Omen: The Stained Sea Paul Carver Williams
Publication date: March 31st 2023
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, New Adult
In the wake of a lost messiah, an oppressed religious sect known as the ‘singers of Oros’ are targeted by those in power. A lone singer calling himself Runo works tirelessly to revive the faith of his people by any means necessary, involving a hunt for a witness who could expose his darker actions
Meanwhile, a young slave named Cai is called on by a philosopher to aid in a catalogue of the wealthiest families in Grecuria, starting with the owner of the library where he works. On his journey he must confront a past that isn’t his own.
Lastly, sailing on a sky ship surrounded by merchants, Mele Amahki was given passage to begin a new life. However, everything changes when they find themselves in a new, unexpected world. Mele is thrust into power, unsure of what is best for her crew.
Knowledge, religion, power, and blood run through the veins of the Grecurian islands, but through these three headstrong individuals, the veins will be cut and darkness will stain the sea.
“Something has already happened to Akamai. And what— we’re to trust this, this Lili Mele in his place?”
Mele bristled, but tempered herself with a glance to Akamai, finding his eyes staring dead into hers. To her surprise, he tapped his lips. A gesture on a list he wrote. It meant she was allowed to speak freely. Mele burst from her seat and pressed her hands into the table. “Lili Mele? I am not the one who sold myself to the council of nobles in exchange for a good word with the emperor. Don’t fool yourself, Lili Takaahae, this is not the world we used to live in, and I am the most valuable asset you sniveling council of cowards has. What choice is there but to wait for now? Min needs the energy when he returns. I’d imagine tracing the edge of the land has drained his stores far lower than any of ours. Now I’m begging to return to our plans for when the search parties return. My brain has been decaying with every syllable that exits your mouth.”
Author Bio:
An LGBTQ, Black-Latino young adult, Paul Williams has struggled with his identity, eventually leading to mental illness. However, with support from his siblings, he gained new confidence to express his inner emotions through art and writing. At age seventeen, he published his first book. He is now working endlessly to carve a place for himself among the creative professionals and pave the way for other talented ‘students’ of art and literature.
Thorns at Sunrise
(Janeen Ippolito)
Publication date: March 23rd 2023
Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
A young queen. Her imaginary friend. A kingdom on the verge of death.
She believes she’s crazy.
Queen Usilea has a secret–and he lives in her mind. Ever since she was six years old, her imaginary friend has been her closest companion, and her arranged marriage has been a great dread. When she learns her betrothed and the royal family have suddenly died, she feels obligated to attend the funeral in the foreign land of Absteph–and perhaps learn more behind their mysterious passing.
He only wants the truth.
Petar endures great pain to protect those he does not remember. His only solace is a shadowy woman who he loves–even though she denies that he exists. When a terrible tragedy occurs in his kingdom, that mysterious woman is his only hope of bringing justice to light. For the cage that imprisons him grows harsher every day, and he is losing the fight.
But there are thorns at sunrise.
Brought together on the barest thread of reality, Usilea and Petar must discover what really happened to the royal family. But Petar’s time is running out. Soon not even a Mender like Usilea will be able to save him.
This YA romance features a gender-swapped Sleeping Beauty in an original fantasy world on the brink of doom.
Her imaginary friend was playing a new trick on her. This time, she would discern his meaning.
Usilea set down the quill on the paper, frowning at the words mocking her from the page. She pressed her lips together in thought. Thorns at sunrise? What could it mean? What was her mind trying to tell her?
“What do you think of my riddle?”
As usual, the voice didn’t come from within her mind directly, but somewhere outside. Yet were she to glance around, all she would perceive is the vaguest sensation of shadow and soul in the periphery of her vision.
And so, she refrained from looking. Instead, she focused on the words she had written, words he had spoken into her mind at some point in the night.
I think … you’re afraid.
“And what am I afraid of, goldenbird?” Amusement teased the edges of his words. She had known her friend was a male since the first time they had met, whenever that had been. Sometime after her sixth year. “Tell me, you who know me so well.”
I know you as well as I might any figment of my imagination.
“Likewise. That is not the answer to the riddle.”
A sigh escaped her. Usilea leaned back in her cushioned chair and rubbed the tense area around her eyes. You are afraid of being lost. You are afraid of being found. You are afraid of darkness, and you are afraid of light.
No answer came from the voice in her mind. A faint smile curved her lips. He only withdrew like that when she was right and he was bewildered. She had learned that pattern over the years as they had conversed. He liked keeping his mysteries, while he equally delighted in unveiling the mysteries of others. A curious behavior for her imaginary friend.
A strange, stabbing sensation pierced through her musing.
What did it imply about her that her closest friend wasn’t real?
Author Bio:
Janeen Ippolito writes about misfits who defy expectations, whether in fairy tale, steampunk fantasy, urban fantasy, humorous paranormal romance, or poetry. She also spreads wordtastic joy in her work as a fearless book strategist, nonfiction author, and coach. In her spare time, she swordfights and posts cute animal memes.
Internationally published bestselling author Jon Smith makes his adult
debut with The Fifth Horseman, a modern comic fantasy that rides roughshod
over established mythology and the rules of life… and death.
The Fifth Horseman is a darkly comic tale of two thirty-somethings caught
between our world and the afterlife, who must embrace their role as reapers
to prevent the End Times. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy meets Father
Ted, perfect for fans of Ben Aaronovitch, Terry Pratchett, and Neil
Gaiman.
Death is just a day job you can’t quit…
Emma and Mark had a bad day. The worst part of it was dying. But, according
to Death, the Rider on the Pale Horse and first horseman of the apocalypse,
things aren’t that simple. Turns out the sand in their hourglass is
stuck in place. Somewhere between life and death, they’re put to work
as Death’s assistants, reaping the souls of the living until
it’s time for their final clock out…
To compound matters, despite their omnipotence, the four horsemen are
facing an existential threat – one they’re ill-equipped and
ill-prepared to combat.
Emma and Mark must reap like their afterlives depend on it, to help prevent
the End Times – even if it means scuppering the one opportunity they
have at being granted a second chance at life.
Filled with humour, romantic tension, and suspense, Jon Smith utilises a
witty, lightly sarcastic ensemble of flawed but loveable characters. It will
appeal to mainstream fantasy readers and hopeless romantics, as well as
those who enjoy a good story and a good laugh.
About the Author
Jon Smith is the bestselling author of 14 books for children, teens, and
adults. His books have sold more than 500,000 copies and are published in
seven languages.
In addition to writing books, Jon is an award-winning screenwriter and
musical theatre lyricist and librettist with productions at the Birmingham
Hippodrome, Belfast Waterfront and London’s Park & Waterloo East
theatres.
Jon enjoyed a happy childhood—making daisy chains, holidays in the
sun and an obsessive interest in all things fantasy. No brace, few spots and
only one broken bone and one broken heart (not his). It all went
swimmingly.
Father of four, he lives near Liverpool with his wife, Mrs. Smith, and
their two school-age children. When he grows up he’d like to be a
librarian.
Being an executioner for the state is exhausting, but after a lifetime of dispatching the criminal
and the inconvenient, fifty-eight-year-old Grenda finds it does have its compensations. Her cat-
sized dragon Bjartur and the dragon eggs she tends are all the friends and family she needs. Completely cut off from the outside world, she happily accepts the luxuries owed her status – including a pet octopus named Morrigan – without the faintest twinge of conscience or doubt.
All that changes when she encounters the most unexpected nemesis: a young refugee girl whom Grenda is incapable of executing. Against her will, Grenda finds herself shifting from killer to caretaker, risking her life to defy the state she’s never questioned and help young Allora to freedom. Everything Grenda thinks she knows about her world, her life, and even her own identity cascades out of her control—including the dragon-bond she holds dearer than life itself.
Excerpt
Her last words, I think, will always haunt me.
“You still don’t understand anything about octopuses, do you?”
It rankled, how calm she sounded, even under these circumstances. The dragon on my wrist, sensing my irritation, drew back his vermilion lips to display the kittenish, needle-sharp teeth, and he huffed his leathern wings slightly. I laid a hand on his ridged back, and he settled down.
To this day, I don’t believe Magenna was guilty of the charges. At least, not as they were stated. Witchcraft has always seemed a nebulous thing to me. Too easy an accusation to lob at anyone who speaks too often to ravens or owls, who lingers too long in moonlight, who possesses too rational an understanding of herbs and flowers and fungi. Even then, I wondered if the danger lay not in access to some mythical magick and more in the alternative it offered to the dictates of the state.
But if belief is a dangerous liability for an executioner, skepticism is even greater. True safety lies only in acceptance for acceptance’s sake.
It doesn’t do for a woman in my position to believe or disbelieve anything too strongly. The sentence must be carried out regardless, and beliefs sour quickly into guilt and regret. It’s better to walk entirely in the grey and trust without exception to the system that hands down the verdict. Let them deal in black and white. My dragon and I, we were creatures of mist. We walked in fog, obscured from all but the walking dead. It was a peculiar irony, that the only people who saw us, who knew us face-to-face, were those who would shortly die at our hands.
I am only truly real here, chatelaine at the gateway to death.
And you, should I have ever met you here, would be more real in this moment with me than you had ever been in all your life. Contrary to how stories like to depict us, executioners aren’t hard-hearted, unfeeling creatures. We can’t be. It’s not enough to kill the body, after all. We have to be sure to send the soul on its way, too. Malingering isn’t good for anyone. And a soul simply can’t go if it hasn’t been seen. My dragon helped the dying shed their skin, and I – I helped them shed their invisibility.
That’s all a ghost wants. They don’t persist to wreak some paltry vengeance only the flesh-bound could imagine as a motivation. They don’t need you to provide justice or peace. All your work is here, on this plane marked by hours and rot, and cannot reach them. They only need to be seen. Once. For who they are. Then they can go on.
So if I did my job right, the condemned were less likely than anyone to stick around. And I was very good at my job.
Some people – maybe even most people – are seen long before they meet death. But the people most likely to cross that bridge with my dragon and me rarely had been. If they’d been seen for who they were, they’d probably never have ended up here with us. It’s not about innocence or guilt. It’s about who sees you, as you are.
I didn’t answer Magenna’s question. She knew the answer already. I looked at her, and she looked at me.
Magenna’s veins ran cold like currents deep in the ocean trenches, her heart fluttering faintly as it met mine. A little fear, only a very little. I wanted to take it from her, but I resisted the urge. She had very few things left to claim as her own, and this last fear was one of them. In her eyes, a hawk rested on a column of air, suspended dauntless above an endless chasm. And under her skin, the octopus stretched and unwound its long limbs, reaching for me.
My breath matched the rhythmic pulsing of the octopus’ gills, and I felt the weight of the water rippling evenly along my body. I shifted as the sea-beast altered its colors and textures to match my own, and suddenly I was confused as to whether it looked like me, or I looked like it. The octopus’ alien, slit-pupiled gaze had become Magenna’s gaze, and I fell further in, seeing colors no woman could see, as if they were grains of sand sifted through my fingers rather than bands of light. A thousand soft mouths sucked at my body, pulling the skin, rearranging the bones into a shape that feared no pressure.
Then all at once, they let go. I was back in the cold, sterile room of death, with its harsh electric light and faint antiseptic smell. My subject lay slumped over her own arms on the table between us, her brown hair curtaining her face from any further trespass. My dragon kittered softly in my ear, his talons clutching my forearm, his dark liquid eyes fixed anxiously on my face. I saw the smear of blood on his white teeth and knew the task was done.
That was totally out of order. Dragons didn’t act on their own volition. Bonded to their keepers from the hatch, they were nonetheless wicked clever, and one drop of their venom could fell an elephant within two seconds. Even a hint of rebellious tendencies resulted in immediate termination, a process that usually occurred within the first few days of their bonding. In the rare cases I’d read about where a dragon was terminated later in the relationship, the executioner invariably went mad.
None of that is exactly common knowledge, but little in an executioner’s library is.
Nonetheless, I had no doubts about Bjartur. I understood that when the octopus had reached through my arms, tasting every inch of my intentions, it had directed Bjartur to complete the execution. I’d been wrong to think fear was Magenna’s last possession. Volition, too, she held fast still. This un-wicked un-witch who lay silent and unbreathing on the table had staged one final insurrection, not submitting to her death but rushing to meet it as boldly as any beserker. Unnerved as I was, I could hardly fault her for it.
I rose to my feet, and Bjartur fluttered from my arm to my shoulder, tucking his emerald head well into my gray corkscrew curls. Time to deal with the ordinary people, those we’d neither execute nor see or engage any more than absolutely necessary. Bjartur wasn’t shy – far from it. The unbonded were invariably fascinated by dragons. Bjartur didn’t mind the attention, exactly. He just considered almost everyone else beneath his notice. He refused to be put on display or used as a symbol of anything for anyone. It’s a common trait among dragons. They’re notoriously catlike in their dignity and their arrogance. I can’t explain how that makes them all the more irresistible, but it does. I adored the pretentious little puffer.
I pushed the button beside the door, and the guard on the other side keyed me out. Cleanup wasn’t part of my responsibilities. The husk of the woman I left behind – her name had been Magenna, but the body needed no name – would be burned, its ashes scattered in the ebullient gardens that ringed the Justice Center. It’s not as callous as it sounds. The part of her that was real was gone, after all.
Upstairs in my windowless office, I typed up the execution report on my typewriter and submitted it. Executioners don’t have to muddle with tiresome machines like computers. Don’t have to, aren’t allowed to, what’s the difference, really? Bjartur settled down between my shoulder blades, his talons resting on the harness there while he buried his head against my neck, under my hair, and snored softly, his sulfurous breath uncomfortably warm on my skin. I was well-used to it, though. That’s another catlike feature of dragons – they are inordinately fond of naps.
Although executions have stepped up significantly in the past few years, it’s still not a nine-to-five job. That’s why in spite of the fact executioners possess more status than almost anyone outside of the president, my office resembled a broom closet more than an executive suite. Besides, windows were a security risk, especially here in the heart of the city. I spent a handful of hours there a month, so the grimness didn’t trouble me.
Most of my actual work was done at home, well outside of city walls. As one of death’s many gatekeepers, I kept the hinges swinging both ways. Ushering people out, and dragons in. A dragon clutch can take upwards of ten years before it’s ready to hatch, and caring for them is a full-time job.
I was reaching for the door, on my way to the garage where my car waited for me, when it swung open and nearly smacked me in the face.
Naturally. My favorite person in the Justice Center.
“Fiske.” I made no effort to imbue his name with the least enthusiasm. Our feelings were mutual and required no subterfuge.
“Grenda.” He nodded, irritation at having been caught off-balance at the door flashing in his eyes. Fiske was a man of little talent and much presence, so he was easily perturbed.
“I’m on my way out, Fiske,” I stated the obvious. “What do you need?”
On paper, Fiske would have appeared to be my boss, but that was only true in as much as he was the one who assigned the executions. As far as I was concerned, that made him more my assistant than my superior, and he knew it.
“It’s going to be a busy week.” He pulled himself up to his full height of over six feet tall, a futile effort to intimidate me. I’d hit my maximum height at the age of eleven and was barely five feet tall. Somebody’s bones being longer than mine never impressed me much.
“Magenna Hassan was my only appointment this week.”
Fiske bared his nicotine-yellowed teeth at me in what I can only assume he thought a patronizing smile. “The Army just notified me they successfully closed down an invaders’ camp near the coast. It’s going to be all hands on deck for at least four days. So be sure you’re back here bright and early in the morning.”
Something uncoiled in my belly, something that felt eerily like the slimy, seeking tentacle of an octopus. I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth and nodded briskly. Fiske’s face contorted as he tried on a few different expressions, all intended as dismissal. I pushed past him without waiting to see which one he landed on. Laughter bubbled in my throat to watch him sway back until he nearly fell over in the effort to avoid any contact with Bjartur.
Silliness, of course. Dragons were perfectly safe. Or rather, my dragon was as safe as I was.
Cassondra Windwalker is the multi-genre author of several novels and award-winning poetry collections. She has lived in the South, the Midwest, and the West, and presently writes full-time from the grim coasts of the Frozen North. Regrettably, she has no dragon of her own, but she keeps company with corvids, anemones, moose, and mycelium. Readers are invited to reach out to her on Twitter @WindwalkerWrite.
Briar knew it wouldn’t be easy dealing with Eliana, but she thought the other Gods might help her. This is their problem, after all. But they don’t want to answer her call, and when they do, it’s always the same answer—blood, sacrifice, loss. All the things Briar doesn’t want to hear.
Still, with Bastianna and her group of Believers breathing down her neck, Briar has to figure out some way to banish the errant Goddess. She just hopes she can do it without losing everyone she loves.
Sunlight caught on the handle of Briar’s drugstore dagger, casting her room in hues of pink and silver, like a grotesque disco ball. She’d had the knife for years, an impulse purchase at the register. It was cheap, its handle made of resin mixed with glitter and delicate flowers, hardly the right choice to call on another God, but using a kitchen knife seemed even worse.
She sighed—and nearly choked on the heady fumes wafting from the marble bowl beside her. Soren had handed her the satchel the day before, saying he picked up the herbs from some overseas religious order and they would help clear her mind. Ten minutes in and Briar was pretty sure she was just burning drugs.
Fingers close to trembling, she picked up the knife and pressed the blade into the crook of her arm until it bit into her skin. Blood pooled and dripped, sizzling against the smoldering herbs. Words, ancient and harsh, spilled from Briar’s mouth and her body tensed. The dagger tumbled from her fingers and clattered against the floor.
She closed her eyes against the smoke, continuing to chant. Her power built until it was pressing on every inch of her skin, demanding to leave. She did not need to open her eyes to know she was glowing once again.
Now, she just needed someone to listen, to give her direction. The Gods had not answered their pleas in the weeks since the attack. They were lost, stuck watching the news every night, unable to help.
“Please,” she murmured into the empty space of her room.
The blood dripping down her arm ceased flowing and her skin stitched itself together. The air in the room grew brisk and an unfamiliar scent hit her nose. Mulled apples, fresh tilled earth, evergreen, and sandy beaches. Somehow it was not unpleasant. She opened her eyes.
The Deity was a vision of the highest order. Buds bloomed in the air around them, swirling and protecting them from Briar’s full gaze. The scene changed: autumn leaves, then summer rains that turned to snow and ice.
Briar’s green eyes locked on to those of molten silver. Their face was a work of art, golden skin, full sensual lips, and high cheekbones. All of it was crowned by flowing coppery-red hair. They smiled and Briar’s gaze dropped. The robe they wore was sheer, doing nothing to hide the swell of their chest or the strength of their arms.
The Deity opened their arms wide, a welcoming gesture, and Briar cleared her throat, feeling anything but pious.
Their nostrils flared and their eyes widened ever so slightly. The falling leaves turned green, and they chuckled and dropped their arms, one hand resting on a hip Briar had just been admiring. “Bold.”
Briar shrugged.
The Deity laughed again, and the buds of roses bloomed in their eyes. Their body changed, hair shortening, legs lengthening, but they didn’t seem to notice. “You requested an audience?”
Blinking to clear the haze from her mind, Briar nodded, enchanted by the beauty before her. “What’s your name?”
“Oh.” Their eyes flicked toward the ceiling as if it was a question they had to think about. “I haven’t spoken to a human in so long. Nilaja. Do you mind?”
Briar had no idea what they were asking but nodded. She’d give almost anything to them if they would help her find something she could use to send Eliana back to their realm, or even better, end her entirely.
With each passing day Eliana’s death seemed a better option. Tensions had grown between witches and fae; fights were breaking out, shootings and murders. The sudden uptick in violence had not gone unnoticed by the general population but no one knew what was causing it. And if anyone had suspicions they only whispered them, the footage of the dead Beishan president too raw in everyone’s minds.
Nilaja dipped a finger into the bowl of herbs and stepped out of the mist as though it was nothing, leaving behind the changing of seasons that had engulfed them. Briar’s breath caught in her chest, and the freshly healed cut on her arm twinged.
The experience of talking to the Gods was something she would never get enough of. Her life had been spent searching for them, and now she had the truth. But could she tempt one to help her? She hoped this God in particular would be the answer she was spending all her days searching for.
As though it was ordinary, Nilaja sat on the ground across from Briar, pulling their legs beside them, their robes fanned out around their body. They waved a hand over the marble bowl and the smoke disappeared. “That is quite vile and wholly unnecessary. It is blood the universe calls for, no drugs required.”
“I’m friends with idiots but I try to indulge them.”
Nilaja chuckled again, the sound like the crackle after lightning. They pressed their hands against the floor, eyes shuddering shut. Briar didn’t know what to feel looking at them. They were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and power radiated off them. She knew she should be afraid but she was intrigued by them, by how casually they interacted with her.
Power danced in Nilaja’s eyes as they slowly opened them, burning silver like flashes of lightning. “So, Briar Constance, why am I here?”
“We need help with Eliana.”
Nilaja tilted their head and coppery leaves fell from their hair, disappearing when they touched the ground. “You have already spoken to Ivian. You know how she was contained before.”
“There has to be another answer, something that doesn’t involve sacrifice. It’s barbaric. That’s not how the world is now.” She and Soren had gone over it so many times, they’d talked until their conversations were nearly scripted, but there had to be something else. The world, the universe, could not be so cruel.
“Oh, sweets.” Nilaja reached out and brushed their thumb across Briar’s exposed knee.
Her whole body went rigid, every nerve on fire with the power blasting through her. It was pure magic, sharp and hot and intoxicating. She swallowed to keep from crying out, from grabbing them and demanding more, more, more.
Unaware or unmoved by the struggle inside Briar, the Deity continued, “The universe does not care how far you have progressed. It will always be old, cold, and uncaring. You want to stop Eliana, you will do it as your ancestor Cordelia did, by blood and tears. Eliana is too far ingrained in this world for the echo of our powers still left in this place to pull her out. She is a horror, and you will become one if you wish to destroy her.”
Despair pooled in Briar’s stomach.
“Oh, don’t look like that.” Wilted flowers piled in their lap, their petals crumbling to dust. “Maybe there is another way. What would I know, tucked away for eternity? There is much knowledge out there, things you have not dreamed of. I will hope you find another answer, but it is not one I know. We have no knowledge that we are hiding from you.” They stood and the air seemed to go with them.
Briar stood as well, the reverberation of their shattering power still clanging through her. She had so many questions she wanted to ask them. Could all Gods change their form? Did they watch the humans? And was there please, please, another answer? “Can I summon you again?”
Nilaja paused, a feline grin pulling their lips upward. “Why?” They took a step closer, and Briar’s body urged her both to move forward and to run, far, far away from the Deity she had summoned, one whose name she had never heard.
Struggling for words, Briar gave in to her desire, her head still swimming with whatever Soren had given her. Her body ached with each movement, spent from the power but craving more. She stopped a breath away from them. “I don’t know.”
Nilaja pulled at the bottom of one of Briar’s curls. “Well, isn’t that fun. See you soon.” They winked and were gone.
Briar fell backward onto her bed. What in Ortus’s fiery hell had just happened?
Tallie Rose lives in Charleston, SC with two kids, five cats, two goldfish, and one dog. She spends her spare time thrifting, watching bad TV, and reading books.
Welcome to the tour for Clare Archer’s upcoming new novel, The Divine Oblivion. Read on for more details and visit one of our bookstagrammers to enter a fantastic giveaway – A hardcover edition, 3 character prints, bookmark, and stickers!
The Divine Oblivion (The Secrets of the Sun #1)
Expected Publication Date: March 7, 2023
Genre: Romantic Fantasy/ Sci-Fi Fantasy
In the wake of certain death is when one feels the most alive, and will do anything to remain so…
Being kidnapped to a galaxy one hundred million lightyears away from Earth is not how Cyra pictured her twenty-first birthday.
And her abductor is a sarcastic, drunken wretch that tells her that her life on Earth was ploy to keep her safe for sixteen years until it was time to bring her home.
Cyra is skeptical when she learns she is a part of a long foretold prophecy that she along with a king will save Eredet galaxy from mass extinction.
As she navigates the secrets of her birth planet, Solis, she uncovers an invincible enemy and devastating curses that steal the energetic life force from her people, sending them to a painful, early grave.
But when Cyra’s eye wanders to a man who she is not destined to be with, she must come to terms that love might not be in the cards for her if she has any hope of fulfilling her divine fate. And that is not something to be taken lightly.
Because The Creator of the universe has died, and there is no one to hear their cries for help.
THE DIVINE OBLIVIONis the gripping first installment of The Secrets of the Sun series. Those looking for an out-of-this-world adventure with fated mates, found family and heart-wrenching drama will devour this book!
About the Author
Clare’s goal in life is to make you laugh, cry, scream and squirm (hopefully leaving you begging for more). She enjoys writing about fantastical journeys with characters you love, or love to hate, with a plethora of spice mixed in. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her husband, daughter and floofy cats.
After countless battles as an Oathtaker, Katya is about to face her hardest fight—one for her mind and soul.
Katya Greenleaf has given herself over to the thrill of combat countless times during her years as an Oathtaker. Alongside her mentor Shira, she has sought out evil—pirates, slavers, dark mages and demon hordes. Occasionally, she finds comfort in the company of other females she encounters in her travels, and despite her mother’s best efforts, she has no desire to settle for a traditional elven life and family.
After decades of taking joy from the fight, no matter the odds, Katya leads a group of Oathtakers into a disastrous battle, one which costs the lives of everyone around her, including Shira. Katya survives, but with neither body nor spirit intact, haunted by her life of violence and death in the name of her Oath.
Now, the red-haired warrior will find her greatest challenge in a battle against a different sort of demon—ones that live in her mind and haunt her sleep.
As she heals, Katya is reminded that there is more to life than blood and iron by a compelling human named Lili, who not only catches Katya’s interest, but forces her to re-think her life and her mission.
With Lili at her side, her beloved falcon Fayne on her shoulder and healers encouraging her, Katya sets out to re-discover the warrior she once was and finally confront the truths of what happened the day the world collapsed around her.
Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and the death of a minor character.
Excerpt
The swamp went against everything Katya had ever learned about choosing a battlefield.
She stood in freezing knee-high water surrounded by small islands of reed-covered sand. Thick mist hung in the air, limiting her vision and rendering her favoured weapon, a crossbow, useless.
The fog was freezing and damp, and despite the enchantments on the leather armour she wore, a chill was creeping into her bones. In that, Katya wasn’t alone. The other members of her party were also complaining about the wet and frosty surroundings.
The swirling mist made sounds duller and flatter, but with her better-than-human hearing, Katya could hear the clicks and whistles that made up the language of the lizard men that were closing in on them. They were savage and bloodthirsty creatures, given to torture and enslaving defeated enemies, fighting to the last with massive clubs of wood and jagged stone axes.
Today it was Katya’s job to lead the fight against this party of lizard men, sending a message from local merchants and crafters’ guilds that it was time the lizards put a halt to their destruction of trade missions and killing of travelling merchants passing through the area, and that their immediate departure from the swamp would be appreciated.
The responsibility weighed on Katya, despite her eagerness to mix it up, and because of this, she was not happy with what was going to be a horrible place for a stand-up fight.
Still, neither weather nor terrain mattered to Katya. Oathtakers didn’t just head into battle when the skies were sunny and pleasant. Dead enemies were dead no matter where their bodies ended up.
The mist beside her parted and Shira appeared, his beard caked with frost. Katya knew her own long hair looked the same, even though she wore it tied back. Function over form was the warrior’s way.
The old ranger gestured with his chin towards the swamp.
“Ugly spot.”
“I’ve seen worse. That garbage pit on the coast? Blah.”
Shira laughed. “I’ll never forget that smell. Nor the rats.”
Katya suppressed the shudder that rolled up her back. Gods, the rats, she remembered. Vile and voracious monsters that had wiped out all the wild animals in a huge area around the garbage dump. When they had moved on to livestock, the farmers in the area were desperate for help. The Oathtakers had answered the call.
The rats had been the same size as large dogs, with yellow eyes and even yellower teeth—one of them had bitten straight through a party member’s leather gauntlet. When all was said and done, everyone in the fray had ended up with scratches and bites from the filthy beasts that needed to be well-cleaned before infection set in.
Their foul bloodstains never had come off Katya’s armour completely, no matter how often she scrubbed them.
“I think the lizards will give them a run for their money today.”
Shira’s face took on the more serious look that Katya was accustomed to—his war-face. “They may, aye. What did our friend in the sky say?”
Katya looked up, straining to see. “I haven’t talked to her yet. Do you want me to call her in?”
“May as well. She’ll have seen all she can by now. No sense in letting her freeze.”
Katya nodded. She pursed her lips and whistled, making an odd yet pleasant musical sound, then waited.
In a few seconds, a dark shadow, one of Katya’s most valuable weapons and allies, plummeted out of the misty sky.
J.B. Knowles has been a lifelong lover of works of fantasy, first creating Katya and the Greenleaf family in high school as roleplaying characters.
After a long career in the fields of justice and mental health, J.B. finally had a chance to build a full world on paper for Katya and to breathe new life into adventures started over thirty years ago.
J.B. is married and has two sons and three dogs who all share an stately old farmhouse in a quiet corner of Canada.
Giveaway
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These words were uttered just after the creation of the planet that would
be called Flatrock, and from there, things only got worse.
All Milo wants is a life full to the brim with peace and quiet, though his
new work associate, Heidi, is a little more adventurous, wishing to see
everything the wide world has to offer. These unlikely friends see the
planet at its best and worst, from ancient wonders, to repulsive paperwork,
and everything in between, learning all the while just how astounding the
world can be.
The Highs & Lows Of Flatrock is a cosy comedy following Milo, Heidi,
and the people that surround them on this weird planet as they fumble
through the complete catastrophe of life and humanity left in God’s
wake.
Welcome, everyone, to Flatrock!
About the Author
Luke Harrower is a new author from the UK who enjoys comedy and fantasy
writing, ranging from light-hearted sitcoms to dark and twisted horror. Luke
has spent much of his adult life writing, watching, and performing comedy in
some form. After finding out he had a speech impediment called “Being
Scottish,” he decided to focus on the written word rather than
speaking.
Shedding light unto the darkness overpowering the globe and all its
elements, the Seers face a losing battle against the Corrupts, who crave
nothing but wealth, world-domination and a bleak universe of despair under
their control. Kyle Wynn, who dives deep into the distorted life of a new
Seer, learns as much as he can from the last remaining Elders as well as
fellow-Seers, even if it means leaving behind everything he once believed
in. While embarking on a crucial mission to keep the Corrupts at bay, the
Seers try to strengthen their numbers before they come face-to-face with the
Corrupts. Fearing the massive inevitable coming battle may be their very
last, this immortal war threatens not only the pillars of Earth but
existence in its entirety. It’s a race against time across the globe
as the Seers search of the last ancient remnants left behind by the Original
Seers, that is key to humanity’s survival, as they fend-off the
Corrupts lest they fall into the wrong hangs.
About the Author
James Hai is a new author who has written a number of fictional suspense
and scifi thrillers. With hopes of bringing them to life as he debut.
James has dabbled in the arts of various kind as a youngling; from drawing,
painting, writing lyrics and songs during grade school years to singing
horribly and loudly to the tunes of many oldies – like Whitney
Houston, Elvis, Madonna, Roxette, Bette Midler, Cindy Lauper, Tina Turner
and even earlier songs like Patsy Cline and Ben E. King, only because the
songs had meaning in the words. And thus began James’ passion with
words . . . writing.
Before he could even write his first piece of lyrics or stories, he had
made up short stories and orally told them to family and friends through out
the years. It was in telling these stories that he saw how alluring and
intrigued people got when they listened to or heard a GOOD story. The better
the story was the more intent they focused and the longer they gave
attention to it.
Through the years working in the corporate world in recruiting, sales and
business in general, he had learned how important story telling was. Key to
his success in all those fields was his ability to tell a good story (of the
company, of the people, of the product, and of the services he worked for)
that allured and intrigued the customers enough to give it an ear to learn
more.
That gift has always been a part of him, from his earlier years as his
family fled as refugees with the eventual opportunity to live an American
Dream. He continues to hone this skill, from his secondary school years
living away from home and being raised by the SVDs (Society of Divine Word),
a religious and dedicated organization of men & women who trained people
to be religious and spiritual in their own unique way, until his graduation
earning a Bachelors Degree in Philosophy and finally moving back to secular
life.
After orally telling short random stories for so long, family and friends
suggested he share those stories to a broader group, the general public. He
now concentrate on sharing newly created stories with the inspiration of
giving inspiration, shedding light in times of darkness, and giving hope
when it seems hopeless. As he would state: Life can be Good, if you know how
to appreciate it!
To celebrate the release of the second book in The Fires of Aileryan series, Heart of Flame, we are sharing both gorgeous books with you all! Read on for more info and treat yourself to an epic fantasy journey.
Shadow of Fire
Publication Date: May 5th, 2022
Genre: Fantasy/ Multiple POV
Length: 370 pages
A potent power is about to be unleashed.
Forbidden and forged in flame.
Control over the elements is a gift from the Gods, but since the creation of the Rift, fire magic has been outlawed in Merawuld. The Rift is a source of mystery, fear, and, for some, a tempting source of power.
Ash is a fire caster who has spent years hiding her magic, but when her explosive powers reveal themselves she is imprisoned by the Mage Council. Ash’s powers are coveted by the High Mage, who seeks to use her as a pawn against not only his enemies, but his allies as well.
With the Bone Mother’s winter fast approaching, the fae Princess vows to fight against the corrupting influence of power, forming an alliance whose success rests on a human man’s desire for peace; a man who must decide if he will play the game he’s inherited or begin one of his own.
But in Aileryan, the Gods have their own plans. As the Mother of All turns the wheel of the year, the land is brought to the edge of war. Loyalty and courage will be sorely tested as paths intertwine and Fate plays her hand.
If Ash can’t learn to control her magic, the scheming of gods and mortals could spell doom for them all.
Laeli jumped as the sound of steel striking steel cut through the night. She slipped into a crouch, buckling on her scabbard, sliding the twin swords against her back and crept to the opening of the cairn.
Bran shouted a single word. Run.
As wings of light fluttered across the dark pit of the sky, Laeli saw him, his lithe body ducking and weaving around a sword wielded by a tall man in a cloak of fur. Two dead men lay on the ground, Bran’s dagger protruding from a chest. As Laeli watched, Bran’s opponent crouched and swept his leg wide, catching Bran off guard. Her companion tumbled to the ground and, before he could get to his feet, a sword swung through the air in a precise arc.
Laeli stared in horror as Bran’s head was swiftly sliced from his body. Slowly, so slowly, it fell, toppling to the ground to bounce and roll away. Laeli’s dinner rose like a snake and she turned to the side and vomited.
The sky opened, and as veins of light cracked the black canvas of night, the man in furs looked up and saw her. His sword glinted as he approached, blood dripping hypnotically to the ground.
Bran’s blood; fae blood.
Without another thought, Laeli sprang from the cairn and sprinted for the safety of the forest. The trees reached for her, inviting her in; she bent her head and dove between their trunks, taking shelter in their branches, in the roots that snaked from the earth and the rocks and soft grass that spread across the forest floor. The sky ripped apart again, illuminating the trees, the forest bending and swaying in the fierce wind as the storm intensified.
She pushed on, running at a reckless pace that no human could match, until her lungs burned and she fell to her knees in a puddle of dirty water, her breath coming in pants that shook her to the bone. She was still a long way from the border, from safety.
Laeli took a deep breath, preparing to run again, but the point of a sword pressed into her spine.
‘Get up, Witch.’ The voice was low, husky, his breathing quick.
Fires that curse, fires that heal,
And all the while, so turns the wheel…
With the Queen of Merawuld confined to her bed and the city of Tyllcarric in the iron grasp of the High Mage, war is closing in on all horizons for Ash and Senan. Hellbent on eliminating any threats to the fae throne, Kiarda of Veshlir has raised an army to claim her prize — and she will not be stopped.
Meanwhile, across the border, change is afoot in Estilleon.
Thalion’s men are ready for rebellion, but when the first rush of power ends, he finds himself forced to toe the line between strength and brutality. By his side, Laeli is a stranger in the human world — caught between love and loyalty in a land that stifles her voice.
As conflict escalates across the land of Aileryan, those with power clash amidst a sea of ideals, dreams and greed, forcing the most battle-scarred to overcome their demons and prove they are a force to be reckoned with.
For that which has been dormant for so long is about to burst forth, and when the winter solstice arrives, all will be at the mercy of the Gods…
With the Queen of Merawuld confined to her bed and the city of Tyllcarric in the iron grasp of the High Mage, war is closing in on all horizons for Ash and Senan. Hellbent on eliminating any threats to the fae throne, Kiarda of Veshlir has raised an army to claim her prize — and she will not be stopped.
Meanwhile, across the border, change is afoot in Estilleon.
Thalion’s men are ready for rebellion, but when the first rush of power ends, he finds himself forced to toe the line between strength and brutality. By his side, Laeli is a stranger in the human world — caught between love and loyalty in a land that stifles her voice.
As conflict escalates across the land of Aileryan, those with power clash amidst a sea of ideals, dreams and greed, forcing the most battle-scarred to overcome their demons and prove they are a force to be reckoned with.
For that which has been dormant for so long is about to burst forth, and when the winter solstice arrives, all will be at the mercy of the Gods…
KATE SCHUMACHER is a writer, mother and teacher. When she isn’t writing, she is reading her way through an ever-growing TBR pile. Kate has wanted to be an author since she was a child, and finds time to write in the in-between moments of life.
Kate completed a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing and Journalism, and an Honours degree in Screenwriting, followed by a Graduate Diploma in Education.
She lives in Northern NSW, Australia, with her partner, two children and three very spoiled cats. Heart of Flame is the second book in The Fires of Aileryan series.
Follow her on Instagram and TikTok @kate.schumacher.writer or visit her website kateschumacherauthor.com
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