals made his beard.

“Mistress Pomella,” the Green Man, Oxillian, intoned with his familiar, rumbling voice.
His face sank when he saw Yarina sitting peacefully in her roll- ing chair. “Oh my,” he said. “Her heart beats faintly.”

“She’s dying, Ox.”

Oxillian eased himself to one knee and reached a soil-and- stone finger to brush aside a stray strand of hair from the High Mystic’s face. “So it has always been, across all the centuries, here in Kelt Apar. What of the ceremony?”

“We’ll conduct it shortly. But I need something else from you. Go to the arranged location and prepare what we spoke of,” Po- mella said. “I will summon you again when it’s time.”

“Of course, Mistress.” He faced Yarina again and bowed low, then took a long step backward. As his foot touched the ground, he merged back into the soil like a swimmer into water. The pebbled walkway restored itself, leaving the garden as it previously appeared. No trace of Oxillian’s presence remained.

Pomella allowed herself a brief moment longer to hold Yarina’s hand. A lifetime of love and admiration washed over her. The High Mystic had drifted off to sleep again, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly.
Light footsteps approached the garden, and if Pomella hadn’t been quietly pondering at that moment she would’ve missed them. For a moment she worried it could be a Hunter, but these footsteps belonged to Vlenar, the old laghart gardener.

The former ranger hobbled forward on his wooden cane, which he carried not because of his crooked back, but because an old in- jury had rendered his left foot severely twisted. Like all lagharts, Vlenar’s scales swirled in thumb-sized repeating triangular patterns across his entire body. His coloring had lightened over the years, having dulled from a deep forest emerald to a paler, stone-washed green. He wore a wide-brimmed straw sun hat that he’d woven to fit his spike-crested head.

His long tongue flicked out repeatedly, tasting the air, when he saw Yarina. Lagharts could sense the world differently than humans.

Vlenar’s slitted pupils fixed upon Pomella. “Ssshe isss almost gone,” he hissed.

“Yes,” Pomella said. “We need to get her into the tower in or- der to ensure a smooth transition to Vivianna.” She eyed the Wall again. One of the Hunters on patrol nudged his companion as he took notice of Pomella and Vlenar standing beside the High Mystic.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They left the garden together, Pomella wheeling the High Mystic toward the tower. As they walked, motes of glowing light swirled all around them. A swarm of fay geese flew overhead, and silver and gold plants turned to face them.

Above it all, more thunder sounded, and with it came the rain.

Pre-Order Mystic Skies Here:

Lists / What's New

SFF Books We Read for the Romance

August 8, 2022August 9, 2022a cat1 Comment

Love is in the stars and other faraway places! No, we’re not just talking about fate and honeymoons—this is an article about romance in Science Fiction and Fantasy! Check out these sometimes sizzling sometimes sweet SFF reads that’ll have you feeling the love 😍

A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows

Velasin vin Aaro never planned to marry at all, let alone a girl from neighboring Tithena. When an ugly confrontation reveals his preference for men, Vel fears he’s ruined the diplomatic union before it can even begin. But while his family is ready to disown him, the Tithenai envoy has a different solution: for Vel to marry his former intended’s brother instead. Caethari Aeduria always knew he might end up in a political marriage, but his sudden betrothal to a man from Ralia, where such relationships are forbidden, comes as a shock. With an unknown faction willing to kill to end their new alliance, Vel and Cae have no choice but to trust each other. Survival is one thing, but love—as both will learn—is quite another.

Winter’s Orbit by Everina Maxwell

Prince Kiem, a famously disappointing minor royal and the Emperor’s least favorite grandchild, has been called upon to be useful for once. He’s commanded to fulfill an obligation of marriage to the representative of the Empire’s newest and most rebellious vassal planet. His future husband, Count Jainan, is a widower and murder suspect. Neither wants to be wed, but with a conspiracy unfolding around them and the fate of the empire at stake they will have to navigate the thorns and barbs of court intrigue, the machinations of war, and the long shadows of Jainan’s past, and they’ll have to do it together. So begins a legendary love story amid the stars.

Kushiel’s Dart by Jacqueline Carey

Born with a scarlet mote in her left eye, Phédre nó Delaunay is sold into indentured servitude as a child. When her bond is purchased by an enigmatic nobleman, she is trained in history, theology, politics, foreign languages, the arts of pleasure. And above all, the ability to observe, remember, and analyze. Exquisite courtesan, talented spy…and unlikely heroine. But when Phédre stumbles upon a plot that threatens her homeland, Terre d’Ange, she has no choice. Betrayed into captivity in the barbarous northland of Skaldia and accompanied only by a disdainful young warrior-priest, Phédre makes a harrowing escape and an even more harrowing journey to return to her people and deliver a warning of the impending invasion.

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland

Kadou, the shy prince of Arasht, finds himself at odds with one of the most powerful ambassadors at court—the body-father of the queen’s new child—in an altercation which results in his humiliation. To prove his loyalty to the queen, his sister, Kadou takes responsibility for the investigation of a break-in at one of their guilds, with the help of his newly appointed bodyguard, the coldly handsome Evemer, who seems to tolerate him at best. In Arasht, where princes can touch-taste precious metals with their fingers and myth runs side by side with history, counterfeiting is heresy, and the conspiracy they discover could cripple the kingdom’s financial standing and bring about its ruin.

Dance with the Devil by Kit Rocha

Maya uses her wealth of secrets to weaken the TechCorps from within. Dani strikes from the shadows, picking off the chain of command one ambush at a time. And Nina is organizing their community—not just to survive, but to fight back. When Maya needs to make contact with a sympathetic insider, Dani and Rafe are the only ones with the skill-set and experience to infiltrate the highest levels of the TechCorps. They’ll go deep undercover in the decadent, luxury-soaked penthouses on the Hill. Bringing Dani face-to-face with the man who turned her into a killer. And forcing Rafe to decide how far he’ll go to protect both of his families—the one he was born to, and the one he made for himself.

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

When a reaper comes to collect Wallace from his own funeral, Wallace begins to suspect he might be dead. And when Hugo, the owner of a peculiar tea shop, promises to help him cross over, Wallace decides he’s definitely dead. But even in death he’s not ready to abandon the life he barely lived, so when Wallace is given one week to cross over, he sets about living a lifetime in seven days. Hilarious, haunting, and kind, Under the Whispering Door is an uplifting story about a life spent at the office and a death spent building a home.

eBook Deals / What's New

HUGE eBook Sale Day!!!

August 7, 2022May 6, 2024a cat1 Comment

Hello, are you ready to read?? Yes??? GOOD. Because we’ve got HUGE eBook deals for today and today only (Monday 8.7.22)!

Check it out!

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake—$3.99

The Alexandrian Society, caretakers of lost knowledge from the greatest civilizations of antiquity, are the foremost secret society of magical academicians in the world. Those who earn a place among the Alexandrians will secure a life of wealth, power, and prestige beyond their wildest dreams, and each decade, only the six most uniquely talented magicians are selected to be considered for initiation. Five, they are told, will be initiated. One will be eliminated. The six potential initiates will fight to survive the next year of their lives, and if they can prove themselves to be the best among their rivals, most of them will.

Most of them.

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune—$2.99

Linus Baker is a by-the-book case worker in the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. He’s tasked with determining whether six dangerous magical children are likely to bring about the end of the world. Arthur Parnassus is the master of the orphanage. He would do anything to keep the children safe, even if it means the world will burn. And his secrets will come to light. The House in the Cerulean Sea is an enchanting love story, masterfully told, about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab—$2.99

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. Kell was raised in Arnes—Red London—and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see. Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they’ll never see. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab—$4.99

France, 1714: in a moment of desperation, a young woman makes a Faustian bargain to live forever—and is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets. Thus begins the extraordinary life of Addie LaRue, and a dazzling adventure that will play out across centuries and continents, across history and art, as a young woman learns how far she will go to leave her mark on the world. But everything changes when, after nearly 300 years, Addie stumbles across a young man in a hidden bookstore and he remembers her name.

She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan—$2.99

In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected. When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother’s identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate.

eBook Deals / Excerpts / What's New

Download a Free Digital Preview of The Spare Man

August 2, 2022August 1, 2022a cat1 Comment

Download Your Free Digital Preview:

Events / What's New

On the (Digital) Road: Tor Author Events in August 2022

August 1, 2022May 8, 2024a cat1 Comment

New month, new books, awesome events! You know the drill 😎

Check out this month’s exciting digital events!

Sunyi Dean, The Book Eaters

Tuesday, August 2
Country Bookshop x Oblong Books
Virtual Event
6:00 PM ET

Wednesday, August 3
Old Firehouse Books
Virtual Event
3:00 PM ET

Thursday, August 4
Tubby & Coo’s x Watermarks Books, in conversation with Olivie Blake
Virtual Event
6:00 PM ET

Ryka Aoki, Light From Uncommon Stars

Thursday, August 4
Tubby & Coo’s
Virtual Event
7:00 PM ET

Monday, August 15
Brookline Booksmith
Virtual Event
7:00 PM ET

If you’re excited to see Dune because:

Dune seems really cool:

No, really. Dune is the coolest and you’ll throw yourself into the maw of a sandworm if you don’t get more immediately:

You love crazy space monsters:

You love dudes fighting in suits in space:

You love PEW PEW PEW space battles:

You love space politics:

No, seriously, you LIVE FOR space politics:

You love space politics, but not as much as you love love.

Masters of Death by Olivie Blake

The Mystery at Dunvegan Castle by T.L. Huchu

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey

The Family Plot by Cherie Priest

Library of the Dead by TL Huchu

Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones

The Bone Orchard by Sara A. Mueller

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

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2

Pre-Order Dune: The Heir of Caladan Here:

2

Pre-Order The Sword’s Elegy Here:

1

Pre-Order The Spare Man Here:

1

Pre-Order Mystic Skies Here:

A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows

Winter’s Orbit by Everina Maxwell

Kushiel’s Dart by Jacqueline Carey

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland

Dance with the Devil by Kit Rocha

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

The Atlas Six by Olivie Blake—$3.99

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune—$2.99

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab—$2.99

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab—$4.99

She Who Became the Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan—$2.99

Download Your Free Digital Preview:

Sunyi Dean, The Book Eaters

Ryka Aoki, Light From Uncommon Stars

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**No, really. Dune is the coolest and you’ll throw yourself into the maw of a sandworm if you don’t get more immediately:**