Some Starry Night Written by Irene Latham Publication Date: April 14, 2026 Publisher: Historium Press
Under the pale glow of a Parisian spring in 1886, two restless souls move toward the same horizon-unaware that their meeting will ignite a love as luminous and fleeting as the stars themselves.
Vincent van Gogh arrives in Paris with little more than paint-stained hands and an aching determination to create something worthy of the world. Living in the cramped apartment of his brother Theo, he struggles against poverty, doubt, and the relentless pull of his own restless mind.
Across the ocean in Amherst, Emily Dickinson receives news that changes everything. Faced with the nearness of death, the reclusive poet does the unthinkable: she leaves the quiet safety of the Homestead and sails for Paris, determined to taste life before it slips beyond her reach.
When Emily agrees to sit for Vincent’s portrait, their worlds collide in a blaze of color, poetry, and dangerous intimacy. Through letters, poems, and whispered confessions, the two artists discover in one another a fierce, unguarded understanding-one that will shape their art, their faith, and the fragile hours they have left.
But love between stars is never simple. As time grows short and darkness gathers, Vincent and Emily must decide whether beauty is meant to last…or simply to burn bright enough to change the night forever.
Some Starry Night is a sweeping, lyrical imagining of the hidden story behind Vincent van Gogh’s most iconic painting-an unforgettable tale of love, creativity, and the courage to live fiercely, even in the shadow of the end.
Forget Agostina. And forgive my careless words. In my
rush to share all I can with you, I sometimes do not
think about what effect my words will have when they
come so cold and dry on paper, and not from my
mouth.
If we were together, you would know it is not just a
portion of my heart that you occupy. My whole paint-
splattered soul is yours.
I’ve been in such a frenzy, trying to make the time
pass to the moment when we shall meet again, that I
fear I have run out of flowers. All the Paris greenhouse
keepers know me by name. Asters, dahlias, daisies,
geraniums, hollyhocks, lilacs, phlox, salvia . . . It’s a
shame I’m not a better gardener, and I only keep the
cuttings long enough to set them dancing on the canvas
in fields of blue.
I’d like to share a trick I use when painting trees or
flowers. I try to find the soul in them. Do you know
what I mean? Sometimes, a stand of willows might re-
semble a procession of weary, old men. Or I might find
a child’s face in a zinnia. It’s a special way of looking.
A poet’s way of looking.
Just a bit longer, mon petit oiseau. Every time I
read your words in your distinctive pen, it’s almost as
if the hand of God is upon my chest. The demons I
carry stop their chortling. You have that power, Emily.
Love,
Your Vincent
About the Author:
Irene Latham writes poems and stories from the Purple Horse Poetry Studio & Music Room in Blount County, Alabama. She is the author or co-author of many books for young people, including African Town, winner of the Scott O’Dell Award for Outstanding Historical Fiction.
This is her first novel for adults. Learn more at irenelatham.com.
Know the light of protection through valiant courage.
The Chimera Snare:
Reflections
The Chimera Snare Book 2
by S & E Black
Genre: Dark Epic Fantasy
-Winner: 2026
Literary Titan Gold Book Awards: Fiction
-2nd Place: 2026 BookFest Awards – Fiction- Dark Fantasy
-Book Nerdection “Must Read”
-Readers’ Favorite: 5 Stars
Von is cast into the pages of Ananael, the Order’s tome of
secret knowledge. However, his venture into the past takes an unexpected turn
as he awakens within a cosmic void in the presence of the eternal being, who
grants him perspective through others woven through his existence. Yet before
he may commence his time-altering quest, a trial of discovery, revelation, and
horror surrounding his origin awaits him.
Benson’s monstrous heart sews the seeds of a vile past
brimming with betrayal and hate. Through unimaginable deceptions and buried
secrets, familial bonds once forged from love, honor, and acceptance are
upended and broken forever. The souls of integral births, sprouting from
pillaged and neglected foundations, unfurl a path towards disarray.
Distorted memory fragments challenge Von’s grip on reality,
and the reveal of a horrid truth ignites a vicious fury of vengeance. Though
his quest for answers falters along the way, he finds help from an unexpected
ally. Meanwhile, a mysterious power awakens within Navaryn, putting her at odds
with both her friends and herself. And as the motivations of Celestine’s leader
become questionable, her suspicions involving her role within the Halryn
continue to grow.
As the disparate worlds of Celestine and Daeva teeter on the
brink of war, Von and Navaryn are drawn together by unseen forces. Two
destinies, once parallel, now collide. But where bloodshed beckons, a valiant
act of courage challenges the course of their fates.
At last, an uneasy silence fell upon the sopping wet
grounds, though the shambled arena creaked eerily. Von quickly Paralleled to
the ground and proceeded to walk toward Navaryn’s limp body lying in a muddy
crater several meters away. As he gradually brought his power down, his claws
began to retract, and his horns receded into his skull. Clutching his side as
he trotted along, he heard clamoring voices in the distance and a distinctive
pair of boots running through the mud towards him.
“Von!” shouted a sober Claymar. “Wow, you’re alright.” He
ran to his side and acted as a crutch to hold him upright. “That was, uh,
really something back there. Care to explain what all that was?”
“Later,” said Von exhaustedly. “Where’s your uncle?”
“On his way, most likely. He nabbed Illiya and had her scout
for other Celestines while you were off playing with the shimmery blue one. Why
do you ask?”
“I need to know how much time I have,” Von replied.
“Time? For what?” he asked, peering ahead at Navaryn. His
eyes widened as she slowly began to stir.
“Hold it, Clay,” ordered Von, pressing his hand against his
chest to break his stride.
“What are you worried about? You got her!”
“It’s not that.”
Claymar scrunched his face and asked suspiciously, “Then
what is it?”
“She’s strong,” said Von. “Immensely strong. She very well
could have killed me.”
“Uh, but you’re the one still standing, are you not? Can’t
be that strong,” he teased.
“Something happened, though. She lost control. Her power
spiked with mine, but didn’t stay with her.”
“Ha! You almost sound like you feel sorry for her.”
Von ignored Claymar’s remarks and walked towards Navaryn,
who was slowly rising to her knees with her back to him. Claymar followed
behind, but Von turned to him with a furious eye.
Claymar folded his arms and asked, “W-what are you doing?”
The rain calmed, and the moon peeked through the parting
clouds, casting a peaceful light onto the glistening, moist ground. Von drew
closer, catching silver scintillations atop the bloodied and scorched wounds on
her back.
Navaryn winced in pain as she struggled to rise to her feet,
chattering her teeth as the cold, wet mud chilled her bruised skin. As
squelching footsteps neared, she spun around. “W-who’s there?” she uttered,
shielding the moonlight from her eyes with her forearm.
Navaryn’s inquisition made Von stop in his tracks. As her
eyes adjusted to the razor-sharp rays of light over his silhouette, she quickly
recognized the warm glow of his crimson eyes.
“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Navaryn cried out.
Her strange and sudden outburst jolted Von. He looked around
to find who she was pleading to, but saw no one.
“Wh-what happened to me?” Navaryn asked herself as she gazed
down at her hands.
The confusion in her voice affirmed Von’s earlier
assessment. “You’re fine now,” he assured. “You’re back.”
Navaryn’s eyes widened as she looked back up at Von. With
the simplest of words, uttered with a palpable coldness, he gave her comfort
and validation. In him, she found the first person able to convey an
understanding of what she was going through when all others couldn’t begin to.
An essence dwelt within her. One that seized control of her body once triggered
into play, and left her only with the ability to spectate. A similar plight
rang true for Von regarding his notorious beastly transformation. Yet, as his
second encounter with Navaryn unfolded, his energy had learned to work in
tandem with the essence that would otherwise overcome him. Von and Navaryn
became locked in a stare just as before, only this time without the presence of
aggression. They saw themselves in each other, in a reflection no longer
distorted.
“Hey, Von!” Claymar called out. “Um, not sure what you’re
doing over there, but you should know the cavalry is incoming.”
Sidwell approached with his entourage of soldiers and a
vexed group of eastern Daeva in tow. As the last of his squadron funneled out
of the arena, many of the ceremony attendees emerged from hiding within the
surrounding brush and trees. Mixed in among the crowd were the rest of Daeva’s
leaders, Killian, Morgan, Adair, and Godric, with Merisek alongside them.
Weaving through the approaching crowd was Joro, whose surreptitious footsteps
evaded the spotlight. Although the chattering among the crowd was indistinct,
even for Von’s hearing, he could feel the tension steadily rising.
Sidwell stroked his gray, scraggly goatee, suspicious of the
pair’s peculiar exchange. Marching with mighty strides, flaunting his prowess,
Illiya approached him from the side.
“Have you done what I asked?”
“Yes, sir,” Illiya replied. “I’ve scouted thoroughly, and
there’s no sign of any Celestine formations in the surrounding area. She seems
to be the only one.”
“A spy. Just as I suspected. And a dumb one at that. She
tipped a bartender with Celestine coin,” he replied with a chuckle as he
dismissed his lieutenant.
Sidwell and his entourage moved in to surround Navaryn.
“Well, it took you long enough. But you managed to take down
the Celestine without incident to life. That’s as much of a ‘thank you’ that
you’ll get out of me,” Sidwell uttered to Von before addressing the chattering
crowd. “People of Daeva! You’ve now witnessed our realm’s very threat with your
own eyes…”
The Chimera Snare:
Fragments
The Chimera Snare Book 1
-Winner: 2025
International Impact Book Awards – Fantasy
-2nd Place: 2025 BookFest Awards – Fiction- Dark Fantasy
-Winner: 2024 Indies Today Awards – Best Urban Fantasy
-Winner: 2024 Literary Titan Gold Book Awards: Fiction
-Finalist: 2024 Literary Global Fiction/Debut & Dark Fantasy Sci-fi
-Book Nerdection “Excellent Read”
For Rayshell and her best friend Trish, senior year of high
school is going to hell in a handbasket. The feud between Celestine and Daeva
is bleeding into their world. When a mysterious visitor infiltrates her dreams,
Rayshell is thrust into a realm of profound, otherworldly secrets. Together,
Rayshell and Trish uncover the unbelievable—they are the living vessels for two
banished Celestine guardians.
Amidst mystical recollections and a wondrous magic system that shatters the
veneer of their everyday lives, the two friends embark on a journey against
time to connect with the Celestine guardians’ allies in hopes of freeing them
from their imprisonment. Simultaneously, the shadows cast by Daeva darken. The
notorious outlaw, Merisek, has positioned himself to claim dominion over the
Order of Existence—a trio of powerful artifacts capable of reshaping reality.
Armed with two of these relics, Merisek races against the emergence of the
Celestine guardians to claim the third. The stage is set for a showdown that will
determine the fate of existence itself.
Rayshell and Trish are all that stand between Merisek and his unhinged desire
to twist the fabric of reality into his making. As the threads of destiny
unravel, the question looms: who will be the author of existence, and what
profound truths will be unveiled in the final, decisive act?
Breathing anxiously, Navaryn clomped atop a patterned runner
carpet in her dirty boots. The gilded elements within the maroon corridor
flashed as she passed under the waving candlelight of each chandelier. Though
she tried her hardest to refrain, her eyes wandered back to the series of
haunting paintings hanging on the walls. From treasured times with Von,
Lowenna, and Claymar to bouts of training and battles in Opiri and Celestine,
each painting depicted a memory from Navaryn’s past, seen through her eyes.
Brimming with tears, she continued down the damned corridor with no end in
sight and no way to turn back. Behind her, a cloud of darkness kept a close
pace and consumed all that she passed.
Navaryn’s heart fell to her toes as the next painting came
into view. Captured inside the ornate golden frame was Von lying shirtless on
his back, in a moment of ecstasy. His lips, delicately parted, wore the glossy
sheen of her passionate kiss, and his tense red eyes were rolled toward the
headboard behind him. The very memory was etched within her mind so profoundly
that looking upon it in such an outright fashion set her heart ablaze.
Confused, distraught, and with no other choice but to press forward, Navaryn
sprinted ahead unheedingly.
The corridor eventually ended at a remarkably ornate, dark
wooden door. With the cloud of looming darkness twisting behind her, Navaryn
wiped away her tears and steadied her breathing as she pushed it open. Amidst
the scant candlelight, the gilded elements within the capacious room twinkled
like gems inside a cave. She carefully scanned the room until she happened upon
a curvy figure cloaked in elegant red and golden brocade standing by the far
wall.
“Hello?” she called, but no answer came.
Navaryn turned back to the door and found a wall in its
place. Apprehensively, she placed her fingertips where she remembered the
doorjamb to be only moments before. As she motioned to approach her obscured,
gilded companion, her gaze fell upon an immense painting hanging in the middle
of the joining wall. One after another, the candles around the room caught
fire.
With a racing heart, Navaryn muttered, “What is this?”
Standing arm in arm in garish, clinquant garb, Navaryn saw
herself beside Kumiko as they gestured proudly to a Celestine crowd below. The
false instance and her disturbing, unfamiliar expression, painted as if
captured through a spectator’s eyes, sent chills down her spine.
Navaryn turned away but found the very same toothy, prideful
smile mocking her from within the other paintings hanging on the walls. Her
face soured in disbelief as she skimmed over them. She was depicted
prominently, boasting her pristine Celestine wings beside Benson and Kumiko,
sitting tall above the Halryn council. Just as well, she found herself pictured
beside Kumiko in a catalog of moments when they had started a family. Yet, not
a single painting in the cursed room housed her beloved friends Lowenna and
Claymar, her dearest Von, Aalrija, Fallon, or the number of others who held a
special place in her heart.
Dizzy from a fit of rapid respiration, Navaryn struggled to
maintain her composure. When her eyes fell back upon the painting of her
pregnant belly, draped in fine silvery velvet and lace, she frantically ran
toward the embellished figure. Through teary eyes, her vision quaked with a
white blur, and she lost her balance under her clumsy feet.
“What is this place?!” shouted Navaryn as she gripped the
shimmery train of the woman’s dress.
The sound of Navaryn’s incessant crying filled the silent
room. Lost in her despair, she felt the fabric slip from her hands as the woman
turned around, gently hushing her. Her eyes jolted open once the delicate coos
caught her ear. Fearful for what she knew she would see, she slowly raised her
face to the woman.
“Everything that surrounds you here in this room will now be
set into motion,” said the woman, placing her decorated hands upon Navaryn’s
cheeks. “For our imperator commands it.”
The gentle voice and placid countenance, framed in a
headdress of gemstones and twinkling gold, was undeniably her own.
Navaryn recoiled in disbelief. “Our imperator?
Benson?”
She watched the sparkling ruby-painted lips of her
doppelganger curl into a smile. “Look around you. Your imperator is no longer
Benson.”
The ominous statement immediately coaxed heavy tears to her
eyes. “I want nothing to do with anything here!” she roared with flashing white
eyes. “This is not my life!”
Navaryn’s decorated doppelganger gestured toward a multitude
of paintings that suddenly materialized from the shadows. Following a light
chuckle, she replied, “You’ve never had a choice in the matter. It’s a shame
you didn’t realize it sooner.”
One by one, the paintings morphed perspective, appearing as
though they were moments Navaryn had experienced firsthand, like the ones that
hung in the corridor.
“What’s happening?!” Navaryn shouted, then jumped to her
feet.
One haunting image in the distance immediately grabbed her
attention. While she approached the painting in disbelief, her doppelganger
strolled to the far wall, placed her hand against a door concealed by darkness,
then saw herself out of the room without another word.
Guest Post:
Can you, for those who don’t know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
Shannon: My name is Shannon Vierra, and I go by the pen name S. Black. I’m an urban gardener and an avid seed collector. In the makeup community, I go by the moniker zoomzoommacaron and host an international, zombie-vibes makeup collab called the #zombabescollab. I enjoy anime, horror movies, craft beer & kombucha, cooking (and eating), sunbathing, photography, and singing badly. I got into writing when I was a kid, mostly creating small, fantastical stories and with accompanying art.
Edward: My name’s Edward, everyone calls me Eddy, and I write under the pen name E. Black. I’m an avid music lover who’ll listen to anything, but I consider myself a metalhead at heart, and I also play bass guitar. I dabble in photography as well with no real subject focus – I’ll just shoot if I see something special hiding in plain sight. Enjoying craft beer, anime, concerts, and making a nice bowl of ramen are some of my favorite things. I’ve always loved creative writing since I was a teenager, but I got serious about it when my wife and co-author invited me into her world and asked me to write the series with her.
What is something unique/quirky about you?
Shannon: Well, I have a couple of food-related quirks. I don’t like my butter to melt into my toast and make it soggy, so I wait for the toast to get cold first, then put the cold butter squares on top. Also, I hate cereal that makes the milk too sweet, so sometimes if there’s a sweet cereal I like, I have a glass of milk and eat the cereal dry on the side like chips.
Edward: I am very precise and orderly when it comes to certain things, and I’m the total opposite with others. For instance, when I’m cooking, I tend to be very neat and organized with every step from prep to presentation. At the same time, my desk is a mess a lot of the time, and I’m terrible with leaving dirty clothes around the bedroom. It’s like I’m two people in one at times.
Shannon: Mmmhmmm… le sigh.
Tell us something really interesting that’s happened to you!
Shannon: I’m an urban gardener who gets obsessed with growing what they want. Back in my Food Network binge days, I discovered blood oranges were a thing, and all I wanted was a blood orange tree. Sadly, at the time in California, they were illegal to grow, and you couldn’t have a tree shipped to you. I couldn’t find them in grocery stores to eat either, which was my next idea, because you know I’m going right for those seeds (and yes, even though they might not turn out the same as the parent plant, I was determined to try). I found a seller in Canada who was selling blood orange seedlings and must not have done their homework about the regulations, and I managed to get one. Alas, I killed it within about a month. About 3ish years later (when I still answered unknown calls, lol), I got a call from the USDA asking about the purchase and whether or not I still had the blood orange tree. I told them the truth that the seedling died, but also asked what would happen if it didn’t and I still had it. They told me they would confiscate it, meaning cut it down and rip it out if I happened to plant it in the ground. Later that afternoon after I got home from work, I found a door tag informing me that a USDA inspector had searched the property for said blood orange tree. I couldn’t believe the trouble over a little seedling. I still have the door tag! Then, not but 2-3 years later, I found blood orange trees for sale at local home improvement stores. Yes, I immediately bought one.
Edward: This is a bit embarrassing, but when I was in high school, I discovered I had a pair of stalkers – scary ones. I was hanging out with a friend after school one day when this random girl walks up to me, asks me if my name is “Edward,” to which I’m like “Yeah.” She then hands me a notebook, then scurries away pretty quickly. I’m thoroughly confused, but I go ahead and open the notebook. And what I found inside was a slew of written exchanges between two girls talking about me. Things like detailed observations of me walking through the halls, to some truly unspeakable things that they were, at one point, plotting, among other things. Needless to say, it freaked me out and made me feel pretty gross. I threw that thing in the fire.
Husband & Wife author duo Shannon Vierra & Edward
Ayllon write under the pen name S &
E Black. Together, they craft the award-winning series, The Chimera Snare.
They share a deep appreciation for music and credit a great number of bands and
artists for inspiring their writing journey. Currently, they live in the
greater Chicago area amidst a rich and diverse culture with their clowder of
rescue cats.
Shannon is an
urban gardener and an avid seed collector. In the makeup community, she goes by
the moniker zoomzoommacaron and hosts an international, zombie-themed makeup
collab called the #zombabescollab. She also enjoys anime, horror movies, craft
beer & kombucha, cooking (and eating), sunbathing, photography, and singing
badly. Music fuels Shannon’s many passions, especially writing and creating
art. She credits music with saving her life on multiple occasions in her
teenage and young adult years.
Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, Edward first discovered the joys of
creative writing through his early high school studies, and has spent many
years exploring and developing a deep appreciation for the arts. Since first
collaborating with his wife, Shannon, he has sprouted a passion and true affinity
for storytelling and crafting literature. In addition to refining his skill in
creating written works, his other interests include playing bass guitar,
listening to music, and dabbling in photography.
Infidel : The Daughters of Aragon (Six Tudor Queens) Author: Nicola Harris Publication Date: March 5, 2026 Genre: Biographical HIstorical Fiction, Tudor Fiction, Historical Fiction
Born in the glittering courts of Castile and Aragon and forged in the shadow of war, Catalina de Aragón grows up surrounded by queens, rebels, and explorers. She is her mother’s last daughter, the final jewel of a dynasty built on conquest and faith, and the one child Isabella of Castile cannot bear to lose.
But destiny has already claimed Catalina.
Promised to Prince Arthur of England since childhood, she is raised to bind kingdoms, soothe old wounds, and carry the hopes of an empire across the sea. Yet, Spain fractures under rebellion, grief, and the ruthless zeal of its own rulers.
From the burning streets of Granada to the storm‑lashed Bay of Biscay, Catalina and her sisters must navigate a treacherous path shaped by ambition, betrayal, and the dangerous love of men who fear the power of queens. She learns to read cyphers, to read hearts, and to stand unbroken even as her childhood is stripped from her piece by piece.
And when she finally sails for England armed with her mother’s lessons, her father’s steel, and the ghosts of the Alhambra at her back, Catalina steps into her fate not as a girl, but as a force.
A princess.
A survivor.
A daughter of Aragon.
Infidel is the story of a young woman raised for greatness and destined to reshape the fate of nations. This is Catalina, as she has never been seen before. She is fierce, vulnerable, and unforgettable.
A sweeping, intimate portrait of sisterhood, survival, and the making of a dynasty, Infidel reveals the hidden lives of a woman whose courage shaped the Tudor world.
Any Triggers: Grief, mild peril, the Spanish Inquisition, enslaved people, death in childbirth and miscarriage.
My research for Infidel began long before I ever thought of writing a novel about Catherine of Aragón. It began on a beach in Tenerife, years before tourism transformed the island. To a child, it felt like another world. The light, the heat, the colours, the food, the rhythm of life.
I was fortunate enough to spend a great deal of time with a Spanish family who welcomed me into their home and their culture year after year. They taught me fragments of their language and, more importantly, the stories that shaped their history. Through them, I first encountered the world of Muslim Spain and the Catholic warrior monarchs who fought to reclaim it. It was impossible not to be fascinated.
Catalina’s mother, Isabella of Castile, stood out immediately. She was disciplined, relentless, and utterly convinced of her divine purpose. She was also a mother raising her children in a kingdom defined by conflict.
That tension between power and vulnerability became the foundation of my interest in Catalina’s early life. Before she was a queen, she was a child shaped by siege warfare, political ambition, and the expectations of a dynasty that demanded strength from its daughters.
As I began to research more deeply, I found myself drawn to the wider world that touched Catalina’s childhood. I have always been captivated by the fall of Constantinople and the Turkish Sultan Mehmed II’s audacious plan to take the city.
On a trip to Turkey a few years ago, I spoke with a Turkish waiter about his view of the sultan. His pride and respect for Mehmed stayed with me. It reminded me that history is never simple. Every figure we study has another side, another story, another set of loyalties and beliefs.
About the Author:
I’ve always been a writer, but it was only when illness forced me to stop everything that I finally had the time to write a novel. After decades of misdiagnosis, I learned I was born with a serious genetic condition, not rare, but profoundly misunderstood. The clues were there from birth, and suddenly, a lifetime of struggle made sense.
Writing became my lifeline: a way to step beyond my pain, to shape my experience into a story, and to find meaning where there had once been only endurance.
I have a lifelong love of children, Counselling, and Psychotherapy Theory and history.
Tagline: Would you marry a stranger to free your sisters from imprisonment?
Book Description:
In this retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses, sixteen-year-old Justice wants to release her sisters from the maw of Father’s imprisonment. But what can she do? The easiest way would be to find suitors for them.
However, that is not so easy, for Justice’s elder sisters are strange. What with All-Gifted’s madness, Protectress’s hair writhing with snakes, Death-Bringer’s grief (not to mention her strange name), Shining’s too-overt sexuality, Maiden’s tart tongue, Shadow’s crippling shyness, no sensible man would want her sisters as wives. Which leaves Justice, the seventh daughter, the one who possesses a quiet authority.
Justice has already acquired an admirer in the shape of Lord Nobody, who proclaims his undying love for her. But what does he really want? And doesn’t he have a wife already?
Excerpt – P r o l o g u e ~ The Twelve Mysterious Daughters
Playful speaks
In the past week or so since we’ve arrived, life has taken on a predictable rhythm. I spend the mornings entertaining the ladies of the castle, with the lyre, my singing, playing knucklebones, and listening to their gossip. Truth to tell, nothing they say is particularly interesting as high-born ladies spend their time inside. When they are not diverting themselves with such pastimes as I provide, they are spinning, weaving, running the household, and caring for their children. They talk incessantly about their children. They know little of the outside world.
I escape after the midday meal, taking advantage of the ladies’ habit of resting as the sun’s chariot crests at the highest point of the day. While they sleep, I head out into the scorching countryside looking for Father.
We sit together in the shade, while Father does some task, usually repairing something, while I tell him everything I’ve learned the evening before. It is not that hard. Because I am small, and people are now familiar with my face, no one pays me any mind as I take my seat at the bench that runs along the side of the huge table where all the working folk of the castle eat their meals.
Father has told me never to be inquisitive, but I am dying to know more about the twelve mysterious ladies locked up in the castle tower, the ones people whisper about behind their hands when they think no-one is noticing.
As the light of the sun drains from the sky, as the king’s men sink lower onto wooden benches eating dish after dish, quail, pheasant, peacock, duck, eggs, bread, olive oil, wine, and olives, the noise of seven hundred men sharing jokes, laughing, and swilling wine reverberates around the hall.
Finally, I can take it no more.”Is it true what they say about the King’s daughters?”
The grizzled stranger on the bench next to me wipes the grease off his mouth with the back of a hand and spits out an olive pit.
“Where’ve you popped up from? You shouldn’t be here. You’re only a young lad.”
I am used to these remarks. After I left home I took a ship that was blown off course, taking me west to the land of the Italoi. I had to beg for money in the streets and in the taverns and it was not long before I heard news of Father, who was sailing to the west of this land.
And so I made my way across steep mountains before coming down to a lush plain. Playing my lyre to entertain strangers I followed their directions to the sea, to a wide bay within sight of a simmering, high, conical-shaped mountain.
And there, in a tavern, I met Father.
Now we are traveling home together. But Father is not here on the bench beside me, as he should be, but outside at a nearby farm pretending to be a stable hand.
This is one of Father’s clever strategies. He is a master at extracting information. He calls his strategy “divide and conquer” and it means that I have to use my lyre to find a berth for the night in some local chieftain’s house. This is not usually difficult, especially if there are ladies around because for some reason they always want to pet me.
Meanwhile, Father finds work on the outside as a shepherd, farmhand, or stable boy. By concealing his origins and pretending to be dumb, drunk, or both, Father is able to overhear a great many things. We have a plan to meet every day at noon, I escaping the blandishments of the ladies to visit the local farm for milk, cheese, eggs where I could happen upon the new stable boy, farmhand, or shepherd.
The only fly in the ointment is my age. I am only twelve years old and to my great annoyance, I look it. So Father made me memorize some phrases to offer when this issue arises.
“Father is here with me, but is suffering with an ache to his belly.”
One sentence is usually enough for most people. Father has instructed me never to offer explanations that are not asked for as it only makes people more curious.
But the fellow is staring at me, waiting for more.
I turn my eyes down. “Father told me to eat supper and then berth with him in the stable yard.”
“He’s the new stable hand, is he?”
I nod.
“Much good he’ll be with a bellyache.”
I look up. “Do you have a remedy for that good sir?”
Father always stresses the importance of asking for advice when a conversation turns sour, as it flatters the vanity.
The fellow hawks and spits, rising from his seat. “You’ll have to go to the kitchens for that, son.” He ambles off.
I return to my meal, hoping the others will forget about me and the conversation I’ve just had. Fortunately, it is that time of the meal when men turn tipsy. Pretty soon they are laughing, singing, and telling dirty jokes. One song goes like this:
“There once was a king with twelve daughters—”
—”Twelve bee-yoo-tiful daughters,” sing the others in an out-of-tune chorus.
“But he refused to marry them off—”
—”Twelve bee-yoo-tiful daughters!”
“And why did he refuse to marry them off?”
—”Twelve bee-yoo-tiful daughters!
“Because they would make unsuitable wives—”
—”Twelve bee-yoo-tiful daughters!”
“The eldest is mad.
The second is bad.
The third is sad.
The fourth too bold.
The fifth too shrill.
The sixth too shy.
The seventh too just.
While the eighth loves her father too much—Ha! Ha!
The eighth loves her father too much!
The ninth is a boy.
The tenth a mermaid.
The eleventh a goddess.
While the twelfth has only five years, five years,
The twelfth daughter has only five years.”
“Do not touch!” yells someone to guffawing laughter.
The men pick up their song again:
“But the one you need to watch for is number four, number four,
The one you need to watch for is number four.
For the fourth daughter is a very naughty girl,
With large bold eyes and a nearly naked form—”
This goes on for some time. The fourth daughter seems to fascinate the men. I chew thoughtfully. Somehow, I must find a way of meeting her.
I turn to another man. “Is it true he locked all twelve of his daughters up in a high tower?”
The man nods.
“Why are they going on about the fourth daughter? I thought it was the eldest who dishonored the family name—”
“Keep your voice down,” hisses the fellow. He looks around and then stares back at me from under bushy brows. “Your information is quite good, boy. Most of what you say is true.”
“Which part is false?”
The fellow rises to his feet. “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Folk pay with their lives by asking too many questions.” He glances around and draws his forefinger across his throat.
“But—” I gesture to the men singing lustily.
“They’re drunk.”
“But—” I say again. But the man vanishes into the press of sweaty male bodies.
Outside, it is a lovely evening with a couple more hours to run before the sun dips below the trees. The castle tower stands up like a finger, a beckoning, a warning, that people can see for miles around. If their eyesight is good, they will see a window set high in the tower, just underneath the tiled roof. On a fine day, the window unlatched, the wind carries the sound of voices, the high sound of girls’ voices gossiping, chattering, giggling. Now, on this late summer evening, someone closes that high window shut. I catch a glimpse of a heart-shaped face with deep-set dark-grey eyes, and light-brown hair drawn back into a braid. Which daughter could she be? Not number four, for she is dressed modestly in a light woolen robe dyed a soft grey to match her eyes.
I lift my head to the moon, a thin fingernail of a crescent. A shiver runs up my spine. Something is going to happen within the month, I can feel it. This place hums with suppressed tensions.
Father will be so interested when I see him tomorrow.
About the Author:
Cynthia Sally Haggard was born and reared in Surrey, England.
About 40 years ago, she surfaced in the United States, inhabiting the Mid-Atlantic region as she wound her way through four careers: violinist, cognitive scientist, medical writer, and novelist.
Her first novel, Thwarted Queen, a saga set in 1400s England with a Game of Thrones vibe, won the 2021 Gold Medal IPPY Award for Audiobook. Her second novel, Farewell My Life, a dark historical about a hidden murderer, won the 2021 Independent Press Award for Women’s Fiction and was a 2019 Distinguished Favorite for the New York City Big Book Award. (Farewell is now a set of four novellas that make up the Grace Miller series.)
Maiden Tomb, the first of four projected novellas that will form the Twelve Cursed Maidens series, was a 2026 Distinguished Favorite for the Independent Press Award. Cynthia graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University, Cambridge MA, in June 2015.
When she’s not annoying everyone by insisting her fictional characters are more real than they are, Cynthia likes to go for long walks, knit something glamorous, cook in her wonderful kitchen, and play the piano.
Political unrest, war over valuable mines, forbidden love,
and a homesick dragon bound in chains threaten the land of two moons.
Land of Two Moons
by D.L. Gardner
Genre: YA Epic SciFi Fantasy Adventure
“The gritty
reality of trench warfare and the smoky chaos of riots is striking in D. L.
Gardner’s Land of Two Moons…a rich and ambitious fantasy novel that
successfully builds a world trembling on the brink of magical and political
upheaval. This is a delicate, intricate novel that rewards patient
reading.” – Independent Book Review
Arthur and Hallie are twin siblings, son and daughter of the
Duke of Lodesmoor. Humble teenagers who befriend the village people and
sympathize with their grievances. Their father, Lord Balmier, whose duchy is
approaching financial collapse, uses his subjects as pawns in a battle over a
string of valuable mines.
Lord Balmier sees his son’s sympathy toward the serfs as an
alliance against him and soon acts to squelch Arthur’s sedition.
Hallie clings to a forbidden love, and both siblings must
resist their father’s harsh rule.
All the while they are unaware that their mother keeps a
mystical dragon named Killian, bound in chains by a spell, whose fate will
affect them all.
As the twin moons approach a rare and magical eclipse,
alliances shift, secrets unravel, and Arthur and Hallie must choose between
loyalty, freedom, and sacrifice to save their people and themselves.
“With strong
pacing and a cast of memorable characters – including a homesick dragon, this
is the perfect book for fans of the ‘fantasy’ genre. Highly recommended!” – The
Wishing Shelf
Land of Two Moons will be a limited edition leather
hardcover signed and numbered, a special edition case laminate hardcover, an
eBook, and a paperback with printed edges. A rigid slip case is available for
the hardcovers.
Pattin didn’t know what they were fighting for. All he
knew was that when their commander yelled the order he was to let loose his
arrows toward another trench opposite theirs somewhere in the Red Sands desert.
Rumor was they were fighting over mines, dukes, power, and money. Nothing he’d
ever be privy to. It didn’t matter. He was here because he’d been conscripted.
He’d been in this trench for nine days straight. Hot,
drenched in sweat, sick to his stomach, and with little to eat or drink. Tired
of swatting flies and stepping over the bodies of his comrades, he was ready to
leave. No one wanted to be here, especially not the lads from Bidsworth, and
especially not on the front lines.
He spat the dust out of his mouth and bit another piece
of jerky.
“When is she going to come for us?” he asked his
friend.
“Tonight, they said. Maybe,” Ivan whispered.
“What do you mean, maybe? She promised.”
“She can only take five at a time.”
“Bloody Marks, she’s been here every night for a week.
What’s she going to do, get everyone but us? The more people who leave, the
less chance of survival for those who stay. I’m too young to die in this rat
hole.”
Ivan shrugged—a hint that he wasn’t happy about the
situation either.
“We could try and make a run for it on our own,” Pattin
whispered, his lips barely moving, glancing around the desolate countryside.
Over the sand, the heat waves danced, crafting a mirage
of water, a deceptive illusion that only a fool would pursue. Bait for the
enemy. Pattin licked his lips, wishing for a drink of cool water from the
springs in Bidsworth, his homeland, a wealthy duchy whose stone structures
mirrored the color of the red earth. Here in the wasteland, iron ore poisoned
the vegetation, and there was nothing but dust as far as the horizon. The
soldiers hated this place, and rumors of desertion were burning the ears of the
agents at base. The officers were watching the troops like hawks.
“Fool. We’d have bolts in our backs, dead. Is that what
you want? If I’m going to desert, I’m doing it with Kezia.” Ivan wiped the
sweat from his brow; his face caked with red earth. Even his eyelashes were
laden with dirt.
“What makes her so special that she can get us out with
no one noticing?”
Ivan snickered and glared at him. “She’s the duke’s
daughter, remember? Plus, she’s smart, crafty, and wicked.”
“Duke sabotages his own army through his daughter!”
Pattin mumbled.
“Stop complaining or she’ll never come and get you.”
Pattin wiped his brow, his mouth fixed in a frown. She
might not come for him at all. It’s everyone else’s luck to be saved by a
duchess.
“Heads up!” The dreaded warning arrived just
as a flurry of bolts blotted out the sun.
Pattin covered his head with his shield. Ivan lifted
his own targe to cover his body while the plummeting projectiles thundered on
it.
“Move!” came the command.
Like a terrified beetle, Pattin crouched on the ground
and joined the others, locking his shield with Ivan’s as the company crawled
through the trench, hands and knees bleeding, while avoiding the corpses of
friends who didn’t survive. Away from the onslaught they moved, abandoning
their supplies. Someone would be sent back for them when the sun settled on the
horizon and the two moons rose.
Soon everyone here would have to leave the trenches and
charge at the enemy. That was a standard maneuver, and it was just a matter of
time. Hand to hand combat would kill him, Pattin was certain. With practiced
ease, he could loose an arrow, always striking the mark. But his end would come
by the cold steel of a sword. He hoped it would be tomorrow. He wasn’t ready to
die today.
Maybe Kezia would draw his name and come for him
tonight. Maybe he would live through this bloody war, after all.
D.L. Gardner is an
award-winning author, artist, filmmaker, and screenwriter with over 28
published works to her credit. Writing and painting are her passions and
fantasy her forte. When she’s not pounding keys on the computer, she’s canning
salsa, picking apples, listening to the voices of critters in the woods, or
watching flowers grow. She loves visiting far-off lands through books by both
reading and writing.
Her genres include all fantasy,
historical, and mystery.
Get to know D.L. through her websites and blogs or send her a message her on Kickstarter.
Currently a FINALIST (2025 March) in
the Cannes World Wide Film Festival for her screen adaption of her book An
Unconventional Mr. Peadlebody.
Other awards include Wishing
Shelf book Award 2023 for audio, B.R.A.G. Award 2022 for the Cho Nisi series,
Book Excellence Award 2019 and 2015 for Ian’s Realm and Cassandra’s Castle.
Best Screenplay adaptation from her book Dylan at the Paris Screenplay Awards,
Mile Hill International Screenplay Awards, L.A. Edge Awards, European
Cinematography Awards, and Moondance Film Festival. Best Screenplay Award for
adaptation from her book An Unconventional Mr. Peadlebody at Veers Film
Festival, Best Screenplay Award for adaptation of Ian’s Realm at the Twin Falls
Sandwiches Film Festival and many more.
Publication Date: 22nd April 2021 Publisher: MVB Marketing- und Verlagsservice des Buchhandels GmbH Print Length: 277 Pages Genre: Historical Fantasy
Jessie Mason lives with her nose in the pages of history. But she is discovering that the past is a dangerous place where she doesn’t belong, and knowledge alone is not going to save her.
Jessie’s life has become a series of terrible challenges. Now she must lead her friends in the hopeless task Grandfather set them: hunt down and destroy the Time Stones. But her leadership has already failed. Tip has left them and Abe has simply disappeared, while she and Kes are trapped in the heart of an ancient empire in turmoil.
Thrust into a fractured, threatened Mexica nobility, Jessie is immersed in a way of life, fascinating and disturbing in equal measure, yet powerless before the approaching Conquistadors and the impending clash of cultures.
Even as the fabulous city of Tenochtitlan descends into savage violence, Jessie’s determination to succeed is undiminished. But with world history taking a new, bloody direction before her, she is finally forced to decide which is more important: continuing the task or simply surviving.
Praise:
“Quetzalcoatl (Time Stones Book II) by Ian Hunter is a tautly gripping novel that is written with a sensitivity to the era it depicts, but it is also a story packed with adventure and magic. Hunter’s vivacious storytelling made this novel impossible to put down. It is a story that has been penned with an impressive sweep and brilliance.”
The Coffee Pot Book Club
Buy Link: This book is available on #Kindle and Paperback Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mdoaxw Read with #KindleUnlimited
Guest Post:
I have always been fascinated by history. Growing up, we would often spend time visiting historical buildings, towns and places of interest, and even back then, there was a lot of history on our television and cinema screens. Although, for timetable reasons, I didn’t continue school study to the then “O” levels, when it came to deciding upon an Open University course, I chose to go with something I knew and enjoyed. I think in all I studied for seven years, and the longer it went on, the more I realized there were glaring gaps in my knowledge. Outside of certain well-covered periods, an awful lot of our world history doesn’t get much coverage in film, TV and fiction, and I had certainly never encountered it in school. I think it was when I was first reading about the French Indian Wars in the American colonies that the flicker of an idea came to me. Like many people, I had seen “The Last of the Mohicans”, but that was it. It was clearly unlike what we have become familiar with in modern conflicts, where the dense forest landscape, the associated logistical difficulties and the slow pace, made for cat and mouse skirmishing, punctuated by a few sieges or set piece engagements. I knew little of the historical context; how the cost of that war, and the on-going need to garrison British soldiers in the Americas was one of the prime factors leading to the outbreak of the American Revolution.
The idea developed as I started to read history more widely, and I saw many other fascinating events which I was only briefly aware of. For example, the second book plays out during the Spanish conquistadors’ march on Tenochtitlan, the capital city of the Mexica. As I read about these events, a Spanish victory seemed to be by far the most unlikely outcome; less than a thousand adventurers (criminals in fact) pitted against a million strong militaristic empire. So that became the second book. Another event in history with significant implications which doesn’t often see the light of day. It was arguably the first step towards the imperial, capitalist drive which ruled until after the second world war and paved the way for our modern world.
I remember one Sunday afternoon, I was sweeping leaves in our back garden, when it dawned on me that if I were to create a group of characters, which I wanted to develop, but which would also experience these events, separated as they are in time and geography, then they would have to be travelling in time, and thus the Time Stones were born.
That then gave me another obstacle to overcome, what are these stones and where do they come from? That’s a story for another book or two. But it did also give me a perfect adversary. Who wouldn’t want to have that power at your fingertips? Well, as Jessie and her friends find out, perhaps it’s not all that wonderful.
About Ian Hunter:
Books have been an important part of my life as long as I can remember, and at 54 years old, that’s a lot of books. My earliest memories of reading are CS Lewis’, “The Horse and His Boy” – by far the best of the Narnia books, the Adventures series by Willard Price, and “Goalkeepers are Different” by sports journalist Brian Glanville. An eclectic mix. My first English teacher was surprised to hear that I was reading, Le Carré, Ken Follett, Nevil Shute and “All the Presidents’ Men” by Woodward and Bernstein at the age of 12. I was simply picking up the books my father had finished.
School syllabus threw up the usual suspects – Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickens, Hardy, “To Kill a Mockingbird” – which I have reread often, and others I don’t immediately recall. By “A” level study, my then English teachers were pulling their hair out at my “perverse waste of talent” – I still have the report card! But I did manage a pass.
During a 35 year career, briefly in Banking and then in IT, I managed to find time, with unfailing family support, to study another lifelong passion, graduating with an Open University Bachelors’ degree in History in 2002. This fascination with all things historical inspired me to begin the Time Stones series. There is so much to our human past, and so many differing views on what is the greatest, and often the saddest, most tragic story. I decided I wanted to write about it; to shine a small light on those, sometimes pivotal stories, which are less frequently mentioned.
In 1995, my wife, Michelle, and I moved from England to southern Germany, where we still live, with our two children, one cat, and, when she pays us a visit, one chocolate labrador. I have been fortunate that I could satisfy another wish, to travel as widely as possible and see as much of our world as I can. Destinations usually include places of historic and archaeological interest, mixed with a large helping of sun, sea and sand for my wife’s peace of mind.
Title: Circus Bim Bom: A Cold War Adventure Series: Book One of a Duology Author: Cliff Lovette Publication Date: March 1, 2026 Publisher: Bim Bom Books Print Length: 478 Pages Genre: Historical Fiction / Romantic Adventure / Political Intrigue
Soviet circus performers arrived in America hoping to build cultural bridges. Instead, they became unwitting pawns in a Cold War game of international intrigue.
When the first privately owned Soviet circus arrived in 1990 in America as the Soviet Union disintegrated, its elite performers expected to build cultural bridges through spectacular shows. Instead, this prestigious troupe faced a perilous journey through Cold War America.
Circus director Yuri had to navigate treacherous waters where American mobsters, Soviet agents, and political forces circled like predators. Young aerialist Anton dreamed of becoming a clown against his family’s wishes, while forbidden romances and unexpected connections bloomed between Soviet performers and Americans who saw past the ideological divide. As high-stakes conspiracies threatened to tear the circus family apart, they had to choose between the authoritarian chains of home and the uncertain promise of freedom.
As the Ringmaster reminds us, “The best Soviet stories are like vodka—they burn with suffering, intoxicate with conflict, keep you stewing in reflection, and yearning for your heart’s desire.” This genre-bending tale explores whether human connection can transcend ideology—and whether storytelling can bridge the divides that separate us.
✨ Discounts on Gifts and Merch ✨ Exclusive glimpses into the self-publishing journey ✨ Previews of historical curiosities about Soviet circus life that didn’t make it into the book ✨ Exclusive “Rabbit Hole” bonus stories and other literary surprises ✨ A front-row seat to the book’s development and launch ✨ Sign up for Free
Circus Bim Bom offers an innovative multimedia reading experience. The novel includes 45+ YouTube links to period music, historical speeches, and cultural moments embedded throughout—readers can listen to the actual songs characters dance to as they waltz, and watch Reagan’s Brandenburg Gate speech as it’s referenced in the text.
Character Avatars: 25+ talking video introductions where characters speak directly to readers
Re-Imagined Circus Posters
Book Club Experience: Interactive forums, live chat, and community discussions
Historians Room(under construction): A space for Cold War history buffs to fact-check the novel, explore primary sources, and debate historical accuracy
GUEST POST – THE GENRE CONUNDRUM
Six years ago, I set out to write a story—not a “historical fiction” or a “political thriller.” Just a story. But then came the marketing phase, and suddenly I needed to pick a shelf.
The word genre comes from the French for “kind” or “type,” derived from Latin genus. The concept traces back to Aristotle, who classified literature like a botanist sorting plants. And honestly? Genre serves useful purposes. It helps readers quickly find books they’ll love and avoid those they won’t. It tells booksellers which shelf gets which spine. It creates communities of like-minded readers who gather around shared passions.
But for writers like me, it creates dilemmas.
Some in the historical fiction community disregard Circus Bim Bom because 1990 isn’t “old enough”—or because I was alive when the story took place. Never mind that my novel checks every box on M.K. Tod’s “Top Ten Ingredients of Favourite Historical Fiction”: dramatic arc of historical events, characters both heroic and human, immersion in time and place, corridors of power, ageless themes, high stakes, love and loss, and dysfunctional families.
My story also has four distinct romantic arcs threading through it. Does that make it a romance? God forbid I disappoint devoted romance readers too impatient to wade through political machinations and mob entanglements to reach the juicy love stories. And don’t get me started on tropes.
But fundamentally, my book is satire. Is that even a genre? What’s a self-publisher to do?
I put it to you: Read my book. If it were a dog, it would be a mongrel—like one of its favorite characters, Kratu. But then again, mongrels have a way of stealing hearts.
Sometimes the best stories refuse to fit neatly on any shelf.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Father, storyteller, and dog lover living in Sandy Springs, Georgia, with London curled at his feet. Cliff Lovette is an entertainment lawyer who learned about the real Circus Bim Bom in 1991 when the circus’s American road manager became a client at his Atlanta law firm. Circus Bim Bom: A Cold War Adventure is the first book in his debut duology
Estri battles to regain her identity after being denied her
memories by her captor.
Will love find a way?
The Golden Sword
The Silistra Quartet Book 2
by Janet Morris
Genre: Dystopian Epic SciFi Fantasy Romance
Dystopia. Biology shapes reality. The further adventures of
the most beautiful courtesan in the galaxies of tomorrow.
She had the power to create planets. The sixty carved bones
of the Yris-tera foretold her ancient fate. Her heritage of power took her
beyond time and space and stole from her the one man she loved.
Enslaved on the planet Silistra tomorrow’s most beautiful
courtesan unleashes the powers of the gods.
What readers
are saying:
“Pure
excellence…. A heroic quest of the highest calibre.” – Goodreads
“This is a book which makes one’s blood sing and one’s
mind ponder. I loved the first in the series and enjoyed this as much, perhaps
more. The ending leaves the reader desperate to know what happens to Estri next
– courtesan, slave, warrior, lover, rebel. What is next for our heroine?” –
Goodreads
“Call it what you like: science fiction, space opera,
sword and planet or erotic fantasy . . . The Golden Sword is all these things,
and so much more. A highly intelligent and sensual novel filled with ideas and
revelations, this is a gripping story that explores human sexuality and the
role it plays in politics. Although the memorable characters are bisexual, toss
away all your preconceived notions, for there is a humanity, a strength of will
and determination, a realism and depth of emotion to these characters that will
have you thinking twice about all you know and all you think you know. This is
a book for mature and discerning readers who like some meat on the bones of the
books they read. Janet Morris led the way for all the science fiction authors,
both male and female, who came after. “ – Joe Bonadonna, Goodreads
Iwonderedwhatitmeant,tobea“ten,”asthecrellkeep
chose a spot apparently like any other upon one chain and fastenedmetoitbymeansofheavymetalanklets thatwere spaced along its
length.
“I put you next to Aje. You will sleep
through the nights,” he informed me, as if I should be grateful for some
thoughtful service. Seeing me safely bound, the two jiasks turned and left the
chamber.
“What isyourname?”thecrellkeep asked.
I almost told him, but caught myself.
It took me a moment to remember the crell name Chayin had given me.
“Miheja,”Isaidfinally.
“Meh-he-ya,” the crellkeep corrected
me gently. “The Eastmost Star’s Daughter. Suits you. So you have the dharener
entranced, do you? A ten, indeed. Crell life is no burden to one so highly
numbered.” He stood up, rubbing his back, “I go to get Aje. You will like him.
They all do,” he said and patted my naked shoulder. Moments later I was aloneinthedeserted ever-duskofthecrellpits.Asingletorch burnedatthechamber’s entry,throwinglifeintothefeature-
less rock walls.
Icrawled thelengthofmytether, andbylyingstretched out
could just get my fingers upon the central ring. I tested itsstrength, ashadcountlesscrellsbeforeme.Therewasno weakness in it. I had expected none. I
then examined each link of my chains with my fingers, to see if perhaps
somewheretherewasoneunsolderedamongthem.There wasno error among the 387
links that bound me firmly to the centralring.Itstwinwassunkwhere thecoldstone floormetthe wall behind me. Perhaps there was a
weakness in that area, butIhadnotenoughtethertoexploreit.Ilaydownuponmy
left side and curled my knees against my chest. I could not think. I merely lay
there.
High Couch of
Silistra
The Silistra Quartet Book 1
Biology shapes reality…
One woman’s mythic search for self-realization in a distant tomorrow…
Her sensuality was at the core of her world, her quest beyond the civilized
stars.
Aristocrat. Outcast. Picara. Slave. Ruler.
“Engrossing characters in a marvelous adventure.” – Charles N. Brown,
Locus Magazine
“The amazing and erotic adventures of the most beautiful courtesan in
tomorrow’s universe” – Frederik Pohl
“The best single example of prostitution used in fantasy is Janet Morris’
Silistra series… Estri’s character is most like that of Ishtar who describes
herself as “‘a prostitute compassionate am I'” because she
“symbolizes the creative submission to the demands of instinct, to the
chaos of nature …the free woman, as opposed to the domesticated woman”.
Linking Estri with these lunar and water symbols is not difficult because of
the moon’s eternal virginity (the strength of integrity) links with her changeability
(the prostitute’s switching of lovers). […]
Morris strengthens the moon imagery by having Estri as a
well-keepress because wells, fountains, and the moon as the orb which controls
water have long been associated with fertility, […] In a sense, she is like
the moon because she is apparently eternal, never waxing or waning except in
her pursuit of the quest; she is the prototypical wanderer like the moon and
Ishtar. She is the eternal night symbol of the moon in opposition to the
Day-Keepers […]
At her majority (her
three hundredth birthday), she is given a silver-cubed hologram letter from her
mother, containing a videotape of her conception by the savage bronzed
barbarian god from another world. […] If Estri’s mother then acts as a bawd,
willing her lineage as Well-Keepress to her daughter, then Estri’s
great-grandmother Astria as foundress of the Well becomes a further mother-bawd
figure when she offers her prophetic advice in her letter: “Guard Astria
for you may lose it, and more. Beware of one who is not as he seems. Stray not
in the port city of Baniev …look well about you, for your father’s daughter’s
brother seeks you”. Having no brother that she knows of does not stay
Estri from undertaking the heroic quest of finding her father.”
– Anne K. Kaler, The
Picara: From Hera to Fantasy Heroine
I
am Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, former Well-Keepress of Astria on the planet
Silistra. I have begun three times to tell this story, and three times I have
been interrupted. This, then, the fourth attempt, will surely prove successful.
Perhaps
you have heard of Silistra, the planet that was catalyst to the sexual
revolution in the year twenty-two thousand, seven hundred and four Bipedal
Federate Standard Time, or of the Silistran serums that lengthen life and
restore vitality in virtually any bipedal life form, or perhaps you have at
some time contracted the services of a Silistran telepath, or a precognitive,
or a deep reader. It is possible that you have in your own home the
scintillating, indestructible web-cloth woven by our domestic arachnids, or
have seen holograms of our golachits, those intelligent builder-beetles who
exude from their mouths a translucent, superhard substance called gol and
create from this gol, under the guidance of the chit-guards, the formidable and
resplendent structures in which we live and work.
And
perhaps you have seen no web-cloth, no gol, never been ill, and are not
interested in sex. If so, you may never have heard of Silistra.
I
carry Silistra in my mind’s eye, here under this alien sun. In my mind alone
can I look out the east window of my beloved exercise hall in Well Astria and
see the sun’s rising burst upon the jewel-like towers and keeps of the Inner
Well and a thousand rainbows arc and dance in the greening sky.
Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and
published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris
or others. She contributed short fiction to the shared universe fantasy series
Thieves World, in which she created the Sacred Band of Stepsons, a mythical
unit of ancient fighters modeled on the Sacred Band of Thebes. She created,
orchestrated, and edited the Bangsian fantasy series Heroes in Hell, writing
stories for the series as well as co-writing the related novel, The Little
Helliad, with Chris Morris. She wrote the bestselling Silistra Quartet in the
1970s, including High Couch of Silistra, The Golden Sword, Wind from the Abyss,
and The Carnelian Throne. This quartet had more than four million copies in
Bantam print alone, and was translated into German, French, Italian, Russian
and other languages. In the 1980s, Baen Books released a second edition of this
landmark series. The third edition is the Author’s Cut edition, newly revised
by the author for Perseid Press. Most of her fiction work has been in the
fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical
and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several
book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal
weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national
security topics.
Janet said: ‘People often ask what book to read first. I
recommend “I, the Sun” if you like ancient history; “The Sacred
Band,” a novel, if you like heroic fantasy; “Lawyers in Hell” if
you like historical fantasy set in hell; “Outpassage” if you like
hard science fiction; “High Couch of Silistra” if you like far-future
dystopian or philosophical novels. I am most enthusiastic about the definitive
Perseid Press Author’s Cut editions, which I revised and expanded.’
Publication Date: 18th November 2025 Publisher: Independently Published Page Length: 162 Genre: Historical Fiction
Praise: “The Relic Keeper” ultimately stands as a radiant celebration of hope, kindness, and the beauty that emerges when wounded souls dare to reach towards the light. It is a story to savour, reflect upon, and carry with you — an unforgettable addition to Eljarbo’s heartfelt repertoire of novels that bring history to life. Yarde Book Promotion
ABOUT THE BOOK
Italy, 1620.
Angelo is an orphan, lonely and forgotten. Having been passed on from one family to the next, he ends up as a common thief, subject to and under the thumb of a ruthless robber called Tozzo.
Angelo knows no other life and has lost hope that any chance of providence will ever replace his lonely, misfortunate existence. When he loses his master, his livelihood is shaken. Tozzo’s plunder is hidden in a safe place, but what will happen if someone comes after Angelo to get their hands on the stolen relics? More than that, he feels threatened by words he’s heard too many times; that he’ll always remain unforgiven and doomed.
One day, a priest invites Angelo to help with chores around the church and rectory and, in exchange, offers him room and board. Padre Benedetto’s kindness and respect are unfamiliar and confusing, but Angelo’s safety is still a grave concern. Two older robbers have heard rumors about the hidden treasures and will stop at nothing to attain them.
With literary depictions and imagery, Angelo’s story is a gripping and emotional journey of faint hope and truth in seventeenth-century Italy—an artistic and audacious tale that crosses paths with art collector Vincenzo Giustiniani and the powerful Medici family.
That night, Angelo returned to the church. The street had been quiet. The merchants had packed up their stalls, and the villagers were safely asleep in their homes.
Angelo had been a thief for as long as he could remember, but lately, he’d started debating with himself, wondering whether stealing from a church was considered sacrilegious. God was a stranger…a distant king, and the people who worshipped him seemed more inclined to talk about the devil. Angelo had been the victim of plenty of threats in his short life. If there were a God, what would He think of a lowly thief like Angelo? Would He pour his wrath down on Angelo’s head like hot lava from an erupting volcano, or would He show mercy upon a young man who had experienced little goodness in his life?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HEIDI ELJARBO grew up in a home full of books, artwork, and happy creativity. She is the author of historical novels filled with courage, hope, mystery, adventure, and sweet romance during challenging times. She’s been named a master of dual timelines and often writes about strong-willed women of past centuries.
After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She lives with her husband on a charming island and enjoys walking in any kind of weather, hugging her grandchildren, and has a passion for art and history. Her family’s chosen retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summer and ski the vast white terrain during winter.
Heidi’s favorites are her family, God’s beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.
We’re celebrating the new release of Bound to the Broken Crown by Astoria Hope!
Bound to the Broken Crown (Magebound Courts #1)
Release Date: January 27, 2026
Genre: Dark Romantasy
Beauty and the Beast
Empath x Cursed Prince
Soft FMC, Stabby MMC
Forced proximity
Yearning, slow burn
Touch-starved, tortured, antihero romance
Touch her and die
He falls first
Only one tent
Grumpy x Sunshine
A prince cursed to destroy everything he touched. Until he touched her.
Isca never dreamed her gift for sensing emotions would draw the eyes of princes—let alone the Assembly of Mages. Brought to court under the guise of diplomacy, she quickly learns her secret task: soothe the beast raging under Prince Emrys’ skin and deliver his heir back to the Assembly to forge into a weapon. Refusal means her family’s ruin. But Emrys is not the monster she expected. Yes, he’s volatile. Yes, he’s destructive and dangerous. Beneath the curse, she glimpses the man—giving, fiercely protective, and unbearably lonely. To the Assembly, Isca is a tool. To Emrys, she’s a temptation he cannot afford. He pushes her away to protect her, even as his eyes betray the truth: she is the only thing keeping him from drowning. He could break her with a touch. She could bind him with a heartbeat. While their enemies scheme to use them as pawns, desire threatens to undo every wall they’ve built.
Together, she and Emrys could shatter the Assembly’s chains. But that would mean laying bare her betrayal—the one thing with the power to destroy both the man and the monster.
