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Chapter One

Cool morning light streamed over the high walls of the Lux Temple, while the vast city outside its gates fell strangely silent. In the temple courtyard, Cymin took a deep breath and prepared to begin the most important procession he would ever lead. He wore the pearl mask of the aloof East Deity for the occasion. His sister Yinni’s face was hidden behind the gold mask of the benevolent West Deity. Wigs crafted from raw silk threads covered their shaved heads. The richly embroidered gold robes of their costumes billowed and fluttered, exposing their bare feet.

Behind them, sixty of their fellow tuteli clerics filled the narrow stone space, all standing in formation and waiting for the morning bells to announce the opening of Lux Temple’s Spring Exhibition. Brilliant regalia, archaic weapons and beautiful musical instruments abounded. Ahead of them all rose the temple’s huge ironwood gates, and beyond that, the secular world, filled with fascinating people, forbidden delights and all their future challenges.

Cymin bounced on his toes and rolled his shoulders, attempting to shake off a little of his nervous anticipation. This year’s procession was expected to draw more spectators than any in the last twenty years, and the exhibition matches afterwards would be attended by the top combatants from the Five Mage Schools. Cymin’s final year defending the honor of East Deity could be his most triumphant yet.

Or an utter humiliation—but Cymin didn’t allow himself to think about that. Instead, he stole a glance to his sister. At twenty, Yinni was two years older than him but still three inches shorter. She tapped her graceful fingers along the Black Staff in her right hand. Only that betrayed her nervousness. Noticing Cymin’s gaze, her fingers stilled.

“We’ll astound the crowd and trounce all challengers,” Yinni assured him. “By the end of the exhibition, thousands of new worshipers will flood the temple with donations and come begging for blessings from us.”

“Only if all the people out on the street forget that we’re just their local tuteli under these costumes,” Cymin teased her, though in truth he wished to the Heavens that she could be right. “Once they remember that, they’ll go back to looking down on us.”

“Shut up and let me bask in my glorious delusion,” Yinni responded. She then gestured grandly to the tuteli assembled behind them. “We’re all beautiful today.”

Cymin couldn’t argue with that, and he didn’t want to, in any case.

“Today we’re divine!” he agreed, loudly enough for his voice to carry across the entire gathering—from the twenty costumed performers to the vast retinue of musicians behind them. Cheers and a few giggles met his proclamation.

All three of the tuteli adepts standing directly behind Cymin and Yinni laughed and patted each other’s backs encouragingly. They were all close to twenty years of age and specifically selected for this year’s procession on account of their grace as well as their skill in tempering fei’lux to power the spells embedded in their ancient weapons. They, like Cymin and Yinni, wore refined deity masks and moved with practiced finesse, transforming displays of swords, staves and spears into elegant dances.

Together, the five of them represented the nation’s most revered and recognizable deities, the Five Guardians who had defended the Hallow Gates during the creation of the world and later subdued the Carnal Gods. While Cymin and Yinni represented the deities of the day and night, respectively, their three fellow tuteli adepts were costumed as the deities of the earth, sky and water.

If this had been 200 years earlier, during the reign of mage-kings, hundreds more deities would have filled out their ranks—at least one for every occupation, location or interest anyone could think of—but in the century since the People’s Revolution, most of the expansive pantheon had been abolished.

Five deities were enough for the revolutionaries; any more than that constituted excess.

Behind Cymin and the other adepts came fifteen novice tuteli ranging in ages from six to twelve. They struggled to contain their excitement, several of them spontaneously performing the cartwheels and somersaults they’d be expected to display along the parade route. Others waved their hands in the air and struck poses as ferocious beasts. Strings of brass bells tinkled from their wrists and ankles, and bright ribbons adorned most of their headdresses.

These children were meant to evoke the deadly adversaries of the deities. Those dressed like dragons, sea serpents and other mythical beasts represented the defeated Carnal Gods who were still worshiped in the nation of Piiroc. Novices wearing floating ribbons and layers of colorful gauze were sharwae, guardian spells that had been corrupted from their original protective purposes so much that the deities had to fight and defeat them.

And last came the children adorned in chaotic splashes of body paint and riots of flowers, reeds and seashells. They played chuuraun, chimeric monsters born of creatures and spells that supposedly had been fused together by the savage fei’lux storms of the archaic days before the Storm Towers had been built.

Of course, all those mythic horrors and wonders were long gone. Or at least, they should have been—though this year might change that. Cymin turned his long black staff over in his hands and stared at the gates ahead of him, willing them to open.

At last, the city clock towers resounded with nine bells. The ironwood doors of the Lux Temple’s Sun Gate swung open and Cymin bounded out. He landed gracefully on the open street at the start of the parade route. Hordes of onlookers lined the roadside, and at the sight of him, countless excited voices suddenly roared. There were so many more spectators than he’d expected that Cymin nearly missed his second leap. Behind him, the temple musicians commenced to play, and for a moment the clamor of drums, horns and gongs of the procession nearly drowned out the shrill whistles and cheers of the assembled crowd. But not for long.

Everywhere Cymin looked, he saw more and more people. Shopkeepers, clerks and bike couriers gossiped with workers still wearing their factory overalls. Students dressed in bright green school jackets clustered around their instructors while little children waved from their parents’ shoulders. Beggars and street vendors wove through the throngs while radio reporters and even a film newsreel crew jostled for good positions. He met the gazes of hundreds of strangers in a single glance. They filled the walkways, crouched atop newsstands, leaned from the windows and balconies of nearby teahouses and even perched on the tile rooftops.

Had all seven million of the capital’s residents actually come out to watch the temple parade this year?

For the briefest of instants Cymin froze with shock. Then his fourteen years of training took over. In his right hand he raised his long staff. The gold teardrop-shaped finial at the top of it glinted in the sun, looking a little like a candle flame. Beside him, Yinni lifted her matching staff. Deep inside the Black Staves lay rods of goldwork, each etched with a treasury of ancient spells—the Thousand Blessings that once shielded entire cities from droughts, plagues and sieges. Though without fei’lux coursing through them the staves were little more than very heavy sticks.

Cymin flexed his left hand and began to draw fei’lux down from the seemingly tranquil air. A tingling current shot through the spell filaments—gold threads implanted into his hands and arms—and then spread across his chest. He spun in a circle, letting the fei’lux circulate through his body—tempering its erratic currents to match his heartbeat. In the time it took for him to complete one rotation, he calmed the torrent of blazing fei’lux to a steady stream of energy.

Then with his right hand he released that gentle flow of power into the Black Staff and channeled it to the gold rods at the core. Tiny gold sigils all along the shaft began to glow. Each sigil was itself powerless, but when grouped together they made up spells. The gold finial capping the staff flashed nearly as bright as the morning sun. Its light flickered across the gathered crowd while wisps of a silvery vapor coiled around the crown of the staff like steam.

Cymin leapt and spun again, twirling the staff as he went. Beside him, Yinni did the same. What appeared to be a playful dance was in reality a precise discipline, every step, leap and turn relating to the exact position of one of the thousand spells hidden within the staff. Those spells combined to make a larger spell array. Years of constant training and practice ensured that Cymin and Yinni not only roused the right spells but that they did so in perfect synchrony, their matched dance steps mirroring the flows of fei’lux they released. Cymin swept to the right, Yinni to the left. Sigils all along their staves glinted in time to the swelling music. Today they gently woke the sequence of spells that created a vast floating veil.

Plumes of silver vapor poured from their staves and coalesced in midair. One plume after another took on translucent floral shapes. Luminous petals as long as Cymin’s arms unfurled. As the blossoms rose they interlocked like clockwork, spinning and spreading above the onlookers. Warm breezes stirred and fragrances of jasmine and rose drifted down. Steadily, the sky filled with bright silver spells—each evoking one of the Sacred Blossoms that seeded the world with the first blessings of life: warmth, sustenance, health, protection, joy and a multitude of other kindnesses.

Cymin and Yinni danced forward and the Veil of a Thousand Blessings stretched behind them, sheltering the rest of the procession. A warm breeze perfumed with the fragrance of spring blossoms spread over the crowd, driving back the morning chill.

The resounding applause, hoots and cheers that followed seemed out of proportion to Cymin. The subdued selection they’d conjured from the complete Thousand Blessings wasn’t that impressive to him. A heavy rain would wash it away, and even fireworks could distort it.

This small array of spells was certainly nothing when compared to the magecraft required to serve in the Storm Towers. There, entire teams of tuteli battled onslaughts of wild fei’lux that surged down from the Hallow Gates far across the Great Chasm Sea. Those ancient, battered Storm Towers shielded their nation as well as the rest of the continent by capturing eruptions of fei’lux that could have scoured away both land and life and tempering them into sedate streams. The tempered fei’lux that the Storm Towers released became a steady flow of energy, one that drove electrical turbines, powered public trams and illuminated the newly built streetlamps all across the nation of Chyre. It was that tamed flow of energy that Cymin and Yinni tapped into now.

Surrounded by cheers and applause, Cymin gave silent thanks to all the older tuteli serving in the Storm Towers. And as he and Yinni led the procession onward, Cymin occasionally glimpsed the youngest tuteli dancing behind them. Despite their villainous costumes, several of the novices were too intimidated by the throngs of strangers surrounding them to be mistaken for anything but children. One scrawny boy actually clung to an adept tuteli’s leg, hiding his face in the gold silk. His timidity was balanced out by a plump little girl—with a malevolent violet sigil painted on her brow—who forgot her role as a corrupt sharwae completely and began waving at onlookers and throwing kisses like the star of a moving picture.

Cymin smiled behind his mask.

Perhaps something good could come of so very many people watching the parade this year. Maybe a family would take a liking to that little girl, pay off her temple debt and adopt her. Or someone might take the shy boy on as an apprentice and give him a chance to earn enough money to buy his own debt back.

For grown adepts like himself and Yinni, adoption or apprenticeship weren’t likely—after more than a decade of training and living in the temple, their debts were far too great—but a scout might hire one of them for stunt work on a moving picture. Or perhaps they could find side work performing blessings at a wedding or for the opening of a new business.

Cymin had recently been entertaining the fantasy that he might earn a little secular money before the end of the Spring Festival. After that he would begin his conscription maintaining the Storm Towers.

He often daydreamed about what it would be like to freely meet and mingle with the fascinating people who lived outside the Lux Temple. Though how many of them would be interested in him, he wasn’t certain. Most people looked upon Lux Temple’s tuteli as impoverished, celibate ascetics whose existences were entirely dedicated to refining the magecraft bestowed upon humanity by the deities.

As it was, the majority of secular people who Cymin interacted with were students from one of the five state-approved mage schools. Those encounters were largely confined to battles meant to hone the prowess of the Five Schools’ mages and were therefore mostly unfriendly exchanges.

But what would it be like to lounge on silk cushions and converse with people on whatever subject crossed his mind?

His gaze swept across the crowd to a group of young scholars sitting on the roof of a winehouse. They exchanged relaxed smiles and toasted one another. Their long dark hair hung loose, and their green university robes fluttered in the spring breeze, exposing bare dangling legs. A sandal slipped from one young man’s foot. A newsgirl on the walkway below caught it and hurled it back up to the roof. The scholars laughed and sang out some poem in response, but Cymin was already too far away to hear it clearly.

He smirked at his own wistful imagination. Master Tam would smack him until he saw stars if he knew of the absurdly shallow fantasies Cymin entertained while representing East Deity on this sacred day.

But after years of performing before lackluster gatherings of schoolchildren on day trips, bored government officials and dazed tourists, he felt a little giddy to see awe and appreciation in so many faces.

Still, as he manifested a shining veil of blessings over Grand Avenue, Cymin resisted the urge to display his genuine prowess. Tempting wisps of fei’lux curled around him as if summoned by his desire to show off. His left hand tingled and an excited hum stirred in his chest. It would be so easy to awaken the true power of the countless sigils etched into the core of this staff. Instead of faint silver flowers, this crowd could see the real invocations blaze to life. They’d be astounded—one of those rooftop scholars might even drop his wine cup.

But this year, of all years, the Temple Grand Master and the organizers in the Prime Minister’s office would be furious if he rashly deviated from the plan, so he absolutely shouldn’t screw around. He could not afford to add any fines to his massive temple debt. He was already facing seven years in the Storm Towers to work off his current balance.

Plus Yinni would probably slap the mask off his face for messing around and embarrassing her.

Cymin flicked his hand, releasing the stream of fei’lux back into the atmosphere.

I am East Deity, the light of the sun and guardian of creation. I do not show off just to impress pretty scholars in loose robes . . . at least not when anyone can catch me doing so.

As Yinni and Cymin crossed staves and circled each other. Yinni rolled her dark eyes meaningfully at a balcony on the right and said, “Hey! That’s Una Bayan, isn’t it?”

Cymin stole a sidelong glance at the group of people Yinni indicated. He recognized the screen actress at once. Her short-cropped dark hair, scarlet-stained lips and long silk trousers all evoked the vivacious, revolutionary roles that had won her many ardent admirers as well as a fair number of vitriolic critics. Two men in modern clothes lounged against the balcony railing on either side of her. One of them seemed rather mousy, with dull brown hair and a meek posture. But the second man rivaled Una Bayan in looks, with jet-black hair, a rich complexion and handsome features. He held a Bluecloud cigarette in between two of his long fingers. Then he suddenly looked down at Cymin and Yinni. His dark gaze seemed to bore right through Cymin’s mask.

The man flexed his empty right hand, casting a spell directly. Cymin’s eyes stung, and his vision wavered. The man had to be a master mage. Probably a graduate from the elite Boshyin School.

Embarrassed to have been caught gawking, Cymin lifted his chin and shrugged his shoulders. With every motion he attempted to convey: East Deity is indifferent to beauty and cares nothing about screen stars or handsome men with cigarettes. He is simply studying the crowd. There are many more impressive people than you for him to observe.

He maintained the pretense as they paraded on, making a steady circuit around the 800 acres of the sprawling Lux Temple Complex. At last, they neared the towering red walls of the exhibition grounds. Here, faces and figures Cymin had previously only seen in weekly newsreels suddenly became as plentiful as mice in a granary.

Clothed in resplendent silk robes and lounging in auto-carriages or pedicabs drawn by giant carriage birds, the governing elite and idle rich occupied long swaths of the walkways. Walls of dark-uniformed attendants, private security and city police insulated them from the surrounding rabble.

Then some dumb photographer dashed out into the street and lit off a burst of flash powder right in Cymin’s face.

“You fucker!” Cymin’s nerves hummed as the rush of white heat caught him unprepared. He barely had enough time to release his staff. The faint scars marking his hands and fingers gleamed for an instant—then the current dissipated. Cymin caught his staff again. He’d barely managed to expel the burst of energy before it polluted the stream of blessings. This year, of all years, was not the time to befoul the elegant Veil of a Thousand Blessings with ugly splotches that reeked of saltpeter.

Next to him Yinni’s arms shook and twitched, but she didn’t release her staff. Instead, she channeled the burst of power into her muscles to suppress it. Cymin winced in sympathy at the burning needles of pain spearing her every nerve.

He started for the photographer, but Yinni elbowed him and he regained his senses. Obviously, she hadn’t endured blistering pain just to have him slap a random photographer on the open street in front of thousands of people.

Still, Cymin couldn’t just let it go. He raised a finger from the Black Staff and ignited a wisp of fei’lux near the photographer’s face.

“Heaven decrees that the wicked shall be struck down,” Cymin’s voice boomed out.

The burst of energy wasn’t enough to even kill a horsefly, but it flashed bright and intimidating. The man yelped then fled towards the surrounding crowd. However, the instant the photographer reached the walkway, three women in police uniforms grabbed him and slammed him against the wall of a teahouse.

“And the Heavens’ punishment comes swiftly,” Yinni intoned.

They continued ahead.

Moments later, they reached the towering walls of the exhibition grounds. The huge scarlet doors were hauled open. Cymin kept his head up and his eyes focused ahead of him, maintaining East Deity’s assured, indifferent demeanor the same way he had for the past five years. When their procession passed through the gateway, cheers rose from the wooden stands like thunder, and petals of cut paper stamped with blessings fluttered down like drifts of snow. He, Yinni and the other tuteli quickly found their places near the center of the exhibition grounds and stood facing the gate, ready to welcome the guests who would come to challenge them. Over the years, they’d welcomed adepts and masters from all corners and defeated the majority of them. Very few mages even qualified to test their prowess against the Lux Temple tuteli. Fewer still ever won a prestigious champion’s ring from them.

Previously, he and his fellow tuteli had always outshone even the most promising and favored children from the Five Schools, so normally Cymin felt at ease here. Everything from the brilliant bas-relief carvings of deities and devils that adorned the surrounding walls to the pale flagstones beneath his bare feet was familiar to him.

But this year was different, and for the first time since he’d achieved the rank of adept, Cymin felt uncertain about the outcome of today’s battles.

In his unease, even the exhibition grounds felt foreign. He glanced to the indifferent faces of the Five Deities that decorated the stone walls. The gilt and ivory inlay adorning their figures looked newer than he remembered. Beneath his feet, at the center of the grounds, the mosaic depicting the constellations, which had always been off by a few degrees, had been fixed. Cymin’s favorite cluster of homely, worn-down and crooked stars had been replaced by gleaming gold perfection. Even the line of rusting iron vases along the outer wall, which normally sported inexpensive incense, had been re-glazed in vivid scarlet and now displayed vast bouquets of unlit fireworks.

The people filling the stands and the costly box seats had changed significantly too. Gone were the usual groups of devout grannies, as were the clusters of impoverished parents and relatives who’d come either to assure themselves that the children they’d sold to Lux Temple were thriving or to convince children being offered up to quietly submit to their exciting future as tuteli. Nor did Cymin recognize any of the trinket and food vendors who regularly worked the lower levels. Instead those benches were filled with well-dressed merchants, eye-catching entertainers, bureaucrats, bodyguards and a scattering of radio reporters wearing state official emblems on their jackets.

For the first time ever, the sleek, silver-haired prime minister and several famous members of his cabinet had deigned to attend the ceremony. Of course, they and their various attendants laid claim to the sheltered high seats. In their midst, Lux Temple’s Grand Master Ryn appeared out of place with her shaved head and modest brown vestments. The gaunt and infamous Minister of National Security, Lui Dane, leaned close to the Grand Master. He whispered something to her. She nodded, but her tense expression made Cymin suspect that she would rather have endured a viper flicking its tongue in her ear than share Lui Dane’s confidences.

Old Master Tam, who normally oversaw the ceremonies while Grand Master Ryn took part in the challenges, had been banished to a lower stand. Alongside him sat Lux Temple’s wiry old physician, Master Shuun, and six uneasy-looking volunteer nurses.

“Does something feel wrong to you?” Cymin whispered to Yinni.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Maybe it’s the obscurity spells on the National Security agents.”

“Probably,” Cymin said. It was a good theory. People in blue NS uniforms dotted the crowd, though many more probably hid within obscurity spells. Cymin had no doubt that they’d deployed numerous other spells as well. He squinted up to where a gray shadow flickered in the clouds and guessed that it was a surveillance device of some kind. Still, Cymin’s attention was drawn back down to the cobblestones. He really didn’t like the feeling of the new mosaic against his bare feet.

The trumpeters at the gates blew out a cascade of resounding notes, heralding the arrival of competitors from the Five Schools, and Cymin’s wandering attention jolted back to the gates. His pulse quickened and an absurd nervousness flooded him—as if he hadn’t been greeting competitors from the Five Schools since he was seven years old. Yinni bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet. A plump little novice tuteli clutched at Cymin and Yinni’s belt sashes, trying to pull herself a little higher to see past them. Yinni nudged the girl back into formation.

Cymin and Yinni again raised their staves, manifesting the Veil of a Thousand Blessings, as adepts and masters from the Five Schools marched through the gates. The visiting mages’ silk clothes fluttered, and many of them smiled and bowed to the cheering crowds before lining up in their traditional positions.

Dressed in black, the elite mages of the prestigious Boshyin School took first position. They were followed by Chohe Institute’s cosseted eccentrics, all dressed in luxurious violets. The cunning, cream-clad academics from Guishuun College stood in the third position. Orae Academy’s all-male student body wore red uniforms. They jogged and joked into the fourth post. The yellow uniforms of the female students from the fledgling Ryde Academy shone bright as sunflowers. The young women swept into the fifth position with an air of excitement.

As always, Cymin tried to focus on reviewing his competitors and choosing one or two who seemed particularly self-important to thrash during the competitions. But he couldn’t concentrate on the usual attendees as he had in past years. Instead he kept glancing to the open gates.

The final guests had yet to arrive: the Wraiths of Saigrath.

In some corner of his mind, Cymin wasn’t entirely convinced that they would ever appear—or that they existed at all. But if they did, he wanted to be the first to lay eyes on them. The first to step forward and meet them.

“It’s going to be all right,” Yinni whispered. “No matter what happens, we can handle it.”

Cymin nodded. He tried to ease his rising tension, reminding himself that it had been more than 200 years since Wraiths last crossed the Great Chasm Sea and appeared in the mortal world.

What’s another few minutes?

Then the sky above them shuddered and five brilliant lights blazed through the clouds like stars falling to earth.

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Ginn Hale, award-winning author of Lord of the White Hell and Wicked Gentlemen has a new series releasing April 27, 2025

Price of a Thousand Blessings is an epic, slow-burn romantic fantasy set in a vivid and secondary world. Here’s the back copy:

Cymin’s final tournament representing the East Deity for Lux Temple promises to be thrilling and bittersweet. After it’s done, all his skill and power must feed a Storm Tower to protect the world from fei’lux storms. But before his conscription, he intends to put on a dazzling show and enjoy his last glorious outing.

The streets are thronged with cheering crowds, and the grand procession shimmers with spells. Film stars and government ministers claim the best seats in the stands. And most exciting of all, the legendary Wraiths of Saigrath promise to attend this Spring Exhibition after centuries of absence from the world.
Cymin can’t wait to meet them.

But when disaster strikes the celebrations, Cymin risks his own life and destroys a priceless artifact to prevent a massacre. His action not only plunge him into the battle between foreign provocateurs and his own nation’s spies, but captures the attention of the mythical Wraiths--one of whom has been searching for him in secret for hundreds of years.

Price of a Thousand Blessings will release in print and digital. Audiobook will be released by Tantor Media! Pre-Order your copy on this site or wherever books are sold.

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Episode 6.5—Strangekind Ad Swap

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Seth Haddon’s third novel, RECLAIMED, will be releasing worldwide on October 9, 2024. It features Haddon’s first transmasc protagonist, along with magic, danger, hope, love and two very adorable lesbians. Pre-orders are live and the first printing is likely to sell out so don’t wait to reserve your copy of this rare gem today in print or digital, wherever books are sold.

Chapter One

The thing about the astral sea—that nebulous, elusive, maddening plane of existence just beyond the veil—was that no one really knew anything about it. Not in any way that was tangible. Or provable. And this meant, if one was a bit of a desperate or eccentric fellow, that one could dedicate one’s whole life to answering this question: what the fuck even is the astral sea?

Discovering the nature of the astral sea had been the first exquisite obsession Saba Vasili had dedicated himself to. But the next thing he’d wanted—desperately—was to become a paragon.

In a country like Zvensia which lauded excellence in everything, exceptional people were elevated to the rank of paragon. Exalted and feted, you would be raised out of mortality, made something different by the ritual. All you had to do was be the best.

From the outside this seemed very formulaic and very achievable, but apparently it was not as straightforward as Saba Vasili had expected. You had to be the best and also not be anything but of pure Zvensian blood—no Rezwyn mother, no Uslethian great-grand-uncle, and certainly in no part grubby refugee from the vanquished state of Kerinsk.

At the top of Zvensian society sat the Grand Council, run by judges. Each city had their own judge-led Triad, and beneath that came the paragons. Nearly every vocation in Zvensian society had a paragon rank for all to aspire to. A long time in the past, paragons were elected by the community—and marked as special through masks, which confirmed rank and field. But the creation of the Triad had changed things, and now they were the ones who chose individuals to receive the paragon rank. The masks produced for each uniform now differed in material, shape, and expression for each vocation.

Saba used to think he could become a paragon too. He used to dream of it, crave it the way others might lust for food or flesh. He had wanted the title, the prestige, the relative safety that came with it, and the elaborate metal mask—two of which stared at him now.

Two paragon sentinels—people charged with enforcing Zvensia’s multitude of laws—loomed over him.

Sentinels were paragons not of the mind but of the body. The soldiers and fighters and sentries of Byrengrad City, all of them were paragons of their kind. After years of training or otherwise excelling in their careers, they were awarded paragon status for exceptionality.

Though how exceptional could you be, really, when there were hundreds of sentinels in this city?

No. Sentinel was, in Saba’s mind, the weakest class of the paragons, if only because of their sheer number. But sages—the paragon rank given to scholars—were rarer. Despite everything, despite where he was and what he looked like and where he came from, Saba still wanted it.

And now you’ll never be one.

The damp, windowless stone jail cell was lit only by a weak torchlight. The light flickered over the brushed bronze of the masks, and the waltzing ebb and flow of the shadows made Saba feel like he was staring into a firepit, growing hypnotized by the embers.

Traditionally, sentinel masks were beaten into uncanny and terrifying shapes. One of those staring at him sported a twisted scowl, deep frown lines, and a gaping eye-slit to stare through. Saba tried in vain to squint through the dark and pick out the true human expression sitting behind the eternal fury of the mask.

Another part of him didn’t want to know. What if the sentinel’s real expression was worse?

He stared so long at those masks he couldn’t be sure he didn’t conjure them from the shadows himself, a symptom of a weak and broken mind. The Triad, those lower judges appointed by Zvensia’s Grand Council who ruled Byrengrad City, had left him locked up here for—how long? Wasn’t it feasible he was imagining these visitors?

Stop it, idiot. You’re panicking.

Some last scrap of reasoning remaining secure in Saba’s mind stepped forward to take control. It wrenched back his despairing mind, wrangling the anxious instinct back down. Saba felt emotion grow distant as he steadied his breathing and met the ever-watchful gaze of the two sentinels once more.

“Anything more you have to say for yourself?” one of the sentinels asked.

Saba blinked rapidly against the dark. The words were spat at him, and after a rush of shock—no, Saba’s imagination had not conjured these masks—he straightened himself in his chair. All at once he felt the ache in every part of his body, the bruises up his arm, the open weeping wounds on his wrists from the cuffs. Ten hours earlier, his arms had been cuffed behind the chair’s back; now his shoulders throbbed in protest. Disuse had made his hips ache. His tender tailbone pulsed.

And because Saba was scared and furious and relatively sure he was going to die, he looked the sentinel in the eye, clicked his tongue, and cocked his head to say, “Whoops?”

One sentinel broke from their place and punched Saba squarely on the jaw.

Crack.

Saba’s head whipped back from the force. He made a sound like a dying animal—pathetic—and spent a good few seconds catching his breath as dull, deep pain pulsed along his jawbone. A referred ache started up near his temple, and he tasted salt and metal in his mouth. Bastard had split his lip. Saba’s heart fluttered manically in his chest as fear flooded his veins; he wanted to scream. He wanted to go wild and thrash around like a dog, to bite and snap should they get close to him. But he couldn’t let that urge out.

He laughed instead, tongue perched on his canine.

If he didn’t let the wound hurt, then it wouldn’t. If he didn’t let himself be scared, then he wouldn’t be. His mother’s voice rose vividly in his memory: You must always keep your head high, little sun.

He flashed his most dazzling smile and imagined the blood squeezing out between his teeth. Saba craned his neck to the other side, exposing his unmarked cheek. “Give me another one—a proper one—for penance.”

The sentinel’s hand curled into a fist once more. His voice shook with fury. “Don’t you dare be so foul. Hundreds are dead because of your machine.”

Then a new voice said, “Leave us.”

Saba’s eyes flashed to a third sentinel who stood, only half-visible, like an apparition, leaning against the far wall. Saba’s stomach dropped. He knew that voice.

Maksid had come to see him.

Why did it have to be him?

The other sentinel glanced back over his shoulder, hand still curled up for a punch. “Sir, he’s dangerous.”

“Thank you.” Maksid peeled himself off the wall. He walked closer to Saba, so close Saba could see the familiar green of his eyes through the eye slits of the mask. The disdain, too, was unfortunately familiar. “I’m well aware.”

The moment elongated. Saba stared at the sentinel, who stared back at him. And panic gave way to a more primordial type of fear—something fetid in Saba’s gut, something old. An involuntary shiver rushed up Saba’s spine.

The first two sentinels lingered momentarily then stepped back, giving space for the other sentinel to fill. On their way out, the three sentinels exchanged a few words.

To whatever was said, Maksid gave a nod of approval.

Saba intently watched the others leave, and when the door opened, he imagined his soul slipping out and escaping. The faint sliver of light was so beautiful Saba felt drunk from seeing it, as if he had been shrouded in shadow his whole life and was now seeing the molten beauty of daylight for the first time.

Then the door slammed closed.

Blinking in the dark, Saba came back to himself and his anger. He spit blood onto the floor and sneered up at the remaining sentinel.

“What?” Saba hissed.

The sentinel sighed deeply, as if this whole thing was just a matter of great inconvenience, and not—

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

But the other sentinel had already reminded him of the truth: hundreds were dead because of the mechanism he’d built.

Saba raised his chin, forcing these thoughts to the back of his mind. “More ashamed than ever to have me as your brother?”

That had the desired effect. Maksid flinched violently, like Saba had knifed him in the gut. He turned back to Saba slowly, practically vibrating with rage, because beneath that mask, beneath all the trappings of his paragon status, Maksid shared the same heritage as Saba.

Of course, he shared more than that. He had the same pink-tinged skin, brown freckles, and shock of auburn hair. Maksid had managed to glean more height from their late father, but Saba still came up to his chin. They shared the same build—an excess of lank, as if every limb had been stretched and wrung out. Maksid at least could hide this ungraceful paucity beneath the heavy layers of sentinel garb. Saba, on the other hand, really couldn’t escape it; what muscle he had was thin and sinewy, laid over his gangly limbs in long stretches. Now, covered in muck, underfed, and stinking, he must have looked like a starving street mutt.

Saba had at least won out with his face. Their late mother had a fine bone structure, with prominent cheekbones and a relatively wide jaw. Those same bones sat well in Saba’s face, but they poked severely through Maksid’s with an angry bite, as if the skin had been pulled too taut.

Which was perhaps the reason his brother had been so desperate to earn that sentinel mask.

Pettiness aside, the two of them were Kerish through and through. Only Maksid had wrapped himself so well beneath his cowl he had yet to be found out. Damn familial bonds—the sentinels were more important to Maksid than Saba now.

Maksid crossed his arms. He moved closer to Saba, whose chair had been pushed flush against the stone wall. “I really can’t stand your attitude.”

“My attitude? You’re the one who can’t bear the burden of admitting you’re related to me. What is it, exactly, that makes you so ashamed anyway? Our heritage?”

“Stop it.”

“So that certainly plays a part. Or maybe you’re ashamed of what I am. Would it have been easier if I’d stayed your little sister, or were we already too far gone by that point? What about now? Do you think what’s happened has ruined our chance at reconciliation?”

Maksid slammed his hands onto the wall above Saba’s head. Saba jumped.

White dust and grime flittered down, snowing over Saba’s hair in the tense silence.

Maksid panted heavily. “For fuck’s sake, you little shit,” he spat. His voice was misshapen, warped beneath the mask. It echoed gruffly. “I’m trying to help you.”

Saba ground his teeth together. Heat pushed behind his eyes. Absolutely not. He was not going to cry. It was too late for that anyway—the damage had been done. Crying would only make his brother angrier.

Maksid shifted. He stepped away so he was no longer bearing down over Saba. In fact, he lowered himself, bringing that maelstrom expression in his eyes close to Saba’s face, who stared at the mask and his brother beyond it.

Maksid reached out to put a hand on Saba’s shoulder. It took every bit of restraint in Saba not to flinch.

“Why did you have to open the astral sea?” Maksid asked quietly.

Saba’s stomach dropped. “Why are you so sure it was me?”

“There’s no one else with your knowledge,” Maksid said, like this justified his betrayal of assumptions.

The sweetness in his voice irked Saba.

Maksid took his hand away, stood, and shrugged as if all of this was done and dusted—like Saba’s fate was sealed, his guilt carved into every part of this material plane.

“A small massacre,” Saba murmured with a disbelieving laugh. “A fun morning for Saba Vasili?”

Maksid turned around. He muttered something, but it was lost and muffled beneath the mask. Saba half expected Maksid to give up, to walk out that door—but then the sentinel whirled around.

“Listen to me. We don’t have much time, so save your act and listen. Your machine ripped—” he cut himself off, eyes rolling back and forth in his skull as he searched for a better word. “The event ripped a giant hole in Byrengrad, little brother. A lot of people died. Important people. Someone must be accountable for it.”

Important people. Saba couldn’t help but laugh at that. Important people—that’s what Maksid’s anger was about—not the hundreds caught up in the explosion but the one or two important enough for the Triad to care about.

Maksid kicked one of the chair legs, narrowly missing Saba’s shin. The force cracked it, and the world tilted as the chair fell, scraping against the stone wall. Saba swallowed a scream as Maksid grabbed him by the shirt, shouting, “Stop fucking laughing!”

Saba fell quiet. He was frozen beneath Maksid’s gaze, shaking from the shock of the fall and the anger.

Maksid’s breath echoed dully behind the mask. He glanced back at the door and positioned Saba and the remains of the chair against the wall for balance. Then he dropped into a squat. “Kers died. A lot of them lived in Loefka Ward.”

“I know.”

“A judge too.”

Saba inhaled. Shit.

Maksid gave the final blow with, “And a Rezwyn ambassador.”

Saba’s stomach dropped out of him. Fear in its purest form crept into his throat and curled up there in a big lump. Maksid met his eyes, and Saba knew they both felt it. They had both borne the weight of Rezwyn overreach, the legacy of imperialism that had destroyed their native country.

Saba hated the way his voice shook when he asked, “According to protocol, their emperor will send an official from Doskor to demand compensation from Zvensia, then?”

Maksid nodded. “He’s already here.”

An official. A Rezwyn agent. A little rat bastard come to punish Saba for this after what the Rezwyns did to his homeland of Kerinsk? After what they did to so many countries and peoples and cultures?

How dare the Rezwyn Empire have the gall to step in and berate him for any kind of violence?

But fear was in him too.

Maksid sensed Saba’s thoughts. He looked down at him pointedly. “Sabina. Please, don’t antagonize this man.”

Sabina? No. Fuck that.

All the fear in Saba gave way to anger. He spat, “Oh, don’t worry, Maksid, I’ll be on my best behavior. There’s nothing I love more than righteous invaders coming to admonish a victim of their own ceaseless fucking violence and murder. Really. Empire bastards. Hundreds dead are a drop in the pond for the fucking Rezwyns.”

Maksid ground his teeth and ignored most of what Saba said. “New Rezwyn emperor, new everything. And don’t call me Maksid. At least not in front of people. It’s Justice Sentinel.”

“New emperor, same history. And I’ll call you that fucking mouthful when you use my name correctly.”

Maksid at least had the decency to look down at his hands. “Saba,” he said, enunciating slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Saba tried to loosen his jaw, but it was tense with expectation. He was hit with a vision of another life. If Kerinsk hadn’t fallen to the Rezwyns, if their mother had not died, if Saba was different, if he hadn’t changed himself so completely, then his brother would never have dared speak to him like this. Not once.

Saba looked up. “So am I.”

Maksid took a breath so large it puffed out his chest. He cocked his head. Saba watched his brother’s eyes harden through the slit. Now they matched the gnarled bronze fury of his sentinel mask perfectly.

Saba tensed as Maksid said, “So then why did you open the astral sea? How could you risk everyone’s safety to satisfy your curiosity?”

One tear betrayed Saba’s resolve. It bubbled over the edge of his eye and ran in a warm rivulet down his cheek.

How fucking dare he? How dare he?

Maksid would throw an apology out one second then accuse him of negligence the next? Was it because Saba had changed his body? Had abandoned his name and every ounce of his heritage? Because Saba was capable of growth and rebirth and change, it made him heartless?

How could his brother think he could do this?

The door opened.

Maksid backed up immediately, putting space between them. Saba squinted toward the light. A silhouette filled the doorframe: tall, broad, and sturdy. Then the two previous sentinels moved to flank this newcomer.

Even before he stepped into the room, Saba could practically smell empire on him.

He was a big man, wide and stout, fat and strong, beautiful in that eerie way most Rezwyns were with that pale skin, though his lacked the translucent quality conventional to his compatriots. His hair was blond, he had faint lines set around his eyes, and he was bearded—perhaps in his mid-thirties. Well-groomed, too, Saba noted with almost admiration, keenly feeling the knots in his own hair and the grime caked under his nails.

The Rezwyn was dressed well in fine empire cloth, muscular arms near straining at the fabric, as well as a heavy wolf-fur cloak that was altogether too warm for this country. His boots were fantastic, ankle-length and embossed. He also carried a cane, on which he leaned heavily to stand.

The cane caught Saba’s eye because it was simple in design but so obviously finely made. The wood near the handle had been carved into sharp angles, but the rest of it was smooth and rounded, polished to a shine. Saba only caught a glimpse of the handle as the man approached, but he saw the head of it was carved to resemble a hare. Not a rabbit, not that soft being. A hare. A canny and feral creature that one was. What an odd choice.

“Can you understand Doskorian?” Maksid—Justice Sentinel—asked Saba.

He knew damn well Saba could, of course, but he wasn’t meant to know Saba personally at all.

You can too, Saba wanted to say. You learned from the same tutors.

But disgracing Maksid wouldn’t earn him back as an ally—and Saba found himself willing to lie for his brother.

“Of course.” Saba grinned, putting that cheerful smile on for his audience.

“Good,” Maksid said curtly before nodding back to the official. “He doesn’t speak Zvensian.”

Under his breath Saba whispered, “Of course not.”

The other sentinels—Saba didn’t know their names—brought a chair in for the newcomer. The Rezwyn ripped off his cloak before landing heavily in his seat. The chair shook a little. Without the cloak to conceal him, his width and strength were obvious.

Then, in heavily accented Zvensian, the newcomer said to Maksid, “Well, you must have poor intel.”

The Queendom of Kerinsk had once sat in the north at the border that used to mark the boundary between the Rezwyn Empire and Zvensia. It had been a relatively small country with a language not at all dissimilar to Zvensian. Kerish had the same lilt and cadence. Most of the grammar and the structure was the same.

But there were very few Rezwyns who knew either language unless they’d had cause to be there.

Saba stopped breathing. His eyes darted up to his brother’s—he needed to see his brother, Maksid, not the sentinel. He needed the comfort of another Ker to make this horror palatable. But Maksid didn’t offer his gaze. Maksid left Saba to drown.

Saba’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You served,” he said. Primal horror snuffed all calm from Saba’s stomach. “You were a soldier in Kerinsk.”

The Rezwyn slapped his leg. And then, to add insult to injury, he said in Kerish, “Along with many, many others.”

The Rezwyn considered Saba carefully. Something about his stare made Saba shiver.

Everyone else but the two of them were in masks. Everyone else had the privilege of having their expressions safely hidden away. So this was a forced vulnerability. Everyone looked at Saba; he was cornered. He used to be smarter than this, more cautious. He never would have let himself end up alone with a Rezwyn and three sentinels who were all looking at him like he was prey.

The Rezwyn breathed deeply. He had such ease about him, such surety in his body, it was almost mesmerizing to watch. With a near dismissive gaze, he glanced at the sentinels and motioned for them to leave.

“Go on,” he said in Zvensian. “He’s in no position to harm me.”

So you think, Saba wanted to shout. Come near me and I’ll bite.

Maksid glanced down at Saba. His brother knew him too well. Worry laced his words. “Sir, I must insist.”

“Well, congratulations, Sir Paragon, you have insisted. You may go.”

Saba snorted despite himself. Guts and attitude on a Rezwyn. Funny—especially when Maksid froze. He lingered a little too long with his eyes on Saba. But everyone else retreated, and after an awkward beat, Saba showed Maksid all his teeth, like he really had gone insane.

Maksid stared back and softly shut the door behind him.

And then it was just the two of them.

Saba’s eyes had to readjust to the dark. He blinked and took stock. Maksid had left his half-broken chair propped against the back stone wall of the cell. There was nothing else save for a couple of torches glowing in evenly spaced sconces around the wall. Distantly Saba was aware someone had removed his shit bucket at some point since the last time he’d used it—likely for the Rezwyn’s benefit. So really, it truly was just the two of them, and there was nothing else in this cell to focus on but each other.

The Rezwyn sighed, that intense exhale, and Saba found himself inhaling in response. He was intimidating. Firstly, for his size, which was immense next to Saba’s stringy form. But also for that other intangible quality, something like confidence and ease and self-surety. Saba wasn’t even sure he could correctly identify it, but he felt it and wished he had it too.

“My name is Luan Zek,” the Rezwyn said. He spoke with great depth, as if his voice had been comprised of that of three other men stitched together seamlessly and stripped of discordant tones. It had a weight to it, a captivating lilt. “Official title is Special Ambassador to Zvensia for the Rezwyn Empire.”

Saba cleared his throat. He would have been surprised if Zek didn’t know who he was already. But this name, this title, belonged to him, and he would own it every chance he got. Even now.

“Saba Vasili. Scholar and wrongfully accused mass murderer.”

Zek didn’t immediately reply, and Saba suddenly disliked the silence. He sat up straighter against the wall, careful not to upend the broken chair. “Sending you all the way here . . . what wealthy Rezwyn bastard died in the accident?”

Without missing a beat, Zek replied, “The Lord of Veprak.”

Saba felt all the blood drain from his face. “Oh.”

Zek inhaled slowly and leaned forward. The wooden legs of his chair creaked, sounding to Saba like the cawing of crows drawn out and distended.

Zek made sure they were looking at one another before he spoke. “I am here to understand who or what is responsible for the death of Krezmir Doric, Lord of Veprak. My hosts, the Triad of Byrengrad City, on behalf of Zvensia’s Grand Council, have agreed to allow this investigation. The perpetrator will be taken to Doskor to stand trial. The emperor demands compensation for the loss of his countryman.”

His countryman? One man lost? The sheer fucking nerve—but what else should one expect from a Rezwyn? Rage blinded Saba. He spat out, “And what of my countrymen?”

They came unbidden then, the shades of Kerinsk, in a mass haunting—not just the ones who died in the recent explosion, but the ones who were lost to the war. And here Saba sat in a cell, one of the last to survive. That alone was enough to carry the weight of legacy, the memory of a lost country. But he had so much more on his shoulders. Too much history. Too much expectation.

Zek could have slapped him for speaking like that. Shit, he could have walloped Saba with his cane without even standing up. No one would have questioned it—the walls were too thick, and what was one more bruise or laceration on a body as battered as Saba’s? But he didn’t. It was a kindness Saba shouldn’t have latched on to. He knew better than to assign layers of meaning to action or inaction; yet he almost couldn’t help it.

Especially when Zek did him the service of moving past the jab entirely, without even a verbal counterattack.

“They tell me your machine caused a lot of damage,” Zek said.

Saba glanced away. “Have you seen it yet?”

“No,” said Zek. “But I’ve been promised a tour.”

Saba met Zek’s gaze again. “I haven’t seen it either.”

Zek didn’t bother to hide his confusion which Saba found interesting. Either Zek had assumed Saba had been there, or he’d been told he had—neither of which were true. Saba had been in this cell for a full week before he even knew his charge. Since then, he’d only been given the sketchiest account of the extent of the damage.

“That surprises you, does it?” Saba asked. “I told you, I’ve been wrongfully accused.”

Zek’s face returned to that sedated expression. “You’re pleading innocent, then?”

I am innocent, Saba wanted to reiterate. I haven’t done anything.

But the longer he was kept here, the less he believed it. Still he managed to say, “Yes.”

In true Rezwyn fashion Zek made his face completely impassive. What little emotion he had shown Saba already was very likely put on. The display of true emotions, Saba recalled from his studies, was considered crass amongst the Rezwyns; Saba knew he would be quickly disarmed if he took everything Zek did and said at face value. But he was a scholar, for fuck’s sake—a smart man.

If Zek was milking him for information, Saba could do the same thing back.

“They’ve told me the ground collapsed in the ward,” Saba said, voice calm. “Not quite a sinkhole but a cavity. This was after the machine was activated, of course, so even if only a hundred or so died in that, plenty more had to fall to their deaths. They say it’s devastating, especially for the Kerish refugees who lived there. So maybe I ought to lead that tour. Show you the devastation my infernal machine has wrought amongst the remains of my people.”

Self-abasement was rarely attractive, but Saba couldn’t help it. He deserved it, he felt, even if he had not caused the incident directly. A great number of refugees from Kerinsk, a country now assimilated into the west of the Rezwyn Empire, had lived in the ward that had been destroyed. His brother’s words rattled in his skull over and over until they became his own, his own voice reminding him there was no one else. No one else had the knowledge to build the machine that had gone haywire, causing sudden devastation as it succeeded in opening a gateway to the astral sea.

But that was not entirely true. Two others knew enough about the device—Mossinne and Khajro, the scholar mechanics who had helped him build it. He didn’t know Khajro well, but he knew Moss, and she was too damn sweet for her own good. Saba would not subject her to shitting in buckets; he vowed it right then. He would keep her name from his mouth for as long as it took to make sure she was safe.

In the weeks he’d been in prison he hadn’t heard mention of either of them. This either meant they were dead or downplaying their knowledge, laying low.

Good.

Saba didn’t need company to rot with.

Zek leaned back and folded his arms. His expression was strange. Where the sentinels—even Maksid—couldn’t quite hide their disdain of him, Zek watched Saba carefully. Part of it, Saba was sure, was wariness. Saba had been accused of negligence and mass murder, of course, so that felt only natural. But there was a layered nature to Zek’s expression, and Saba couldn’t tell what the rest of the notes were. The longer Zek looked, the madder it drove him. Confusion? Interest? Disgust?

“You are not what I expected,” Zek murmured finally. His lip quirked at the side, pressing up around the blond-brown beard. It might have been a sincere look, but Saba had already promised himself not to take Zek at face value.

He strained forward against his bonds. “Why’s that? Too pretty to have committed negligent homicide?”

“Eh,” Zek said, looking Saba up and down. “So-so.”

Saba snorted, then chided himself for it. Stupid. Is that all it took to make Saba Vasili relax? One joke?

Zek said, “I’ve been told all this happened because you used illegal magic to tamper with forces beyond your station.”

Saba sighed. “I’m guessing the paragons told you that.”

“Judge Hirunz, actually.”

Saba rolled his eyes so hard he could feel his skull straining. What a joke. “Whatever he says, I’m no witch. I have no magic in me. I’m just a scholar.”

Zek cocked his head to the side. “And do you specialize in machinery or in the astrok-mer or both?”

Astrok-mer was the Rezwyn term for the astral sea. And if Zek was aware of Saba’s specialization, then Saba had to wonder if his scholarly pursuits were of interest to the empire beyond the death of the Lord Doric.

For the Rezwyns, the astral sea was a rather sacred plane of being. Most of their gods resided there. For Saba, it was a source of untapped power with limitless potential. But since the Rezwyns let their so-called gods decide wars for them, Saba wouldn’t put it past Emperor Dziove to conclude Saba’s—or anyone’s—research into the astral sea a threat to the empire.

Saba also did not like Zek bringing up the idea of a mechanic being involved.

He narrowed his eyes at Zek. “A scholar of the astral sea, yes,” he began. “I study its nature. Its impact on this world. Its mythology. Relevant phenomena. For example, the magical ichor found in Uslethian gedroks and Rezwyn cajudsan flowers—does it originate in the astral sea, or is it a natural substance that merely resonates with the astral sea? That kind of thing.”

Zek simply craned forward again, squinting at Saba as if trying to read him. “Tell me more.”

Saba sighed and made some motion that would have been a shrug if his arms weren’t so roughly locked behind him.

“I theorize that the astral sea is a state of pure possibility that has manifested a consciousness. But is that the result of being worshiped by the Rezwyns as the home of the god Suoduny? In effect did the god begin to exist because we humans needed a god to implore? Because the astrok-mer is not everywhere in the world; it exists mostly over the original Rezwyn territories. Obviously it reaches as far as Usleth, but if it ever opened before—and I believe it must have—” he cut himself off as he saw Zek’s expression begin to glaze over.

One question, and you let yourself run wild.

Saba clicked his tongue and smiled brightly at Zek. “Ah, you got me rambling. Forgive me, Sir Rezwyn.”

“Your thoughts on this matter are fascinating,” Zek remarked. “Perhaps once this matter is settled, I can read some of your work.”

Saba narrowed his eyes and smiled. Anything he’d ever written had most likely been burned by Judge Hirunz by now, and in truth, he doubted the ambassador gave a single shit.

“Thank you, but I’ll honestly be surprised if I survive another night in this place,” Saba said as charmingly as he could.

Zek understood the implication immediately. He glanced toward the door. “Lot of accidents in a place like this?”

Saba bit his lip. “Yes. A lot of people are angry with me.”

Zek nodded. Then he returned his gaze to Saba. “I’m just here to find out what happened to Lord Doric, Saba Vasili. If I discover that you are responsible for his death, you’ll be extradited to Doskor for punishment.”

And without another word, Luan Zek stood. A rumble sounded in his chest, Zek grunting as he shook out some cramp in his leg, and Saba was forced to crane his neck to look up at him. At the sheer fucking size of him. Saba flushed.

Extradited to Doskor. Saba wouldn’t last. They’d kill him—they’d torture him first, then they’d put his head on a pike.

“Can you do that—just take me away?” Saba asked and cringed at the way his voice quivered.

Zek turned without answer and headed for the door. No, no—Zek already thought he was guilty. Saba couldn’t let him walk away. He threw himself against his restraints until the cuffs pressed horribly into the open wet wounds around his wrists. It stung, but it didn’t matter.

“Hey! I asked you a question!”

Zek spun back around. “Yes, I can do that. Emperor Dziove is determined to find out what happened, and Judge Hirunz is happy to oblige him. Now please behave, or I’ll have to restrain you further.”

Saba grinned and pushed forward again. He must have looked mad, straining at the bit. Fuck it. Good behavior had gotten him nowhere but a dank jail cell.

“Oh, I’ll be such a good boy for you, Sir Zek,” he spat. “And if not, you can put a leash on me. Walk me into Doskor like a dog—I’m sure the emperor would love to see a Ker on their knees.”

Zek had the gall to look amused. “What a strange man you are,” he said, voice lilting.

Then he raised that red-eyed hare to the door and knocked twice to be let out. The door opened. Zek looked back at Saba, just the once, before leaving him in the dark.

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Lambda Award winning author Nicole Kimberling is dishing up a three-course meal of mystery, murder, and romance in her new book Mystery on the Menu. A collection of three delectable culinary cozy mysteries, Mystery on the Menu is sure to satisfy the appetites of readers. Centered around Chef Drew Allison who, with the help hunky deputy “Big Mac” Mackenzie, must put his amateur sleuth skills to the test to solve a murder in which he’s the prime suspect, and avoid being cooked in the process, Mystery on the Menu is a feast for mystery fans. Mystery on the Menu will be available on May 23 at the Blind Eye Books website and in bookstores.

Too hungry to wait? As an appetizer, we’ve sat down with Nicole to find out more in an exclusive interview.

I know you worked for a long time in the food industry. Do you think that has influenced you as a writer?

Absolutely. My time in the restaurant industry instilled in me a sense of urgency and diligence that I don’t think I would have acquired if I’d only worked with books. But the biggest thing that I got from restaurant kitchens was a sense of teamwork and the importance of good morale—like keeping up morale is key to maintaining your stamina and endurance—which you need a lot of in order to finish a novel-length work.

I was really happy to write an amateur sleuth who is a chef as well because chefs, and restaurant kitchen staff in general, are so much more proactive and ingenious than people who are not in the industry imagine. They are the kind of people who are game for anything and who will try to solve any problems themselves, up to and including homicide. I wanted to show that sense of agency when I created Chef Drew Allison.

Mystery on the Menu is set in a small Pacific Northwest Island town, what drew you to this setting?

Mysteries are all about controlling tension and creating a sense of pressure and an island provides a naturally closed environment, which, heightens the level of stress on everything within it. Islands are—kind of societal microcosms. And the islands in the Puget Sound are mostly on this tiny tectonic plate that’s sandwiched between the North American and Pacific plates which means that they’re separate even on a geological level.

I don’t go into that in the book of course, because none of the characters are geologists or anything, but that knowledge did inform the way that I wrote about the characters and the place. The PNW also has a lot of active volcanoes that seem peaceful but still do occasionally erupt and cause carnage which I thought was an apt metaphor for murder in a small town.

How did winning a Lambda Award affect your writing and career as a writer?

Mainly by giving me a huge confidence boost. It’s nice to win awards. It means other writers like your writing, which feels good.

Do you think living in the PNW has influenced you as a writer, and if so, how?

Yes, I think so. The PNW is a temperate rainforest which, in a nutshell, means that it rains a lot and nature is everywhere. It doesn’t matter where you are, some plant or animal will find a way to be there with you. Like if you leave your broken car sitting in one place too long, it will be subsumed by foliage. Then that foliage will be eaten by a random roaming urban deer. Everything becomes intertwined. It’s not uncommon to see eagles and falcons just chilling by the interstate, or run into a whole pack of raccoons while taking out the garbage. All you have to do to see sea life is walk to the end of any dock and just look down into the water. It’s impossible to ignore nature or to separate yourself from it here even if, like me, you mainly see it from afar or through triple-paned glass.

A lot of writing is about taking thoughts and experiences that have no inherent narrative and arranging them so that they make some kind of sense and can be communicated to other people. When you’re just starting out writing, it can be easy to fall into the trap of writing because you want to be understood by others, or wanting to have your thoughts and experiences validated by others, rather than writing in order to help others understand your thoughts and to help them understand, through your fiction, that their own experiences are valid. It’s a subtle but important difference.

The pervasive presence of nature here helped me understand that there are things both beautiful and terrible that just cannot be controlled, only adapted to. And that helped me understand readers much better than I did before. A writer can’t control how a reader responds to their work or what comments they may or may not make about it any more than a gardener can control what seeds blow into their flower beds. But, like a gardener can choose what volunteer plants they allow to grow, a writer can choose which reader feedback to focus on.

What inspires you to write?

To be honest, the idea that a reader can enter a story that I made and relax and have a little fun in another world is what makes me want to take the time to write down sentences. That’s the basic idea.

I’m the kind of person who laughs really easily . . . and sometimes really inappropriately. I find many commonplace occurrences in life absolutely hilarious and I do my best to carry that feeling into the stories I write. I try to bring readers more laughter than tears.

In terms of what inspires the content of those stories—like what I want to write a story about—I always write about the same thing, which is the interconnectedness of people. Mysteries are a great format for exploring very complicated relationships between people that include, their environment, their money, their goals and aspirations and, always, their great loves whether those feelings of love are toward another person, a place, a time or even something random, like pickles.

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Hello Blind Eye Books Faithful, I’m pleased to announce we’re wrapping up production on our fall title, Reforged by debut author Seth Haddon. Lots and lots of people have been waiting for this one so I’m pleased to offer you a sneak peek at our heroes Paladin Balen and the newly crowned King Zavrius. If you like it you can preorder directly from our site or from your favorite local or online bookstore.

Here’s what the author has to say about Reforged, “I wanted to create a story with love at its heart. Reforged is the novel I wish I had growing up, where both masculine and flamboyant men are the heroes, and the romantic bond they share is crucial to their victory. Inspired by danmei and D&D, I wanted to show there is real heart in fantasy stories. “

Author Seth Haddon can be found on TikTok @authorsethhaddon and on Twitter @sethhaddon

Now, without further ado:

Chapter OneThe moon was full and already at its zenith.

He was late.

Paladin Balen cursed under his breath. The conspicuous lack of music made his stomach twist. King Zavrius should have been playing that damned lute-harp by now. Running in full armor through a forest at night, Balen would be lucky if he didn’t catch his foot on a root, fall, and break his neck. That would be his luck, dying, stupidly, just before he claimed the most prestigious role in Cres Stros. He needed to focus on the uneven path before him. But how could he?

King Zavrius, and everyone else, was waiting.

Balen’s foot slipped in the mulch. He staggered forward in the dark, only righting himself by some miracle. He resolved to push the king from his mind. Always easier in theory. He failed.

Focus. You show up smeared in mud, and Zavrius will be offended.

And Zavrius knew how to hold a grudge.

The winding path straightened. It became a sudden arrow-sharp road cutting through an archway of evergreen trees. The path was lit by torches, their bare flames licking at the balmy air. Balen took a breath and slowed.

The primordial majesty of the Gedrok’s Glade opened before him. A massive, ancient and long-dead creature lay slumped in a semicircle at the perimeter of the clearing, forming the northern barrier. These massive beings had been named gedrok after the ancient king who had first harnessed their magical properties. This gedrok possessed a strange, composite quality. The top half resembled a giant, bulky panther, but its lower half tapered away into a lean serpent tail. Its head looked like an earless cat’s skull with a fine layer of skin laid over the bone. The rounded head sat tall; at four men high, the creature’s glazed, sunken eye could watch the whole glade. Skin covered in off-white and aquamarine scales enfolded long, blood-red tendons and sheathed near-transparent bones. It smelled faintly of brine and oakmoss. Parts of it had been carved away over the years, to create both magical instruments and armor, including Balen’s own. Now the creature’s rib cage looked brittle and weak. Fat, wild vines wove through places where harvesting the skin had exposed the ribs. The light glinted along Balen’s gedrokbone armor as he passed. Flickers of prismatic color split through the darkness.

Balen raised his head proudly to the ancient creature. This was the source of his power. He couldn’t help but feel a kinship with it.

On a wooden dais beneath the gedrok’s open rib cage, King Zavrius waited.

King Zavrius, fifth heir to the Dued Vuuthrik Dynasty, was a languid vision in the moonlight. He sat sprawled back in a carved wooden throne, tall, lean body stretched out with one leg softly bouncing. At twenty-two, Zavrius somehow managed to have the demeanor of a child and an old man at once. The moonlight turned the shadows on his tawny skin the color of wine. His deep-brown hair had been pulled up away from his face, so Balen had a moment to clock the king’s expression. Slight knot in his brow, quirk to his lip. He was making a show of inspecting his fingernails. Balen had known Zavrius for years, and still couldn’t be sure what sort of mood he was in.

Not a single soul in the dynasty had ever expected Zavrius to be king, and the tension of their uncertainty about him filled the night air.

Zavrius sat alone on the dais, facing rows and rows of seated nobility and other dignitaries. All of them were dressed in exquisite regalia, but many avoided including the deep mauves and purples Zavrius favored.

As Balen stepped forward into the clearing, a hundred faces turned to glare at him. The nobility wasn’t used to waiting. The Paladin grimaced, raising his chin high as he walked. He raked over painted faces and bored expressions, looking for nobles he recognized, eyes hovering on those he didn’t.

He spotted three delegates from the Rezwyn Empire in the front and felt his hand twitch instinctively toward his sword. Balen had to suppress a sneer. Two pale men sat either side of a bearlike woman. The men were dressed in cream-colored ceremonial robes. The loose garments fell like sacks over their bodies, but Balen could tell they were brawny beneath them. Fringed head covers obscured their richly beaded hair and faces. Balen suspected these two were priests. Pulled by the severity of the central figure, Balen noted her oddly pale skin and thick, black hair before his eyes caught on the sash that signified her as the Rezwyn ambassador. Balen spotted the strange symbol of the empire’s war god emblazoned on her cuirass—the twisted, open maw of a human-boar crossbreed roaring at the sky. It was provocative, but not as provocative as their faces; all of them sported different derivations of the wartime paint the Rezwyns wore on the field. For a group of diplomats, it was jarring. But that was the empire for you. And with how tense things were now, it was to be expected.

At the foot of the dais, between the nobles and the king, stood a line of Balen’s fellow Paladins. The newest recruits stood stiffly at the center, strikingly unarmored, as they had yet to be confirmed into the order. Balen’s peers were positioned alongside them. His senior, Duart, gave him a wink as he went by, but Balen knew not many others enjoyed losing this honor to him. The hard-set jaw of Alick, another senior, made Balen feel his youth like a stone in his belly. Alick’s armor was exquisite. Heavy plate crafted from anything else looked bulky, but the gedrok’s body made hulking pauldrons and greaves appear sleek and fitted.

Once Balen passed through the line of his fellow Paladins, he could ignore his king no longer.

Zavrius sat with his lute-harp over his lap, watching Balen’s every move. It was a stunning, magical instrument. Made from gedrokbone with tendon string, its bowled back was bone white and pearlescent. Streaks of red shot through the ribs like veins.

“Lovely of you to join us.” Zavrius pitched his voice just loud enough to reach a few of Balen’s Paladin brethren. Balen bristled at that.

Of course. Zavrius would make him a fool just for a laugh. But since he’d managed to arrive late for the event he’d dreamed of for years, Balen thought maybe he deserved it.

When he took his place at Zavrius’s right hand, the anger turned to nerves.

“I’ll make this up to you,” Balen said.

Voice lower now, a private whisper from Zavrius: “Does that mean you’ve had a change of heart?”

Balen’s breath stopped short. He glanced over at Zavrius, who was now fixing him with a cold stare. His fidgeting had stopped. The torchlight flickered around them, making Zavrius’s eyes glint gold. In them, Balen saw himself with his heart in his throat at seventeen, leaning in for a kiss—a year Zavrius’s senior, and three times the bumbling mess he still found himself to be. He blanched. Balen opened his mouth but found no words.

Zavrius raised a dismissive hand, his frown dissolving into a satisfied smirk as his leg resumed its playful bounce.

“Don’t make promises you know you won’t keep,” Zavrius whispered.

Zavrius always managed to throw him off. Balen bristled, momentarily angry at how easily Zavrius got to him. Getting himself involved with the king he was sworn to protect—any half-brained dolt could tell how resuming their old love affair would end.

“Shall I begin?” Zavrius asked, though he didn’t wait for anyone to answer.

There was an entire retinue of court musicians that could’ve opened this ceremony, but the king had insisted it be him alone. Zavrius had said something about the dull, sluggish way they performed—a long rant. Balen suspected the truth was much simpler. Zavrius loved to play. When Sirellius had been king, he rarely got the chance.

Now, he could perform.

The first lilting notes of a lute-harp glided through the glade. Balen, who knew little about music, knew at least this much: Zavrius played beautifully. There was none of the timidness he’d heard from other musicians, where the first notes lurch out of instruments and crawl their way forward. Zavrius’s music rose. Balen took in a slow breath and closed his eyes.

At first, Balen thought he’d never heard this song before; that all this was Zavrius gloating, showing off a new composition. But then Zavrius peeled back on the flourish and the melody slipped through. Balen’s mouth twitched with a smile. He heard the rhythmic beat of the dynastic anthem, a consistent, marchlike sound that had his new authority pounded into every note. Then, when Zavrius added some musical flourishes, he heard the influence of Zavrius’s late mother, Arasne, in the notes. It wasn’t that the music was sweet or gentle. Zavrius had stitched one of Arasne’s arcane arrangements to the anthem. And since this lute-harp belonged to the late queen, the Paladin felt certain there was some arcane power behind Zavrius’s playing now. How else could he explain the wash of calmness and awe that had come over him? A similar, comforted expression appeared on the faces of the nobility. Everyone watched with a shared awe as Zavrius’s music urged flame from the torches to break free and float around him. Wisps of fire were shaped into arcane fireflies that fluttered up and illuminated the gedrok’s translucent bones.

The sound swelled, swaying between the gedrok’s ribs, a mournful elegy, yet triumphant in places. Zavrius was the fifth heir, newly appointed, playing in the miasma following the deaths of the whole royal line. All of that and somehow the music never sounded morose. Always, somehow, slightly reserved.

It took seconds for Balen to register that Zavrius had finished playing. The fireflies flickered out one by one. The music lingered in the glade like it was clutching to life, and the spell behind it faded slowly. Balen struggled to tell when it had vanished completely, which said much about Zavrius’s power. He wondered if that should frighten him. But then Balen looked over at the king, saw him tilt his head with a satisfied sigh, and found him . . . beautiful.

Compulsively beautiful. Compelling in a way that being drawn to him was necessary and stopped feeling like it was somehow Balen’s choice. This—Zavrius—wasn’t something he missed, he told himself. Not the playful snark, nor the private smiles. He had trained too hard for too long to miss someone like him.

“So?” Zavrius whispered.

The Paladin looked down, suddenly interested in his sabatons. Hundreds of eyes were on them. “You know you always play well.”

“Sure,” Zavrius said, placing the lute-harp delicately on the stage. “But I like to hear you say it.”

Zavrius stood and stepped forward, body swaying like a dancer’s, and as he opened his arms the glade filled with applause. Balen was vaguely aware that since his ascension, Zavrius’s formal appearances as king had been sparse. After the coronation, he’d only made the briefest appearance at the tournament that had won Balen the honor of becoming Prime Paladin. And then . . . nothing. Balen wondered if the nobility took offense to that, or if they liked the mystery. The Paladin looked out into the dark, trying to parse the expressions of their softly lit convocation. Then one man stepped from the line of Paladins and approached the dais—head of the Gifted Paladins, Balen’s direct master, Lestr.

Zavrius nodded and the portly man stepped up, walking in a self-assured way that evoked the late Queen Arasne’s grace. He looked every inch her brother. Since he was cut off from the royal line by default, Lestr had devoted his energies to making the Paladin order essential.

He stopped before Zavrius, a flat smile on his thin lips.

“Well.” Lestr pitched his voice as loud as he could manage. He gestured with one hand toward Zavrius, who, upon realizing this would be the extent of the praise his uncle would offer him, opened his arms to another smattering of applause from the nobility. Zavrius spun on his heels to face Balen, rolling his eyes as he returned to his throne.

“Not even a smile,” Zavrius said, sounding pressed. “Your master is impossible to entertain.”

Balen suppressed a snort.

“I welcome you all,” Lestr began, taking center stage. He cleared his throat, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. At heart, Lestr was a soldier. His speeches never involved much beyond clipped praise and urging the junior Paladins to be glad that they could hold their own in training. At Lestr’s signal, four more Paladins began a procession toward the dais, carrying an intricate wooden chest between them.

Lestr continued. “When my sister, our late Queen Arasne, accepted her Prime, it was on the back of her husband’s murder at the hands of the Rezwyn Empire.”

Bold words. Bold tone to be setting.

Balen glanced sideways at Zavrius. The king shook his head imperceptibly, though Balen caught a twitch at the mention of his mother’s name. In the periphery of his vision, the Paladin noted the Rezwyn delegates shifting in affronted discomfort.

But that was Lestr through and through—not a warmonger, not like his brother-in-law, King Sirellius, or most of the royal children, yet angry. Driven. And if the rumors Balen had been hearing were true, Lestr was smart to invoke the name of their dynasty’s enemy—even if it upset all attempts at diplomacy. With so much uncertainty around Zavrius, Lestr was angling to rally the aristocracy. What better way than uniting them against a common enemy?

Zavrius clearly felt otherwise. Through a tight smile he sang, “What is your master doing?”

“Give him a chance.”

“There are voices in both the dynasty and the empire who call for war between our nations,” Lestr said, and Zavrius swore.

Balen steadied himself with a deep breath, suddenly aware of how on edge the nobility was. How divided. He glanced toward his fellow Paladins and wondered, if it came down to it, who would stand where. By the nature of their order, there should have been no doubt about their support of the new king. But such things were easy to promise when the battle wasn’t happening.

In the weeks since his coronation, Zavrius had been dubbed everything from listless to uncaring. Balen had had those thoughts himself, had been having them for years. The Paladins were made for glory. He had to remind himself that war wasn’t what he wanted. Not when they were weak. He looked once more to the Rezwyn ambassador, a clear paragon of the empire’s religious zealotry. The Rezwyns were geared for expansion; the Dued Vuuthriks had prioritized defense. There was no doubt the Rezwyn Empire would crush them.

“It has been a . . . difficult few months. Expectations have, uh . . .” Lestr sighed, clearly struggling to speak around the truth. “Expectations have shifted. The tragedy that befell our great royal line has shocked us. But we still have our king, our dynasty’s future.”

In the low light, Balen saw many of the assembled nobles turn to whisper to one another.

Lestr pressed on with an awkward cough. He spoke of the Gifted Paladins and their role in protecting the king, briefly thanked the Rezwyn diplomats for their attendance. He then called upon the seven new Paladins to accept their pledges. When he was done, he gestured for the four Paladins who stood by the chest to come forward.

Zavrius’ usual catlike smile reemerged on his face as he rose to his feet. “That’s our cue as well, I believe.”

Balen felt like he was either coming out of, or going into, a great delirium. He flexed his bare hands, palms clammy as he stood face-to-face with Zavrius. When they’d been together as boys, Zavrius had been taller than him. Now the situation was reversed; the new king had to look slightly upward to meet the Paladin’s eyes.

Zavrius turned to face him. Balen could have sworn he winked as he said, “On your knees, then.”

Balen flashed him a look, frowning at his tone, but he lowered himself to his knees and offered up his bare hands. Zavrius reached for them without hesitation, as if this wasn’t the most intimate they’d been in years. Balen exhaled and looked away.

The new king’s hands were soft but his fingertips were calloused, as much a mark of his training as Balen’s were. They waited as the handlers bumbled around them, placing the chest beside them. Zavrius thumbed at a callous on Balen’s forefinger, this strange back and forth that made his mind lurch, but whatever look was on the Paladin’s face stopped the motion.

“Balen of the Gifted Paladins,” Lestr began. With his name invoked, Balen tried to straighten his spine. “Do you swear to uphold your duty, to protect the king and defend the dynasty even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” Balen said, without really hearing the words. Something swelled in him, made his heart creak and stretch. Then suddenly it was racing, pumping dreamlike ecstasy through him. This was the culmination of his life. This had been brewing since his childhood, since he’d sat on his father’s shoulders blinking back the sun. He must have looked elated or . . . exalted. Zavrius squeezed his hand. “I do,” he said again, forcefully, this time hearing the words for their true meaning.

“King Zavrius of the Dued Vuuthrik Dynasty, Protector of Cres Stros, do you accept Balen of the Gifted Paladins to be your Prime?”

Zavrius’s eyes glinted. “Without question.”

“Then it is so.” Lestr reached down and opened the chest. The latches sprang up with a loud pop.

Zavrius released Balen’s hands slowly, then from the chest, he withdrew a set of gauntlets.

The Paladin’s hands twitched involuntarily, betraying his obvious eagerness. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the same hungry look reflected in his fellow Paladins. They’d all been trained in the same way. Using ichor harvested from the gedroks, Paladins could generate arcane power that they could channel through their weapons. It gave them an edge: more power in a swing, more bite when a blow landed. But if they attempted to use the ichor unprotected, all that magic would burn right through them, hence the development of the Paladins’ trademark armor, each piece of which had to be crafted individually from the bones of the gedroks.

Among all armor, these gauntlets were special in that they served as both pieces of armor and weapons.

Unique to the Prime, they were a symbol of rank as well. In truth, none of them knew the true extent of what they could do. But Balen knew he wanted them, had always wanted them. They were beautiful, articulated, and shimmered like pearl.

And when Zavrius slipped one onto each of Balen’s hands, he noted they were warm like pearl as well. Balen made a fist, feeling each polished knuckle click and curl. Something arcane flickered at the edge of his vision, like sparks. He startled out of impulse and sat back against his calves.

Zavrius let out a deep, quiet laugh. “Won’t you show them off?”

Balen glanced up. Zavrius stooped over him, stray strands of slicked-back hair curling over his forehead.

“More your purview than mine.” Balen smiled and turned his hands over to inspect them. “I don’t think they’re meant for performance.”

“Shame.” Then, a beat later. “Not even for me?”

Balen paused and met Zavrius’s eyes. “Are you asking?”

“I wouldn’t ask,” Zavrius said slowly, “I would order.”

A retort sat on the edge of Balen’s tongue, stubborn and weighted, and refused to be spoken. A tight, indignant smile was offered up in its place. Zavrius straightened, looking disappointed.

“Go on.” Zavrius gestured to the side, an odd hardness in his eyes. “This is your moment, after all.”

Balen wasn’t quite sure what he meant until he turned to face those assembled in the glade. Some nobles stood to applaud him, which no doubt upset a few of the others. If it wasn’t for the Paladin title, he’d be no one—a pauper.

He flexed his hand again, this time feeling the arcane force unfurling inside him. Odd. Somehow strong. He pushed himself to his feet with a slight smile and walked forward. Zavrius had resumed his sprawl, lute-harp cradled in his lap. He stroked it, eyes locked on Balen with a sudden, intense interest. His left hand was balled into a fist on his thigh, knuckles white.

Nervous for him? Or something else?

Balen dragged his eyes away from Zavrius and refocused.

The gauntlets weren’t meant for performance, but they were meant to protect the king, and in this case that meant a show of power. That was what Zavrius wanted him to do, Balen realized, staring down at the expectant congregation. They were fearful. Hungry for assurances. As much as he wanted to believe these people would support Zavrius, Balen knew how many had loved his deceased brother, Theo. These were the nobility who held lands and titles across the dynasty—who had personal armies, and who could turn whole regions against the king.

And for the Rezwyns, this was something else: not a threat, but a promise of arcane strength.

Maybe all that was a stretch. He told himself he was doing this for Zavrius, but he’d craved this display for years. He was Prime Paladin. He caught a few jealous gazes from his brethren and suppressed a smile. Balen raised his arms. Dim light caught the edges of the gauntlets, sending the light spinning. Then he took a breath. His lungs opened and small pockets of arcane energy began to widen, stretch, come to life. Where previously the magic he’d had access to was always capped by the filter of his armor, Balen now felt the full reach of his arcane ability. Power rushed through his forearms, unfettered. Nerves twinged and sparked. Lightning crackled in the palms of his hands and shot out in snaking waves. A stark white light lit up the glade.

Balen caught the sight of a dozen wide-eyed people staring up at him in awe, and pride swelled in him. He took a knee and slammed a gauntlet to his chest. It sizzled with the contact, sparks glancing off his cuirass as he spoke.

“As Prime Paladin,” he said, voice reverberating through the glade, “I will defend this dynasty with my body. I will defend our king to my death. With the power in my blood, the ichor of the gedrok, no empire will fell us. The dynasty will live!”

The oath seemed to buzz through him. His heart thrummed; he meant every word.

Though the diplomats stayed silent, the rest of the convocation responded in turn with applause; a sudden coming together, a rallying under tradition: the king and his Prime.

And when Balen turned, Zavrius was wearing a splitting grin, sparkle in his eyes.

An hour later, Balen found himself backed against the gedrok’s thigh, eavesdropping.

He leaned against the gleaming scaled mass that protected the hard muscle beneath it. Warmth radiated from within. The magic was incubated in a way that made the dead thing seem alive. He had his eyes on Zavrius, who was an odd eight or ten paces away on the stage, surrounded by a variety of nobles who all vied for his very limited attention while Zavrius’s paternal aunt, Petra, glad-handed them. She was seventy-something and stout, with her thick gray hair pulled up into a beehive bun. She had the same big nose Zavrius had gotten from Sirellius, making her look as severe as Balen knew she could be, even though she was trying to appear sweet and docile to this noble horde. Over and over again, she promised that the king would hold court as soon as he returned to the palace and that he would hear their various woes, complaints and disputes at that time. Zavrius smiled, nodded and remained silent.

Balen kept an eye on them but listened to the group closest to him—his fellow Paladins.

“All I’m saying is no one knows who he is. Not in the way we knew the previous Heir Ascendant or any of his brothers or his sister. We knew Theo and Lysio—we knew Avidia better than Zavrius. And this is—I mean, this is it, isn’t it? This is the time you get up and speak to the men and women who will be defending your life, but he’s up there with that bloody harp mistaking himself for the entertainment.”

Balen shifted his gaze from Zavrius.

Another Paladin spoke. “No need to convince us. He may have been dedicated to war, but at least when Theo was Heir Ascendant he had some direction.”

“Zavrius is the king now. We shouldn’t be—” a woman hissed nervously.

“He’s not our king.” A tight silence followed.

“By the gedrok’s bones, have some sympathy, Alick,” a voice said. Balen thought it might be Duart. “What was I like at twenty-two? What am I like now? He was fifth in line. You can’t blame him for not knowing what he’s doing. No one thought—”

“It’s not good enough,” Alick said. A few others murmured their agreement. Then, as if remembering where he was, who he was, “But I’ll defend him with my life.”

“Of course.”

Balen shivered. A cool breeze cut through the warm night.

The conversation shifted to rumors after that: the Rezwyn army milling in the isthmus, seeking to seize control of the gedroks that were unique to their lands. Then came new rumors.

“There’s folk missing, too,” some newer recruit was saying, hoping to be included in the Paladin camaraderie. “Nobility. Our elites. You can be sure he won’t do a thing about that.”

People going missing, so-and-so’s fifth son or third daughter, aristocrats, trading class, monied elites. Bogus stories, Balen presumed—the Rezwyns darting over enemy lines and stealing people in the night. It’s what he expected to hear from nobility, who seemed to fear having nothing to say and believed everyone was out to get them, but now the Paladins were shifting course too.

“They’re not missing.” It was Frenyur, Balen deduced, by the gruff sound of his voice. He was older than Balen by nearly two decades and well jaded. Definitely bearing a grudge after Balen had put him on his back in the tournament. “People aren’t happy. The Dued Vuuthriks are finished after this. You know he’s . . .” Frenyur clicked his tongue. “King Zavrius won’t have a natural heir. Nothing stable about his rule. We have to be ready . . .”

Balen caught the suggestion, that subtle hitch in Frenyur’s breath as he lost his gall to admit that he’d be willing to oppose Zavrius.

Balen narrowed his eyes, feeling torn between a misguided sympathy for the Paladin’s complaints and his recently sworn oath to defend the king against any threat. Zavrius was a pain, and when you didn’t know him, he was a lazy sod with an attitude problem. He only became tolerable once you learned the language of his humor. But to betray him? To defect? These were Paladins, by the gedroks’ sake. Paladins. Protecting the king under any circumstance was in the oath they had all taken.

There was a long silence.

A voice Balen didn’t recognize said, “No.”

Balen thanked them silently for their loyalty. A few others said the same, a few others said nothing. Either way, Balen wasn’t happy about it.

Righteous anger swelled in him. A proper indignation. He pushed himself off the gedrok’s thigh to spin around.

Someone grabbed him by the arm.

Balen went stiff. He felt all that brewing anger lose its footing and slip, hurtling into his fingers. The gauntlets crackled.

“Enough of that.” It was Lestr, voice low. A full head shorter than Balen, his master stared up at him with a stern gaze. Lestr was stout and had none of his nephew’s grace, save for the steadiness in his hands. Balen’s eyes shifted to Lestr’s grip on his arm. He dragged his eyes to meet Lestr’s gaze, cheeks hot, and felt his anger buckle in the face of Lestr’s authority.

“Come on.” He tugged Balen away. “Let them have their griping and gossip. Trust me. It’ll help you with your sanity.”

Balen folded his arms against his chest. “Mm.”

Lestr blinked. “Listen. You’re only twenty-three. It shows.”

Balen bristled. Lestr put up a hand to stay him.

“Let them gossip and whine,” he said. “And when they’re ready, they’ll be what they promised. Right now, they’re just being people.”

Balen wet his lips to speak, and then said nothing. Lestr was right, but it was too hard to say as much. He made a noise instead, a soft grunt of agreement. Lestr slapped him on the back twice, grip tight on his shoulder.

“Good.” He squeezed, directing his gaze to Zavrius. “His highness is getting restless. You bundle him up to go and I’ll rally a party of Paladins to protect you.” Lestr stared at him for a moment too long, then nodded once. He turned and clanked away toward the gedrok’s tail at the edge of the clearing.

Balen looked over his shoulder. Zavrius sat strumming his lute-harp so softly the sound didn’t carry over the voices of the nobles surrounding him. He looked absolutely miserable. Balen strode up the dais and knelt beside him.

“Are you sad that I was the one to get the standing ovation?”

“Positively vexed.” Zavrius smiled slightly, eyes hooded. He glanced over to the retreating figure of Lestr, nodding toward him. “What did he do to you? Scold you for being late?”

“That’s your job now, I think.”

“Well.” Zavrius leaned forward to rest his chin in his palm. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Nothing interesting,” Balen said flatly. Zavrius raised a brow, and Balen laughed, shaking his head. “Lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time,” Zavrius repeated. “Load of crap. Your obsession with those gauntlets wouldn’t let you do something like ‘lose track of time.’”

Balen felt himself tense. He should’ve known Zavrius would see through him. Still, the lie was out there now. He tried to sound sincere. “It’s the truth.”

Zavrius’s jovial demeanor vanished. “Had your cock in a stable hand, then? Or somewhere even less savory?”

Balen opened his mouth, genuinely shocked. “Here? In the glade?”

“No?” Zavrius crossed his arms. “If you say. But I can’t think of any other reason you’d want to lie to me.”

Balen was smart enough to know when he was being goaded. He wasn’t quite smart enough to avoid taking the bait.

“My cock’s whereabouts have nothing to do with you anymore.” There was heat in his cheeks now, and with Balen’s pale skin, there was no chance he could hide his embarrassment at the vulgar language.

“On the contrary, now that you’re my Prime its location could be said to be a matter of dynastic importance,” Zavrius said. Balen looked at Zavrius a long while. A snide smirk crept back along his face.

Balen leaned toward him, forgetting for a moment Zavrius was king and that at least a dozen people were watching. “What is your problem? Why do you do that?”

“Why do I—” Zavrius began, just as angry, half out of his throne. Then he collapsed back into it and held up a hand. “I don’t know.”

This movement seemed to trigger a resurgence in Zavrius’s waiting crowd. Before any eager noble stepped onto the dais, Petra intervened. She walked with purpose, shawl held tightly around her shoulders, as she approached the milling crowd.

“Oh, I do apologize, but that’s quite enough, I think,” Petra said cheerily. A grumble of protest went up, and Petra met it with the same happy expression. “Yes, yes. It’s tradition, you know? Once the king and his Prime speak, they must be left alone. It’s a private and eons-old ritual. I’m sure I can scrounge up the tome for you, if you’d like to read further on—no? Well. Your loss.”

“She’s brilliant,” Zavrius said quietly, trying to hold back a smile. The nobles moved away, and Petra went with them without another glance back.

Balen wondered in horror if she’d overheard their banter. The number of times they’d uttered the word “cock” in the last few moments made him want to implode.

Zavrius rubbed his forehead and looked up at Balen from underneath his hand. “I’m sorry. So where were you really?”

Balen considered lying again, but only because he felt duped. He missed Zavrius—missed how he’d been when they were younger and sharing a bed, when their form of intimacy was more than cutting quips. What he had been doing wasn’t exactly criminal, but he wondered how Zavrius would take it. He was still reeling from Zavrius’s line of questioning.

He sighed. “I really did lose track of time.”

“Doing what?”

“Shadowboxing,” Balen admitted.

Zavrius couldn’t stop his smile. “So you still do that when you’re nervous.” The idea seemed to please Zavrius. Balen remembered boxing out his anxiety in the courtyard years ago, trying to work up the courage to speak to Zavrius for the first time. The memory made him feel small. How little he’d changed. “And what about Lestr? Why were you speaking with him just now? What does he want?”

Balen cleared his throat. “He told me he’s organizing defenders for your traveling party.”

Zavrius raised a brow. “My what?”

“For the road.”

Zavrius scoffed. “The terribly long two-hour journey to the palace? On an internal royal road? What terrifying creatures have sprouted from the ground since we’ve been in the glade?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Balen said with a grin. “There are insurrections, invasions—all manner of death traps for a king. And I’m only one man after all.”

Zavrius’s smile turned sour.

“King,” Zavrius said, like it was something stuck on his tongue. “Yes. Well. Another kingly joy. Spending all my time surrounded by my late brother’s greatest admirers.”

“They’re not—” Balen began, then stopped himself. A moment earlier he was ready to round on his brethren, and now he was here, defending them before the king they were openly questioning. Still, he was reminded of what he’d walked away from with Zavrius, and decided he was glad for it. How little did he think of the Paladins, of the life Balen had chosen? Did Zavrius think he worshipped Theo? Balen closed his eyes.

“Come on,” Zavrius said. Suddenly he was on his feet, loping down the stairs to the side of the dais and shouldering his way through the surrounding nobles.

Balen darted after him. They ran until Zavrius disappeared in the tall grass at the edge of the glade. Balen slowed, scanning the night for the shape of him. Somewhere ahead he heard the lute-harp strum, a little signal in the dark. When he caught up, he saw a gleaming white carriage was hung with four lanterns. The driver sat ready and gave an awkward bow to Zavrius as he approached.

This carriage had belonged to the late Queen Arasne—it oozed her personality, from the gold inlaid doors to the carved flowers poking out between the spokes. Even the luggage rack hadn’t escaped Arasne’s decorative urges. The iron railing twisted to resemble vines and had been painted with gold leaf, though that detailing was chipped in places. Zavrius had brought nothing with him, it seemed: the rack sat empty, which only emphasized the gaudiness of the entire carriage. He wondered what the carriages Zavrius would commission for himself would look like. Not this . . . he hoped.

As he had that thought, Balen heard the approach of hooves on the path. Two armored Paladins rode abreast: Alick and Duart.

They looked starkly different alongside one another. Balen found himself blinking at the comedy of it: Duart, broad shouldered and stout with a kind, round face, next to Alick’s sharp-angled jaw and hard eyes. They were both from the province of Cres Stros, center of the dynastic lands, their skin a rich taupe like Zavrius. Balen always envied that—Westgar was a colder region, closer to the Rezwyn Empire, and his pale skin betrayed every thought or emotion he ever dared to have.

Balen smiled up at Duart. He was Balen’s senior by twelve years and had always been kind to him. Duart grinned wide and winked at Balen, nodding down at the gauntlets in a silent congratulations. Alick didn’t even look his way, eyes distant and uncaring even when the clenched jaw and puckered lips gave away his resentment. Balen didn’t mind that; discomfort looked good on Alick. They’d never gotten along. Alick had always been full of quips about his attraction to Zavrius, and when that was done, he made the same quips about Balen’s supposed crush on Theo, though these were harsher and more cutting, less about making Balen blush and more about ensuring he never cheapened the Heir Ascendant with lustful thoughts.

Never mind that Balen felt nothing toward Theo—he was attractive, but only physically. He’d become near unhinged after Arasne’s death. Alick was just the type of man to tease people for the fun of it.

So now that Alick was sitting like he had a stick up his ass, Balen thought it suited him.

Balen called up at him. “You here on Lestr’s orders?”

“The others’ll be here soon.” Alick clearly wished he was anywhere else. His roan gelding snorted beneath him.

“They’ll find us gone,” Zavrius said.

Duart frowned at Balen before turning to the king. “Your Highness?”

Zavrius approached his carriage. “You two and Balen are quite sufficient. I want to go.”

He opened the door, stepped inside and placed the lute-harp delicately down on the only clear spot on the floor. Balen caught a glimpse of the carriage interior and realized with a start there was no room for him. Or anyone else, for that matter. It was packed full of Zavrius’s instrument cases.

Alick and Duart exchanged a nervous glance. Balen shrugged at them, making his way toward the carriage. He peered inside, not bothering to comment on the lack of space for him. How many bloody instruments had Zavrius brought for just one ceremony?

Zavrius turned his face away as Balen approached. Balen took the snub in stride. It looked like he would be the luggage for this ride.

“You heard the king,” Balen told the carriage driver. Then he climbed onto the roof. “We ride out.”

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In 2010, Ginn Hale released Lord of the White Hell Book One. Now six books and twelve years later, we’re pleased to announce that the final book is on sale! Congratulations, Ginn, on completing this wonderful series!

Early reviews are looking promising. Sara of Bookshelf SOS says, “I have a lot of thoughts but what it all basically boils down to is: Ginn Hale is an outstanding writer and an even better world builder and I ultimately love everything she writes.”

Same, Sara…same. :)

Nicole

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Hello again, BEB faithful!

We’re coming to you today with a little holiday cheer. Something you may or may not know about us here at BEB is that we like to do a little something extra when our characters won’t stop talking to us. Those are often in the form of little holiday codas!

We know we missed Hanukkah, but we’re here in time to present this collection of holiday codas and other stories as belated Hanukkah gifts and just in time for Christmas and Kwanza.

Here you’ll be able to find a myriad of holiday codas, featuring characters from The Irregulars, The Lord of the White Hell, The Rifter, Wicked Gentleman, The Devil Lancer, Highfell Grimoires, Champion of the Scarlet Wolf, and Bitter Legacy.

Most of the Codas are set during fantasy holidays, but for those looking specifically for a Jewish kind of holiday romance, Astrid Amara's collection of Hanukkah romances. Just go to her website and click “Holiday” to see her collection.

And lastly, Jess Faraday has a Christmas coda that’s new this year featuring her characters from Shadow of Justice! Check it out here!

We hope these stories help bring a little holiday cheer to your lives. It’s been a hard year for all of us, but as long as we keep our hearts warm and our hope alive, we know we’ll all get through it together.

Happy holidays from us here at Blind Eye Books!

See you in the New Year, BEB faithful.

-Theresa

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Hi BEB faithful,

It’s been hard to know what to say lately, but we have some good news, and a fun get away.

We’ve acquired a new book that’ll be coming out in May called Nothing But Good by Kess McKinley! Mark your calendars and get hyped for that!

And for your fun get away, we’ve got a little romp through Fantasy written by women by TK Huynh!

Five High Fantasy Books Written by Women

Most of the big-name high fantasy books are written by men. Tolkien, George R. R. Martin, Brandon Sanderson are some of the most well-known. But where are the women? They make up half the population, but somehow, they rarely take the spotlight in either high fantasy narratives or in authorship. I promise, however, that the landscape beyond Middle Earth, Westeros, and Roshar is just as rich and exciting with a woman behind the pen.

1. Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

You’re probably at least familiar with the Ghibli film based on the book of the same name. The film differs from the book mostly in its portrayal of the main character, Sophie. In the film, she’s a plain girl who’s shy, but looks after the people in her life. Book Sophie is not so put together. She’s got anxiety and low self-esteem, but also stumbles into an enigmatic and possibly evil wizard of renown’s house and then just tells him she lives there. And she does.

When a witch curses Sophie to become old, she does what any reasonable person would do and seeks out a powerful wizard, Howl, to become his cleaning lady. She then proceeds to fall in love with Howl, an absolute disaster of a man, who does nothing but avoids his problems and can’t handle having more than one feeling at a time. He even spreads terrible rumors about himself, so people won’t ask him for things.

I personally favor Book Sophie (as a hot mess who gets things done) and her relationship to Howl (an even hotter mess), but both adaptations have their merits.

1. Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb

This book features Fitz, the most introspective protagonist I’ve ever had the patience to care about. I’m pretty sure he just likes the sound of his own internal voice—to a comical degree. But if you enjoy the Tolkien-esque prose that reads like an academic paper on European colonialism, then you’ll probably enjoy Assassin’s Apprentice.

Fitz is the bastard son of a royal, who is adopted into a royal household and trained to become an assassin. He’s got a penchant for talking with animals, which helps him overcome the trials of his new position and his crushing loneliness—but mostly the crushing loneliness.

The narrative reads as something of an autobiography with Fitz reflecting on his lonely life as a young boy, through his training as an assassin, and eventually, the bloody consequences of his life choices.

1. The Mirror Empire by Kameron Hurley

Did you want trauma? Did you want the apocalypse, but in a different world? Did you want the gore and horror of old gothic novels with none of the Catholic iconography and all of the thinly veiled homoeroticism? Look no further than The Mirror Empire.

The world is on the brink of destruction, and the book follows a couple players in the kingdom of Saiduan, where invaders from another realm are wrecking the place. All manner of people must band together to save themselves and their world.

The Mirror Empire has five POV characters, all with questionable motives and methods of achieving their goals and surviving an invasion of beings from another realm. If you’re looking for a clear cut good and bad institution of morality, you won’t find it in this book. Only one main character is a traditionally kind, compassionate type, and that doesn’t last forever. The narrative is a patchwork of perspectives on how people justify their means and struggle to band together to fight a common enemy.

1. Kushiel’s Dart by Jacqueline Carey

So if you did want the Catholic iconography and homoeroticism, you should read Kushiel’s Dart. My first impression of this book was that it embodies every sapphic impulse I’ve ever had, and it’s good to re-visit your gay roots every once in a while. My second impression was that Jacqueline Carey really likes femme fatales and BDSM—the latter, which we all know, is about as Catholic as one can get.

The story is set in a French-ish, British-ish, medieval-ish world, with the racist and religious righteousness that would make European colonizers proud. The narrative centers around Phèdre nó Delaunay, an indentured servant turned courtesan and spy. She is pricked by Kushiel’s Dart, marked by a scarlet mote in her left eye. That is all to say that she experiences pain and pleasure as one, and she doesn’t discriminate between genders when it comes to bedfellows. Her gift makes her particularly hard to combat, as pain is nothing to fear for Phèdre. However, neither her gift nor training saves her from being trapped in the enemy lands of Skaldia where she discovers the Skaldi plot to attack her homeland.

1. The Rifter Series by Ginn Hale

The final station of our homoerotic train, The Rifter Series is not so much thinly veiled as it is tastefully overt with its queerness.

This whopper of a portal novel was initially serialized in ten episode-like installments all of them together amounts to about 200,000 words, which is slightly larger than Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. The first episode is The Shattered Gates, which spends a decent chunk of time in a modern setting. The rest of the series is firmly in another world.

We start off with John, a nature enthusiast who finds a strange key belonging to his enigmatic roommate, Kyle. As it turns out, Kyle is actually Khalil—an assassin-ish, soldier-ish, priest-ish man who’s sent from another world to locate their destroyer god incarnate, the Rifter. While Khalil searches for the Rifter, however, John stumbles upon the gates to the other realm and lands in a foreign space(time).

John sets out to make a life for himself in this strange, new world while he searches for a way back home. Meanwhile, Khalil isn’t sure where he is, but his realm isn’t what it once was.

I’m not sure if I could classify this series as an epic fantasy or an epic romance. It has it all: fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles. I read the whole thing in ten hours, and I wasn’t bored for a moment.

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Hello again, BEB Faithful.

We hope you’re all safe and healthy in your homes and catching up on some reading.

A lot has changed in our world recently, including our lives here at BEB. Please take advantage of all our digital and audio releases to keep you entertained and happy in these trying times.

We’ve also brought you a story and an introduction! One of our interns is currently attending university digitally. Today, she brings you her story and her determination. Look forward to many more stories from her in the future!

Without further ado, our intern Delphia Lea:

Introduction by Delphia LeaHowdy, folks! My name is Delphia Lea and I’m a senior at Western Washington University. It’s weird to think this is my last quarter. I never expected to spend it in quarantine, but who did, right? Despite the recent weirdness, I’m really excited and really grateful to intern at Blind Eye Books. Here’s to making the most of the situation!

To start, I guess, reading and writing have always been part of my life. My mom has this bit she loves to tell people: when I was little, I had a book about the universe I obsessively copied into a notebook, word-for-word, even though I didn’t know how to read yet. I remember this, vaguely, but I remember much clearer the stories I typed on our desktop as a grade schooler, pausing every other word to ask how to spell something. I didn’t consider myself a capital-w Writer until seventh grade, when my English teacher read one of my stories and asked, “When is your book coming out?” Those six words changed everything. Now, here I am, fiction editor of my university’s lit mag, about to graduate with a degree in creative writing, working the internship of my dreams. Oh, if that bookish little girl could see me now!

In terms of reading, I’ll humor the first chapter of almost anything, but I tend to seek out stories that feature mystery, magical realism, and/or queer protagonists. Real life is often so dreadful and dream-crushing, it’s nice to sit back with a cold drink and read something fanciful. That being said, I’m also fascinated with horror, even though creepy stories usually convince me there’s a monster lurking behind my shower curtain. I think it’s because my biggest selling point for a story is palpable emotion. No matter the genre, if there’s strong, genuine emotion conveyed through the language, I’m probably going to love it.

As for writing, I enjoy losing myself in my projects the same way I lose myself in books, really immersing myself in the world of the characters. I’m not super concerned with genre, but recently I’ve discovered a deep love for collaboration. My own ideas are good, but when I include someone else in the process, our creations tend to be so much more gorgeously complex than anything I could have made on my own. A creative partnership, however, is a delicate thing. I’m incredibly lucky to have found a compatible creative partner in my girlfriend, and I attribute most of our success to their endless kindness and patience.

Eventually, I’m going to have to commit to a career. I know I want to be part of the publishing industry somehow, even if I’m not sure how, yet. I know I’m good at reading and editing, and I know I’m an excellent micromanager, so maybe I’ll strive to be an acquisitions editor, or maybe I’ll look for something relating to physical book production. Things have obviously changed due to the looming global pandemic, but, based on the available opportunities I find, I’ll get my butt in gear, work hard, and adjust my plans accordingly!

Only after I reread and edited this did I realize y’all might be curious about my interests outside creative writing/publishing. In short, I love to knit, crochet, and cross stitch; I play a lot of video games and watch a lot of cartoons; and every other minute of my time goes to my bratty princess of a cat. Her name is Sebbe; she’s my favorite person in the whole world. Her teeth and claws are very sharp. If you want to see pictures of her, follow me on twitter @LeaDelphia!

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Hello again, BEB faithful!

This month we’ve got another guest blogpost from our intrepid intern, T.K. Huynh! Get ready, buckle on in, and get ready to explore the world of good Lesfic:

Four Novels That Get Lesfic Right
By T.K. Huynh

I’ve got a problem with mainstream media lacking in narratives that get lesbian relationships right, probably because of the scarcity of popular stories written by and for women. In other words, we lack the female gaze.

So as with every problem in life, this can be solved with lesbians.

Got a leaky roof? Lesbians can fix it. Need cooking help? Lesbians got you covered. Can’t find non-exploitative LGBT romance plots rife with sexist undertones and tragedy? Lesbians won’t disappoint.

You can trust me on this because I am a scientist, who is totally not biased, and my hypothesis is, in fact, testable and repeatable. My wife told me so.

If you still don’t believe me, take this list as evidence. These novels are written by and for women who love women, and as expected, they get lesfic right.

And Playing the Role of Herself by KE Lang

Topping the list at number one, And Playing the Role of Herself follows a TV actress, Caidence Harris, who’s got a crush on one of her co-stars, Robyn Ward. The book follows the development of their relationship while being in the public eye and dealing with the biases in Hollywood.

One of the things I love most about this book is the progression of Caid’s and Robyn’s relationship. They grow as friends before the romance starts, and the transition into being romantic partners is smooth. The book also doesn’t gloss over the issues with being gay while a public figure and how that impacts their everyday lives.

Above All, Honor by Radclyffe

Radclyffe has written quite a few lesbian romances, but I’m putting this one on the list just because it has the ‘bodyguard falls for the person they’re protecting’ trope. I’m a sucker for it. It’s a little bit cliché nowadays, but you know what? If the straights get tropey, indulgent romance novels, then we gays can have them, too.

Above All, Honor follows secret service agent, Cameron Roberts, who’s tasked with protecting the president’s daughter, Blair Powell. Blair’s determined to run away while Cam is determined to make her stay. Shenanigans ensue.

This book is a lesbian daydream, plain and simple.

When the Stars Sang by Caren J. Werlinger

Continuing the line of indulgent romance, this book is the lesbian version of those holiday Hallmark movies where a city girl returns to her family homestead and meets a farm boy who makes her stay with the power of love and Christmas spirit. In this story, Kathleen Halloran moves to her grandmother’s little island town after years away, and she finds that she doesn’t fit in with the locals. One of them, Molly Cooper, thinks Kathleen’s never going to make it on the island. But Kathleen’s got more to her than big city vibes.

I don’t want to give the impression that this book is light-hearted. It deals with some serious issues, like prejudice and grief, and the narrative centers more around self-discovery than finding the One™. When the Stars Sang is surprisingly poignant for its premise and earnest to a fault.

Time of Grace by Gabriella West

Time of Grace tells the story of Caroline, an English governess who comes to Ireland in 1916. She befriends an Irish maid, Grace. As they get closer, Caroline discovers Grace is involved with the fast approaching Easter Rising, and being English, Caroline isn’t sure how their relationship can survive.

If you’re not familiar with the Easter Rising, it was one of many attempts by Irish Republicans to gain independence from Britain during WWI. Given the setting, the romance focuses on how the tension between oppressor and the oppressed bleeds into Caroline’s and Grace’s relationship. I’m always weak for love amidst an unforgiving socio-political landscape, and Time of Grace pulls it off well.

Got a recommendation for me? Want to question the validity of my scientific research? Let me know on Twitter @T_K_Huynh or on facebook @T.K. Huynh

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Hello once again BEB Faithful!

Did you maybe make some New Year’s resolutions to read more books? But you’re having trouble finding the time to make good on that promise to yourself?

Never fear! Blind Eye Books and our new line of audio books are here!

Love a good mystery? Dal MaClean’s and Nicole Kimberling’s spine-chilling stories are both available.

Or maybe you need something a bit more fantastical? Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara have you covered.

Maybe you’re stoked for audio books for when you’re taking care of laundry or dishes, but you want something else to have and to hold while taking some self-care time? On top of all our usual digital and physical titles, we have a new release! Blue on Blue by Dal Maclean out this March 24th! Snag a copy for yourself today. Have a little mystery, as a treat.

Society as a whole may be on standby, but stay home, stay healthy, and take the opportunity to catch up on your reading.

See you next month, Faithful!

-Theresa

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Hey, all. Head editor Nicole Kimberling here.

As you know, Blind Eye Books is dedicated not only to queer publishing but to nurturing developing talent in aspiring writers, editors and publishing professionals. TK debuts on our site with her article, “Five Heroines Whose Strength Is Perseverance.”

Five Heroines Whose Strength Is Perseverance

By T.K. Huynh

I like a woman who does backflips and slings guns as much as the next person, but I like even more when they have a personality beyond their flashy Tae Kwon Do. Bonus points if they don’t die tragically for the express purpose of forwarding a man’s narrative (looking at you, Avengers). Sweet flips and gun tricks do not a strong female character make. So what does?

In the full spectrum of the human experience, I have to believe there’s more to being strong than physical prowess. Maybe I’m a little biased because I have a cane that’s very rarely used for swinging at people and more often a tool to keep the Jenga tower of my spine upright. But personally, strength is better defined (and much more interesting to read) as the ability to keep going—no matter the obstacle. The following list contains some of my favorite female characters who might not throw punch, but they wouldn’t let that stop them.

1. Sunshine by Robin McKinley

Sunshine has everything I love in a novel: witty characters, terrifying magic, and a female protagonist who’s unapologetically strong. I use the term ‘unapologetically’ because I think a lot of writers soften their female character’s edges to make them more palatable. Male characters in general are afforded the privilege of being assholes and still likeable. Women should, too. That isn’t to say that that the female lead of Sunshine is an asshole, but she does have some sharp edges.

Rae “Sunshine” Seddon is a human who lives in a world where preternatural creatures and humans are at odds (but trying to live harmoniously). You wouldn’t know the trying-to-live-harmoniously part at the very beginning, however, because our heroine starts off with getting abducted by vampires. So she’s got to figure out a way to get out of her predicament before she becomes a tasty snack. The first thing she does is to, of course, take care of the vampire who’s supposed to eat her. You might be asking yourself if that’s a wise thing to do, but I assure you what Sunshine lacks in brawn, she makes up for tenfold in intelligence.

One of the things I appreciate about Sunshine and the main reason she’s on this list is that her best strength is just determination. Sunshine gets the shit kicked out of her…a lot…but she gets up again every time. She doesn’t have time to deal with her broken body or fears of impending death. No, all she’s got time for is kicking ass and taking on gangs of vampires.

1. Moon Called by Patricia Briggs

Moon Called is the first in Briggs’ Mercy Thompson series. It’s set in a larger urban fantasy world that she’s developed over other series, but this one focuses on Mercedes “Mercy” Thompson. She’s a walker, capable of shifting into a coyote. In a world of werewolves and fae, she’s one of many beings that hide amongst human society.

Her story starts with her hiring a lone, young werewolf at her garage. He’s obviously new the world of the supernatural and running from something in his past. Time reveals he’s accused of murder, but he doesn’t think he’s done it. Meanwhile, Mercy’s got to deal with a local werewolf pack that isn’t so keen on a newcomer in their territory.

One of the things I love most about Mercy is she’s the living embodiment of “take no shit, do no harm.” With a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, she has a way of letting everyone know she can hold her own without being mean. Her strength lies in finesse. She knows the rules of the world she lives in and can bend them accordingly.

1. The Dust of 100 Dogs by AS King

Maybe you want someone strong in the traditional sense. Look no further than a bloodthirsty Irish pirate who loves robbery and murder almost as much as dismembering the English.

In the mid-1600s, Emer Morrisey was about run off with riches and the love of her life when she was murdered and cursed to live the life of 100 dogs. After doing her time as a hundred canid souls, she’s reborn as Saffron Adams, an American girl in the 1980s. But she’s got all her memories intact.

What I love most about Emer/Saffron is how unapologetically despicable she is. She’s foul-mouthed, cruel, and vindictive. It’s incredibly rare to see a female character like that, and King still manages to make Emer/Saffron likeable.

1. Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers

Like most of us have at one point or another, I was looking for books about assassin nuns, and I came across Grave Mercy. The book follows Ismae Rienne, a girl from the late 1400s, whose mother failed to abort her in the womb. She bares a scar upon her from the attempt, marking her as touched by Death. A convent of nuns who bare similar marks takes her in and trains her to be Death’s handmaiden, an assassin. And she’s really good at it until she falls in love with one of her marks.

Ismae earned a place on this list for two reasons: her earnestness and fortitude. It’s rare that I encounter badass characters who are also incredibly sincere. Ismae may work for Death, but she wears her heart on her sleeve and approaches life with a kind of earnest warmth that’s rare outside of middle-grade fiction. At the same time, Ismae bears the spiritual weight of her actions with grace. Her emotions hold little bearing on what she actually does, and the most interesting parts of the book are the times when her emotions do guide her actions.

1. The Assassin’s Curse by Cassandra Rose Clarke

I had to add The Assassin’s Curse to this list, if only because the opening scene shows our heroine riding away from her betrothed on a camel. Ananna of the Tanarau was born to a pirate family, and she was about to be married off to another pirate family when she thought better of it. Her dream has always been having a boat of her own, not being forever second-in-command. Unfortunately, her would-be groom’s family sends an assassin after her. In true Ananna fashion, she magically (albeit unintentionally) binds herself to the assassin, and they’ve got to figure out how to break their bond.

Ananna gets a spot on this list because she works really, really hard, even though she’s a dumbass. And I don’t mean she’s not smart. Her intelligence is quite good. She just lacks the wisdom to use it. Most, if not all, her problems are of her own making, and I respect the tenacity she has to just keep working at her issues until they stop being issues. Ananna is the human equivalent of using a bomb to get rid of a roach infestation. Sure, you don’t have to worry about the roaches now, but at what cost? Truly, her strength is her ability to beat her problems to death, even if it makes ten more problems.

T.K. Huynh is a writer of fantasy and queer fiction, as well as a concept artist. She graduated with a degree in biological anthropology from UC Santa Cruz at 19, specializing in ancient Central Asian biological histories. Her fiction has appeared in Piercing the Unknown: Short Stories and Excerpts into the Special World. In 2019 she won a mentorship at Blind Eye Books, where she is learning the ropes of indie publishing.

Find TK online on Facebook, Twitter, Wordpress, and Instagram.

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Hello again, BEB Faithful, and happy Halloween!

If you’re like us here at Blind Eye Books, Fall is a great season. Tons of opportunity to cuddle up and read—not to mention all those lovely fall colors.

But maybe you love a good story, but you hate taking your hands out of your warm mittens or wooly blanket to turn pages? Lucky for you, Blind Eye Books as entered the world of audiobooks with Tantor picking up rights to Dal Maclean’s Bitter Legacy and Object of Desire as well as her forthcoming thriller Blue on Blue (forthcoming March 2020). All three Maclean titles will be narrated by Gary Furlong.

Tantor will also be picking up Ginn Hale’s Wicked Gentlemen (narrated by Antony Ferguson) and Lord of the White Hell Books One and Two (narrated by J.D. Jackson).

If you need some Blind Eye Books goodness to put in your ears right now, Astrid Amara’s novel, The Devil Lancer, narrated by Michael Fox was produced independently and is now available on Audible. Ginn Hale’s novella, “The Hollow History of Professor Perfectus,” narrated by Lisa Cordileone, is also being independently produced through ACX and will be available on Audible later this fall when it’s even chillier and hiding your hands away will be even more desirable.

Happy reading this fall, Faithful—and perhaps even listening!

• Theresa

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Hello again, BEB faithful!

It’s been some time since our last post in June—but we’re back with more exciting news!

BEB will be at Geek Girl Con once again this year! Mark your calendars for November 16th-17th and come on by to grab BEB titles at conveniently discounted con prices.

In particular, keep your eye out for Ginn Hale’s upcoming release Master of Restless Shadows!

For those of you who loved Ginn Hale’s Lord of the White Hell series, Master of Restless Shadow takes you back to that world!

The book will be released on October 8th. Go here to read the back cover copy and here to see what Publisher’s Weekly has to say about it! We’ll have plenty of copies with us at Geek Girl Con too, so please come by and grab a copy while our stock lasts! Ginn Hale will also be there with us, so grab your old Lord of the White Hell books and get the whole collection autographed while you’re there!

Ginn Hale and Blind Eye Books will also be appearing at Gaylaxicon 2019 to celebrate the release of the book, so if you can’t make it Seattle for Geek Girl Con, come see us at Gaylaxicon in Minneapolis October 18th-20th!

If you won’t be able to come see us, you can reserve your copy of the book here and check out the new titles we have up for preorder on the website. There’s bound to be something that will get you excited.

Enjoy the beginning of Fall, BEB faithful, and we’ll see you next time!

-Theresa

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

At the beginning of the month, we promised you a pride-themed blogpost that got into the history behind the pride we know and love today.

But first, a couple announcements from our editor Nicole:

“We extend our sincere congratulations to our social media coordinator, Theresa on her new position at Dark Horse Comics. Theresa will be staying on with us on at Blind Eye Books on a limited basis as she forges her new path in the world of comics and we offer her every encouragement, so you can still look for her at conventions and online.

We will also be joined in the office by our summer intern, Leah, who will be assisting with the promotion for Ginn Hale’s fall release, “Master of Restless Shadows Book One.” We’re excited to see what she’ll be dreaming up.”

But back to World Pride Month.

By this point most people know that American Pride event was a bar fight led by trans women and drag queens but did you know that most of those pioneering elders were people of color? The famous riot at the Stonewall Inn, fifty years ago sparked six days of protests and violent clashes with law enforcement outside the bar on Christopher Street, in neighboring streets, and in nearby Christopher Park.

If you don’t know anything about these events or the people who sparked them, may we recommend Stone Butch Blues, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, and this fantastic article on a mural in Texas that was recently made to honor the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots for some end of Pride reading?

But remember, these were only the events that sparked revolution in America. Long before our queer siblings rioted at Stonewall, people were fighting for our rights and making queer history in Germany. The book Queer Identities and Politics in Germany: A History, 1880–1945may be two years old already, but the information about the activists and organizations that fought for queer rights certainly isn’t!

For example, on May 14th, 1897, German physician and sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld founded the Scientific Humanitarian Committee, the world's first official organization advocating homosexual and transgender rights. You can read more about how this organization fought for our rights here.

For a larger global view on the work the queer community has done throughout history, check out the Encyclopedia Britannica’s entry on the subject here.

Here’s hoping you had a lovey Pride, faithful. And never forget where you come from. <3

• Theresa

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Hello once again, BEB faithful!

April was a hectic month, but we hope you caught us at ClexaCon! If you didn’t we wanted to bring you something fun, so this month for our blogpost we’re hosting a small interview with co-founder and head editor of Blind Eye Books, Nicole Kimberling. For those of you wondering about Blind Eye Books’ story, how it started, what it aims for, and what sort of manuscript Nicole would like to see pop up in her submissions box, this interview is for you!

Okay, questions!

How and when was Blind Eye Books founded?

About eleven years ago my wife and I happened to come into some money and were looking at the way we could best use it to meet both our artistic and personal goals. I wanted to take an inspirational trip around the world but my wife wanted to start a publishing company. She won…and Blind Eye Books was created. And she was right. It was the best possible thing to do with that money.

I remember reading in the one of BEB’s books that you aimed to publish the sorts of stories you would have spent your money on when you were younger. Has that changed or evolved as you’ve moved forward with BEB?

Absolutely not. If anything I’ve grown even pickier. It’s important for small presses to specialize, I think. And to be really clear in their mission.

What has been the most difficult part of running a small press?

Learning to do business like a businessperson. There is so much admin that goes into any business—budgeting, paperwork, scheduling—all those things are so much more critical to the success of a project than anyone realizes.

Conversely, what has been the most rewarding part?

Knowing people like the books! Being able to launch new authors is amazing.

BEB has rebranded from gay and lesbian science fiction and fantasy to queer science fiction, fantasy, and mystery over the years. What sorts of submissions would you love to publish under BEB’s current branding?

Right now I’m on the lookout for strongly-plotted character-driven stories. I’m not looking for anything experimental or literary or any YA. (And to be clear, I have nothing against these genres, I just don’t know how to sell them so wouldn’t be of much benefit as a publisher.)

As BEB’s head editor, what does your dream manuscript submission look like?

My dream submission…wow. I want to read something thrilling and romantic that makes me laugh and makes me think and tells me something I don’t already know. I want to see characters I like facing genuinely difficult challenges and winning big. Yeah…that’s my dream manuscript.

That’s our head editor, always succinct and to the point. We hope you enjoyed getting to know her and the press a little better! For more about Nicole, follow her on Facebook and on Twitter (@nkimberling69). She cooks a lot and has wonderful quotes from her beloved wife on there.

See you next month, faithful!

-Theresa

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Welcome back, BEB faithful!

This month, there are two things to be really excited about!

First, Blind Eye Books will be partnering with Queen of Swords Press to bring out books to you at ClexaCon 2019! Unfortunately Nicole and Ginn won’t be able to make it like last year, but Theresa will be floating around the table and the con to see all your lovely faces and talk to you about your favorite books!

If you haven’t heard of ClexaCon before, get ready to have your socks knocked off, because it’s the hottest con for queer women in media on this side of the Atlantic! Everything from meeting your favorite writers and actors to learning what it takes to break in as a creator in your favorite medium/genre, ClexaCon is about bringing fans and creators together in a space to celebrate queer female and nonbinary representation together.

If you want to go, there are still tickets available! Grab them here and then figure out which swimsuit you’re going to bring with you to Las Vegas.

If you can’t make it out to Las Vegas for the con, never fear! We have something cool for you too!

We love our social media gal Theresa, and we love her writing too. While her books aren’t quite right to publish under the Blind Eye Books flagship, we’re thrilled to announce that she’s serializing her very own novel for free on her website! If you love queer women, realistic representation of what it’s like to be bi and have anxiety, and fandom shenanigans, you’ll love her story, Author X Audience:

Alexis Ainsley is used to struggle. From her strained familial relations to her bisexuality to trying to score an editorial internship, she’s familiar with how hard life can be—although this is her first time struggling with reality when Terry Walsh, the creator of hit cartoon series Serenity Peaks, bumps into her at the movie theater. After hearing her talk about his show as more than just a fan, Terry asks to see Alexis again, and it’s not long before Alexis finds herself an intern working alongside Terry on the Serenity Peaks finale. But what happens when a fan who got her job through the goodwill of the show’s creator disagrees with his proposed ending to the series?

Full of feminist propaganda, tragic backstories, and fan feels, Author x Audience tells the story of a fan and a creator that transcend the limited relationship of author and audience to relate to each other as people—and take it from Alexis; the struggle is real!

Check it out here on her website—and don’t forget to leave her a nice comment!

See you all in April!

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Hello again, BEB faithful!

This month we have an exciting giveaway going on! As you may or may not know, all of our books are available in OverDrive through your local library! But what is OverDrive you might say? It’s a digital service that allows you to borrow ebooks from your local library! All you need is your library card!

“That’s nice, Theresa,” you might be saying to yourself right now, “but how does that fit into your giveaway?”

Great question! To enter the giveaway, all you have to do is borrow one of our books from your local library! Snap a picture of your order confirmation, and tweet it at us at @blindeyebooks. Be sure to include our username in your tweet or we won’t see it! The giveaway goes until March 15th, so you’ve got some time to plan your picture and get it to us.

“This is really cool, Theresa, but it looks like my local library doesn’t have any of Blind Eye Books titles in their collection…”

No worries! You can still enter the contest! Go in to your local library and find out how to request that the book you’re looking for be added to the library’s collection! Snap a pic of the request, and tweet that at us instead.

“Theresa, all of this sounds really complicated and hard, and I’m no good with technology.”

Don’t fret, my friend. You can still enter our contest. All you have to do is go to your local library, find a handy-dandy librarian, and ask them to help you. I can guarantee they would be thrilled to help you order one of our books through OverDrive! Snap a pic with the librarian that helped you, and tweet it at us to enter the giveaway!

“Okay, Theresa, I understand how to enter the contest…but I don’t have a library card!”

Friend, what have you been doing with yourself all these years? Libraries are the best! You can borrow books, video games, audio books, CDs, and so much more from your local library! Getting a library costs nothing, and they’re wonderful places for events and to learn things! Not to mention, they’re a great place to help support indie book publishers even when you can’t afford to buy all their books. Plus, February, is Library Lovers’ Month!

So, what I’m saying BEB Faithful: get thee to a library!

See you in March!

-Theresa

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Hey there, BEB Faithful!

For those of you in the greater Seattle area, and those of you who follow our podcast Lauren Proves Magic is Real, the weekend of January 19th was a great one!

We spent the weekend at PodCon 2 talking with other like-minded people, and talking about representation in media. Most notably, the Ars Paradoxica crew did a panel about transgender representation that we particularly liked!

If you’re not familiar with Ars Paradoxica, they do a pretty great job with asexual and trans representation. There are some other honorable mentions within the podcast, but we’ll leave them for you to discover. If you like science fiction, time travel, and stories with lots of characters, this is a great one for you the check out!

Some other podcasts we’d like to give shout outs to are The Strange Case of Starship Iris—who are doing a great job with racial and queer representation—and Redwing, which is written by an nonbinary person of color!

We ran into some old favorites as well! Here’s Cecil Baldwin of Welcome to Nightvale taking a moment to himself.

We’ll definitely be back for the next PodCon considering all the awesome people who keep showing up. Be sure to check out some of these awesome podcasts, and we’ll see you again next month!

-Theresa

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Hello again, BEB faithful!

It’s been an exciting couple of months full of conventions, NaNoWriMo, and all of the preparations for the holidays. Things are finally starting to slow down in preparation for the New Year—but we all know you still need more books in your life. See if this next paragraph describes you or someone you know:

Got everything you wanted for the holidays except a new book to burn through into the new year? Or perhaps you know someone who could use a little extra dose of holiday cheer, a fantastical story to take them away from their troubles and keep them feeling warm and safe until the sun comes back and spring. If that’s you, we’re here to help with this months blog post!

If you relate, the rest of this post is dedicated to going through our books and telling you what kind of person would suit each best. We hope you enjoy this silly astrology by book blog post, and have all the very best stories to keep you company in the New Year.

Wicked Gentlemen - This book is for waist-coat wearing Fullmetal Alchemist fans who enjoy a fantastical approach to historical fiction. Angels, demons, mysteries, and a whole lot of romantic tension, this story is one of our favorites at the press.

Two Tangled Tales - The perfect little ebook for the fairytale lover in your life. These two charming short stories will have you getting out the tea set to enjoy an old-fasioned Victorian cup of tea.

Turnskin - Imagine being able to shift your physical form at will--and then grab this little number! Turnskin centers around one of the most skilled shapeshifters of the age in a society of shapeshifters. A little genderfluidity never hurt anyone. ;)

Strange Fortune - The epic stakes of Lord of the Rings with the added draw of queer characters--Josh Lanyon's Strange Fortune delivers that high fantasy feel and the LGBTQ good times.

The Archer's Heart - Looking for something in a non-western setting devoid of the society you know every day? Then check out Astrid Amara's little e-trilogy The Archer's Heart! With political tension and romantic tension in epic porportions, The Archer's Heart keeps your heart strung like a bow from start to finish.

Lord of the White Hell - The LGBTQ college version of Harry Potter you've been looking for, complete with falling in love with your gorgeous and haughty room mate, and taking him home to meet your mother in your women-run society. Lord of the White Hell is full of cozy moments by the fire and real and literal magic. Be sure to grab them as a set! No one likes cliffhangers!

Smoketown - In a city where birds are forbidden, one woman keeps them, waiting for the woman she loves to return to her. She's not the only one to wish for something she can't have in this city. Smoketown is a hauntingly beautiful, bittersweet tale of love, redemption, and independance. Don't worry, though; even though it sounds tragic, the play upon your heartstrings resolves warmly. Blind Eye Books has a soft spot for happy endings.

The Rifter - Like high fantasy? Want to escape to another world? Need a series that will take you longer to get through than the holidays with your family? Then The Rifter is the series for you! When John accidentally finds a key in his roommate Kyle's mail, he hardly expects it to take him to another world. Now he must survive it until Kyle find him--and a lot can happen when worlds are temporally locked together!

The Irregulars - Love interlocking short stories in the same universe? Then grab your copy of The Irregulars! Four stories from four award winning LGBTQ authors! Each story just long enough to get through before your next holiday commitment, or during commutes!

Highfell Grimoires - Blind Eye Book's signature Steampunk title! All the comforts of Victorian era London, now with floating islands, blood magic, the titular grimoires, and a little societal espionage besides, Highfell Grimoires keeps you guessing right up until the end.

Renovation - When everything you touch gives you memories of what it's been though, construction can be a rough job--especially when renovating an old house where someone died. If only the house could give you enough evidence to rule out your hot new neighbor at this job! Urban fantasy and mystery combined, Renovation will keep you on the edge of your seat and your mind off the cold.

The Devil Lancer - Set in an alternate history of Crimea, war is at hand--but so is black magic. When Elliott Parrish is assigned to spy on fellow officer Cornet Ilyas Kovakin, he finds the rumors about the man's demonic power on the battle field to be more literal than he expected. But when that power is revealed to be more curse than boon, how will the two soldiers save each other, and the war?

Champion of the Scarlet Wolf - Another duology set in the same universe as Lord of the White Hell, but now five years later. If you gave someone the gift of The Lord of the White Hell last year, this is the perfect set to follow up with. Great for December birthdays! One book for the birthday, and one book for the holiday.

Bellingham Mysteries - When they say "Read all about it!", Jack Fontaine wishes they were talking about his journalism. Instead, he gets more than he bargained for as his journalistic desires draw him further into murder and mystery. Pair this with Renovation for the perfect LGBTQ murder mystery package for the thrill-seeking reader in your life.

Bitter Legacy - When crime is too big for one man to solve, you can bet it leads to a team-up. Set against the backdrop of a police procedural with notes of detective noir, a detective and a photographer find out if they're compatible enough to take down a serial murderer. Chilling to the bone, you won't notice the cold while reading this.

Maze-Born Trouble - Love a good thrilling space podcast? Lovers of Wolf 359, Girl in Space, Starship Iris, and The Penumbra Podcast will find themselves enraptured with Maze-Born Trouble.

Blades of Justice - Looking for a good, old fashioned, queer female power trip? Maybe with some non-binary representation on the side? Then Blades of Justice is the perfect gift for you! Who says the tool of justice can't be domestic?

The Long Past and Other Stories - Looking for a mixed bag of queer stories all under one cover? The Long Past and Other Stories gives you dinosaurs, magic, boys in love, and girls in love all in one book! Grab it for the starry-eyed older teen in your life and watch them geek out over feathered dinosaurs and clockwork robots brought to life.

Grilled Cheese and Goblins - Looking to gobble up more than just your a holiday meal this year? Food inspector Keith Curry offers a delectable selection of food description--and a rather tasteful array or mystery to be solved. Grab this for the food lover in your life!

Object of Desire - More Dal Maclain means more mystery--this time with the fashion and modeling industry at its core! If you've got a beautiful friend, let them know just how gorgeous you think their make up and clothing choices are by grabbing them this story about unbearably beautiful and well dressed people falling in love with each other while trying to solve a murder.

Happy Holidays from Blind Eye Books! See you in the New Year, BEB faithful!

-Theresa

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Blind Eye Books will be in the Dealer’s Room at Geek Girl Con at table #118Come visit us and see what’s new. (Sadly, this cat won’t be working the table—her paws are too big to work the credit card reader.)

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Hello BEB Faithful!

If you kept tabs on us, you’ll know that we had a fantastic time in Florida at Bouchercon!

Here’s a picture of the Ginn Hale title we brought with us!

Here’s a picture of our head editor Nicole Kimberling having a great time with author of Smoketown, Tenea D Johnson.

And here’s a picture of two jolly old gents having tea that we found pleasing at the Norman Rockwell museum of fine art in St. Petersburg.

It was a lovely time, and we can’t wait to see all the lovely faces of those of you that came by again soon!

Now, on to October!

As those of you who keep tabs on the blog will know, Geek Girl Con is quickly coming onto the horizon! There’s still time to get your ticket if you haven’t already, so grab yours and make your plans for the weekend of October 27th and 28th! We’re bringing the new printing of Ginn Hale’s Lord of the White Hell books with the beautiful new cover! If you haven’t seen it already, please direct your attention to our Facebook page, here! We’ve got another little goodie we’ll be bringing as well! A chapbook with the lesfic story from Ginn Hale’s book The Long Past and Other Stories.

But that’s not the only exciting thing we have planned for you in October, no sirree! Our newest title Goblins and Grilled Cheese will be debuting on October 9th! Check out the reviews so far:

“Kimberling's world-building is wide-ranging and imaginative. She draws on every possible myth, fairy tale, or folk tale for inspiration -- but her monsters are never typical, and they are never just monsters… And it is a fun collection. There's action, mystery, magic, and even a bit of hanky panky. This is just the thing to beat back the blahs on a rainy afternoon.”
— Rebecca Buchanann

"Grilled Cheese and Goblins is an incredibly fresh look at urban fantasy. Not only is the book a m/m romance, but it blends fantastical elements with food health and safety administration. I mean, what? Who would even think to mix the two? Better yet, why would you?! I’ll tell you what, Kimberling has merged the two to create such a nuanced and different world!”
— Ally, Ally’s Appraisals

With so many goodies in October, it’s almost like we’re just handing out candy.

Sounds like the right October spirit to us!

Until next time, Faithful!

-Theresa

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Hey, BEB Faithful!

Get ready to mark your calendars, because we have some exciting dates for you!

If you're going to be in St. Petersburg (Florida, not Russia) this September, hopefully you're going to the world mystery convention, Bouchercon! We'll be there, September 6-9th, so we hope we'll see you there too! If you still need tickets, check out the Bouchercon website!

But, that's not all! We'll also be making our regular appearance at GeekGirlCon in October! This con just keeps getting bigger and more wonderful every year, so we hope we'll see you there too! Be sure to mark your calendars for October 27th and 28th, and we'll all be sure to get our geek on!

In other news, we sadly won't be attending ClexaCon 2019 in an official sense, but we will be sending along a couple of our books and one of our staff with Queen of Swords Press--who will absolutely be there again next year. Be sure to stop by and say hi for us! The con is a great experience for all queer women, and we can't recommend it highly enough.

Looking forward to another year of seeing you at some kickass cons, Faithful!

-Theresa

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Hey BEB Faithful!

We've been super busy trying to celebrate Pride with all our friends and fans. One of the things we've done this month is add our book Smoketown to a LBGT+ sci-fi book bundle! Tenea (the author) is super stoked about being part of the bundle, and you can see what she has to say about it here. The bundle is only available until the 28th of June, though, so grab it while you can!

We also have some extra special goodies for you today: accounts about what Pride means to us here at BEB.

First up is Theresa, our social media gal, and second is our current intern, Elica.

"Pride has always been a big time for me. I was an ally even before I knew I was bi, and we had people from the community in my family. When I was little, I had point blank asked my mother if men could marry men and women could marry women, so when I found out years later that her answer of 'yes' had been a lie because she thought I was asking if they could love each other, I lost my mind and made everything from my school projects to my speech and debate topics about love being love and the need for equality. To have a time of year where everyone is celebrating that kind of love is such a victory for me, even though I know we have so much further to go." —Theresa

"For me, Pride Month represents inclusion and self-acceptance. As a bisexual woman, growing up in a small conservative town in eastern Washington was very stifling. I was often second guessing my sexual identity throughout high school and it wasn’t until I attended my first Pride in Spokane that I felt optimistic about my identity. It was the first time I was surrounded by LGBT+ people holding hands and unapologetically expressing themselves, and it filled me with an incredible sense of relief. Pride continues to motivate me to work on accepting myself and creating inclusive spaces for other LGBT+ people.” —Elica Starr

We'll have some other awesome announcements coming up in the beginning of July, so keep your eyes on our blog and our social media!

Until next time, faithful!

-Theresa

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

This month, we've got two things for you! First off, an exciting announcement about our next upcoming podcast project called Silver-tongued Cypher! It's about rap-battling mages ans is set in the Irregulars universe just like our first podcast was. Sit down with your copy of The Irregulars and refresh to be ready for get ready! We'll let you know when the first episode is out!

And second, we have a guest post from our publicity intern, Elica Starr! She's about to give you all the in's and out's of how authors are using Instagram--and also talk a little more about Dal Maclean's Object of Desire.

Stay tuned next for Elica, and I'll see you in June for Pride!

-Theresa

Authors of Instagram: How Visual-Posting Can Work for the Writerly by Elica StarrAs masters of language, writers thrive on text-based internet platforms. Take Twitter for example: its 280-character limit has become its own literary genre, honed by witty writers of the social media era. What’s more surprising is the fact that authors are also slayingthe Instagram-game! Though it’s a form that favors aesthetics over text, contemporary authors are increasingly realizing the potential of an Instagram following, and their readers have never been happier.

Perhaps you’re a writer who groans at the phrase “A picture is worth 1000 words.” Maybe you’re a traditionalist — who’s more comfortable wielding a typewriter than an iPhone camera. Regardless, if you’re a writer who hasn’t taken advantage of this picture-posting platform, you might want to consider it. Whether you’re an up-and-coming poet working on your debut collection or a seasoned novelist working on your third spin-off series — here are a few reasons why you want to start ‘gramming.

Free Advertising:
Let’s get the obvious point out the way — any social media platform is an outlet for advertising, and an Instagram profile is yet another great place post the link to your Amazon pre-order page. But aesthetic marketing photos also prove wildly effective for authors promoting their newest novel. For instance, consider taking a picture of your novel and experimenting with placement. The literary community on Instagram has a fetish for book pics featuring foamy cappuccinos, comfy bed covers, and cluttered bookshelves — anything that taps into the cozy souls of your readers. And the best part about it — these pictures are effortless to capture. Take your novel out on a coffee date to a local cafe, prop it up against your venti chai tea latte, snap a pic, and post away.

Another way to market your writing on Instagram is by showcasing a few favorite lines in the form of visual quotes. Aestheticizing a quote with a particular font, color scheme, and photography can create a striking visual that conveys the overarching vibe of your novel. I recently collaborated with Blind Eye Book’s author, Dal Maclean, in creating some promotional visual quotes — using black and white photography of London, brilliant quotes from her upcoming novel, Object of Desire, and a touch of accent colors. In doing so, we transmediated some powerful writing into eye-catching postable Instagram content that conveys a thriller-romance-vibe upon first glance.

Building Credibility:
Instagram isn’t just about the advertising — it’s also about building a personal relationship with your following. And now more than ever, readers are invested in the personal lives of their favorite authors. Grant your readership a glance into your passions and proclivities. Not only will you appease their curiosity, but you can build credibility as a writer and author. If you write about French cuisine, for example, post that picture of the Bouillabaisse and Crème Brulée you cooked the other night. If your novels are set in Japan, dig up those pictures you took on your last visit to Fushimi Inari-taisha shrine. If your protagonist has a penchant for cats, post some cute cat pics! By proving that you know what you’re talking about, you can build trust with your readership. You might even hint at upcoming writing projects by posting pictures of your current inspirations, covertly preparing your audience for what’s to come.

Sharing the Process:
Although a messy writing desk may not seem like post-worthy content, the fact of the matter is many readers romanticize the creative chaos that is the writerly life. The iconic clutter, scribbled shorthand notes, paperback stacks with underlined passages, scattered writing utensils (extra points if there’s a quill pen thrown in the mix), nostalgic polaroids and ripped pages, you name it. Literature-enthusiasts follow writers for a reason — and more often than not, they are itching for a peek into the creative process. Whether you keep your workplace tidy or tumultuous, whether you work from an office or your dining room table — a picture of your workplace says a lot about you, and your readers will appreciate the authenticity.

Engaging in the Community:
The literary community on Instagram continues to grow as authors migrate to the platform, so engage with your fellow writers and fans! Plenty of authors share in each others’ successes and promote each others’ upcoming publications. Book lovers post “favorite reads” by creating aesthetic book stacks and taking pictures of the titled spines — tagging each author featured. Fans engage with their authors by posting their book purchases, reviews, and fanart. And authors can reciprocate the support by reposting these pictures. There are entire communities united by the use of the same hashtags. The more entwined it becomes, the more the literary community thrives — which also results in driving potential readers your Instagram feed. Along the way, you might even create some lasting friendships with authors you currently admire.

It’s true that for some wordsmiths, Instagram may not seem the most intuitive — but the publicity, connections, and communities that the platform has to offer is worth giving it a try. Take a gander at the many ways authors are uniquely utilizing the space to represent themselves and their work. Delve into the writer community, shout out a few of your favorite authors, and cozy up into some niche corners of the platform. Above all else, remember that posting doesn’t have to be a strenuous activity. Display your writerly lifestyle in all of its glory, and #booklovers will be double-tapping in no time.

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Hey there BEB faithful!

We saw a bunch of your smiling faces two weeks ago in Las Vegas and LOVED IT! Not only were we there, but other publishers of LGBTQ+ fiction were there, along with a bunch of talented artists, cosplayers, and other professionals.

As many of you will know, we shared a table with Queen of Swords Press while we were there. Our head editor also did a panel with her peers from Queen of Swords Press and Sapphire Books about labels and queer representation in books that I live tweeted for the world and can still be experienced through this Twitter thread! All the presses urged attendies to submit as well, so if you're looking for a home for your queer novel, check out our submission guidelines, QoSP's, or Sapphire's!

We also took a bunch of cool pictures of stuff from the con while we were there. Check out our instagram if you haven't already. If you're interested in seeing some of the art we ended up taking home with us, we loved this artist's tea mermaids and original comics, this artist's Steven Universe and Dragon Ball Z crossover, and this artist's take on a punk Black Lady and Sailor Saturn from Sailor Moon. We tagged the artists in our Instagram posts, so if you like their work, go follow them! I also ended up cosplaying. Nicole couldn't believe my transformation, so she had to take photographic evidence. (For those of you wondering, I'm Ryuji from Persona 5)

If you're still on the fence about coming next year, let me tell you about the panels. We had everything from Xena and Korrasami fan panels to panels about bisexual representation to how to have safe and fulfilling sex with people of all bodies and sexual preferences (including those who prefer not to engage). All in all, ClexaCon was a safe and empowering environment that had all sorts of fun and educational ways to spend your time. I made a bunch of new friends, and should you choose to come next year, you will too!

Or, if you're so excited by the round up that you don't want to wait a year, you can still get tickets for ClexaCon London happening in November of this year!

And as if that wasn't enough to carry us through April with a goofy smile on our faces, people are starting to rave about Dal Maclean's newest book, Object of Desire! Check out what people are saying on Goodreads and what Renee is saying over on Gay Book Reviews.

That's it for now, but we'll be back with more excitement next month. Until then, faithful!

-Theresa

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We're just winding up tabling at our first ClexaCon and we can't recommend it highly enough. Here our editor, Nicole Kimberling tries (and fails) to take a good surreptitious panel selfie with Catherine Lundoff of Queen of Swords Press, and Isabella of Sapphire Books. We look forward to seeing everyone again next year!

"Maybe I should watch a video about how to do this..."

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Today we have MFA student Arao Ameny interviewing Blind Eye Books editor Nicole Kimberling about the day-to-day of running a small publishing company.

Nicole: So how did you find Blind Eye Books?

Arao: I was reading a book called Queer Africa, an anthology of LGBTQ fiction from the African continentand re-reading another book called Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta, books that center around LGBTQ characters on the African continent. I started wondering about books or publishers that center around similar narratives here in the U.S. I was doing an internet search, found the Lambda Literary website and scrolled through a few options, read that Blind Eye Books publishes books with LGBTQ protagonists, contacted you and here we are...On a personal note, I'm on a quest to read books or authors from diverse communities—that's how I'll learn and grow and mature as a writer.

Nicole: It’s amazing how books are able to break through barriers between people.

Arao: I understand you are established in Bellingham, Washington. What year did you start Blind Eye Books? Did you originally start in Bellingham where you are located? Have you expanded?

Nicole: We started BEB 11 years ago. Originally we published speculative fiction only but in the last couple of years we’ve expanded into mysteries and thrillers.

Arao: What kind of books do you publish?

Nicole: Blind Eye Books publishes fiction featuring queer protagonists. We do both print and digital releases of novels, anthologies and, recently, standalone novellas.

Arao: Who are the key players in Blind Eye Books?

Nicole: We have two full-time employees and work with several contractors. Dawn Kimberling acts as publisher and art director and I am both managing and acquiring editor. We have a social media coordinator named Theresa Tyree and may work with other freelance editors, proofreaders, publicists, illustrators and book designers depending on what a particular project requires.

For example, for our forthcoming release, a thriller called Object of Desire by Dal Maclean, I did the primary developmental edit and line edit and hired another editor, Anne Scott, to do proofreading and continuity. We hired KaNaXa to design the cover (including the cover type design) and did the interior book design in-house. We also outsource our ebook manufacturing. So including the author that’s a six-person team working to turn a manuscript into a print book.

Arao: Do you have authors with multiple titles that you’ve published? How many books do you publish per year?

Nicole: Yes. Most of our authors have more than one title with us. But we don’t demand right of first refusal or anything like that. We publish two titles per year.

Arao: I understand you publishing company is dedicated to publishing the best science fiction, fantasy, mystery and romance featuring LGBT protagonists. What is your mission statement? How has it evolved?

Nicole: Our mission statement is exactly the same as it always has been: to produce genre fiction featuring queer protagonists that is both powerful and positive. We don’t do bummer endings. Ever.

Arao: May you describe how you fund Blind Eye Books? How do you fund your press? What are the estimated costs of doing business?

Nicole: With money of course! (lol) We run on the revenue generated by sales of our books, just like any other business. :) If you’re asking how much money a person needs to start a publishing company I’d say: about $5,000 and one killer manuscript that’s gonna sell more than 10,000 copies. At Blind Eye Books we lucked out and chose Ginn Hale’s Wicked Gentlemen as our first release. Ms. Hale’s book went on the win the Spectrum Award and was shortlisted for the Lambda Literary Award.

Arao: How has your audience changed since you first established Blind Eye Books?

Nicole: Well, it’s gotten bigger. Each new author finds a new set of readers and some of those crossover to our other authors and titles. Plus review outlets are more eager to read fiction featuring queer protagonists than they used to be.

Arao: What other thoughts or ideas would you like to share with our class about Blind Eye Books?

Nicole: When we started Blind Eye Books it was to produce the kind of books that we wanted to read but couldn’t find on bookstore shelves. Back then publishing was a closed system with enormous barriers to entry to the book market and access to readers. Since then digital access to distributors and retailers—even libraries—has become as easy as setting up a Smashwords account. Worldwide print book manufacture and distribution can be had from Lightning Source. Marketing is a hashtag away. Even high-end reviews in venues like Kirkus and Publishers Weekly can be yours for a few hundred bucks. So if you have the passion to start your own publishing company that makes the kind of books that YOU want to read go ahead and make one. If you think there is an underserved reader or marginalized author, publish a book. Sell the book. Prove that the market exists. Make those readers visible.

It would be ingenuous of me to claim that starting a publishing company is easy, because it really isn’t. Like any other business it takes a while to learn the ropes of your industry and you are bound to make some errors and missteps along the way.

But just in case anybody wants to give it a shot I’ll give the brief order of events here:

1. Decide what your mission is. Do not deviate from the mission. For the purposes of this essay lets say you want to read contemporary romance books featuring Latinx protagonists. Decide on a name and acquire a business license and bank account and web address. Apply for an EIN number for tax purposes.

2. Find a couple of authors who are willing to work with you. Even if you are, yourself an author, it will help to have more than one person on your team. Five is a good number, but you can start with just one if that’s all you have. Always write contracts explaining exactly how much an author is paid and when they are paid. At Blind Eye Books we pay 10% of cover price for print and 50% net for digital.

3. Complete production on your books—get them written, edited, proofread, and manufactured into 3 file types: print-ready pdf (for Lightning Source) plus .mobi (for amazon.com) and .epub (for everybody else.) Make sure covers are high-res images. You are now four months away from release.

4. Build your website.

5. Send review copies to reviewers—most big venues require books to be submitted at least four months prior to the release date.

6. Build and connect author websites (if they don’t already have them.)

7. Build social media accounts for your publishing house.

8. Contact citizen reviewers in your field. Send out review copies.

9. Two months before release date, upload digital books for preorder. Begin to arrange author appearances on relevant blogs and websites. (It helps to hire a publicist to do this if you can find one familiar with your field.).

10. One month before release date begin media campaign.

11. Release date: Hooray! Time to see how you did. If you sold 100 copies, you’re about average. If you sold 1000 you’re on to something. If you sold 5,000 you’re onto something good.

12. Pay author on time.

13. Repeat!

Bio: Arao Ameny is an Uganda-born, Maryland-based journalist and writer. She is currently an MFA Fiction student at the University of Baltimore and loves prose and poetry—equally. Her favorite author is Zimbabwean author Dambudzo Marechera.

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

First of all, happy international women's day! This month we've got two quick things to hype! We're really excited that both of our announcements have to do with pretty much entirely to do with women.

The first of which is ClexaCon! We've been talking about this con since last fall, but just in case you missed it, the convention is all about queer women in media! We're going to be there sharing a table with Queen of Swords Press, and we hope we'll see you there! If you need to get tickets, check out ClexaCon's website here! And if you can't come see us in April in Las Vegas to chill with all the other supporters of queer women in media, check out their other events! You won't be disappointed.

Second, there's a book bundle being put on by Cat Rambo right now featuring feminism and our very own Nicole Kimberling! Stories in the bundle include:

Starfarers Quartet Omnibus - Books 1-4 by Vonda N. McIntyre
The Steerswoman by Rosemary Kirstein
Happy Snak by Nicole Kimberling
Spots the Space Marine by M.C.A. Hogarth
The Terrorists of Irustan by Louise Marley
Alanya to Alanya by L. Timmel Duchamp
Code of Conduct by Kristine Smith
Queen & Commander by Janine A. Southard
The Birthday Problem by Caren Gussoff
To Shape the Dark by Athena Andreadis

You can check out more about the bundle here, but hurry! The offer ends on March 21st!

We hope you have a magnificent March, faithful. And we'll see you next month!

• Theresa

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Hey there, BEB faithful! Good to see you, even if you're just huddled up next to your computer hiding from the snow.

How about that weather, huh?

Anyway, since you're cuddled up indoors already, let me tell you about this awesome thing you could be reading.

If you read Bitter Legacy, you know what an artist Blind Eye Books author Dal Maclean is. She dislikes the Tragic Gay trope, but loves imperfect characters and genuine emotional conflict in romantic fiction, so you know you're always in for a something relatable and engaging when you pick up one of her books.

Which brings me to the purpose of our monthly tête-à-tête: Dal Maclean's newest title Object of Desire is up for preorder on Amazon!

This time, the story is about a beautiful male model being framed for the death of his employer:

Tom Gray is one of the world's top models–an effortless object of desire. Self-contained, elusive and always in control, he's accustomed to living life entirely on his own terms. But when Tom comes under suspicion in the gory death of his employer, his world spirals into chaos. Someone's framing him. Someone's stalking him. And as old secrets come to light, Tom finds his adversary always one step ahead. Will Foster is the only man Tom trusts to help. But Tom brutally burned all bridges between them two years before, and Will paid a bitter price. If he wants to survive, Tom must prove his innocence to Will–and to the world.

Having been able to preview the manuscript, I can personally guarantee that this one is worth your time, and your money. Go snag your copy from the preorder link above! We're only going to print so many, so reserving yours before we run out is a good idea!

Keep warm during this flash freeze, and we'll see you next month, faithful!

• Theresa

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

Today, we've got an exciting feature for you! An interview with Jess Faraday, the mastermind behind the new short story series Blind Eye Books will be releasing. Sit down, strap in, and get ready to walk through what makes Faraday tick--as well as get a sneak peak of what's to come in her short stories!

1. What is the vision for your short story series? Will all the stories revolve around characters in the same word and time period? Or will we visit different words, characters, times, etc?

I was so excited when Blind Eye suggested writing a series of shorts with Constable Simon Pearce. Pearce is a minor character in my novella, The Kissing Gate, which appears in the anthology Blades of Justice. The stories all take place in Britain the late 19th century, and follow the young constable through different cases, while he tries to find his place in Scotland Yard and in the world.

2. You do a fantastic job of layering tension, character, and world building, which is essential when writing short stories. What’s your recipe for keeping that so well balanced?

Outline, outline, outline! When you’re working with multiple storylines, it’s important to know the structure and beats of each one, so that they’re balanced. After that, it’s a matter of composing each scene so that it moves the storylines forward together.

3. Where do you draw your inspiration from when writing stories like the one’s we’ll see in this series?

I love reading about history. The 19th century was a time of explosive growth in science and technology. I enjoy thinking about how new advances changed the way people looked at things and related to each other – and about how despite the differences in the environment and social structure, people are basically the same, with the same struggles, desires and conflicts.

4. What sort of representation can readers expect to see in the series?

The main character, Simon Pearce, is a gay man. Being a low level police officer in 19th century Britain, he’s had to be extremely careful, as it was a crime in that time and place — not to mention the ruin of a career that he’s worked very hard to achieve and maintain. So he doesn’t have a lot of experience beyond paid quickies here and there. He’s an innocent in some ways, but not a virgin or naive. Part of Pearce’s personal arc in these stories is learning how to have a relationship with someone he likes, respects, and enjoys spending time with. There may be a couple of someones. Ultimately, though, part of his story will be figuring out what he wants in this aspect of life, and finding a way to get it.

Pearce was a minor character in my novella The Kissing Gate in Blades of Justice. The major character was Dr. Elizabeth Bell, a lesbian physician who was also a police medical consultant. (She was actually a murder suspect in The Kissing Gate). Pearce read and admired Dr. Bell’s work long before he met her in Blades of Justice, and she and her partner, Alice, will show up in at least one of the stories.

Other minor LGBTQ characters may present themselves as the stories progress — people will have to read to find out!

5. Above all else, what do you hope your readers will get out of reading these stories?

A few hours of entertainment!
______________

And there you have it, faithful. Straight from the horse's mouth, all we Faraday wants if for you to enjoy her stories.

We'll be hyping them more as they release, so keep your eyes on our social media pages! And we'll see you next month!

-Theresa

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Happy Holidays, BEB Faithful!

From all of us at Blind Eye Books, we want to wish you a merry holiday season and happy new year. We've got all sorts of surprises for you in the upcoming new year, and we're all hoping that 2018 makes the future look a little brighter.

We'll be doing our part by bringing you a bunch of new books and making appearances and even more events!

More on that soon, but for now we have to focus on making our new year's resolutions!

See you in 2018!

-Theresa

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Hey BEB Faithful!

Black Friday is coming up, and everyone's having a sale. We're no exception, but our sale? Our sale goes all through the weekend until Cyber Monday!

That means we're slashing prices on all of your favorite books--and we know there are few of you out there that will really appreciate this. I can't tell you how many of you walked away from our con booths these past few months, sad to only have a fraction of the books you wanted to take home with you in your hands.

Get five titles for .99 cents each! The Shattered Gates by Ginn Hale, The Archer's Heart Book One by Astrid Amara, Smoketown by Tenea D. Johnson, Irregulars, by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Astrid Amara and Ginn Hale, and Blades of Justice by Jess Faraday, Helen Angove and Rachel Green.

So stop by and grab your favorites. Introduce your friends through the sale as a sneaky way to tell them what you want for the holidays. Coerce strangers into looking at or webpage. Whatever you want! The prices are low and the stories are as great as always. Get them while the getting's good!

And, as always, we'll see you next month!

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Episode Six, “Performance Review,” was written by Nicole Kimberling and produced by Tommy Jordan. Keith Curry’s Theme and Lauren’s theme were written and performed by Tommy Jordan.

This week’s episode features the voices of:

Ginn Hale, Ian EveryHope, Josh Lanyon, Laura Browne-Sorenson, Danielle Rose, Brendan Connor and Tommy Jordan.

Addition featured music was: Mind of the Machine by Future Lab Rats and Skipping 7th Grade by CHRVNS

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Episode Five, “Just Say No to Kraken,” was written by Nicole Kimberling and produced by Tommy Jordan.

This week’s episode features the voices of: Dal Maclean, Ginn Hale, Ian EveryHope, Philipp Roser, Brendan Connor, Astrid Amara, and Tommy Jordan.

Featured music is: OMG by Ricky Sprinkles, I Wish My Baby Was Born by East Coast Dave, Watts Hop by Future Lab Rats and Easy by Pascal

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In Episode Four Lauren's podcast gets some sponsors--though the products they're selling seem very strange... Then for a change of pace, Lauren breaks into some saved voice messages from Special Agent Keith Curry's hot boyfriend, Gunther.

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Episode Three: “Then She Feeds” was written by Nicole Kimberling and Tenea D. Johnson and produced by Tommy Jordan. It features the voices of Ginn Hale, Tommy Jordan, Tenea D. Johnson, Nicole Kimberling and Ian EveryHope

Featured Music: is Jumper’s Theme, by Tenea D. Johnson, Runnin’ by Mr. and Mrs. Smith and So Extra by Tommy Jordan feat. Direwood.

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

It's been a while! Hopefully we saw you in Helsinki or at Geek Girl Con. If we didn't, we're back to our regularly scheduled monthly blog posts, and we got you a special Halloween treat: our awesome new podcast, Lauren Proves Magic is Real.

What's nice about posting the podcast on our website is that I don't have to link to it when I tell you it's here and it's awesome! Seriously, just scroll down!

Those of you who read The Irregulars will remember Special Agent Kieth Curry. Those of you who know Nicole Kimberling will remember her fantastic way with preparing food. Both of those things come together in the podcast to bring the previous chef, now paranormal agent character of Kieth Curry alive as his 12-year-old cat sitter Lauren broadcasts his personal dictations of his cases to her listeners.

To be one of those listeners, all you have to do is find Lauren Proves Magic is Real wherever you listen to podcasts. Oh, and please take a moment to subscribe, rate, and review. It helps keep us on the charts, where others less fortunate than you who aren't reading the BEB blog can find it.

See you next month, faithful! And Happy Halloween!

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This episode features the songs Cantina by The Second Hand Suits, I’m on Drugs by East Coast Dave and Who am I by Moongrass and SAY THAT I’M TRYING by Joji.

"Lauren Proves Magic is Real!" was created by Nicole Kimberling and is a co-production of Tommy Jordan, Shepherd Boy Records and Blind Eye Books. Episode Two, “A Special Kind of Hell,” was written by Nicole Kimberling and produced by Tommy Jordan. It features the voices of: Ginn Hale, Ian EveryHope, Anthony Navarro, Spencer Reeves, Jake Wichrowski, Tommy Jordan, and Brendan Connor.

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This episode features music by Infinite Third from their album, "Gladly" as well as the bespoke song, "Spider on My Face" by Joji and Nodalus from Motus. "Lauren Proves Magic is Real!" was created by Nicole Kimberling and is a co-production of Tommy Jordan, Shepherd Boy Records and Blind Eye Books. Episode One, “The Banana Thing,” was written by Nicole Kimberling and produced by Tommy Jordan. It features the voices of: Joji, Dal Maclean, Ginn Hale, Ian EveryHope, Tommy Jordan, Brendan Connor and Nicole Kimberling

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Creator Nicole Kimberling and producer Tommy Jordan explain what it's all about

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Meet Special Agent Keith Curry, food inspector.

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Hey there, BEB Faithful!

As you may know, Ginn Hale's long awaited release of The Long Past will be coming out at the end of next month. I'm sure you noticed the book preorder has been on sale for a while, but I'm here to tell you about how you can win your very own digital copy of the book! From September 15th through October 3rd, send us a private message on Facebook or tweet us a picture of you and one of Ginn Hale's books. We'll select five lucky winners at random, and those winners will receive an electronic copy of The Long Past for free!

Speaking of free things, how many of you like money? Blind Eye Books will also be doing another give away from Labor Day (September 4th) until the end of September. All you need to do to enter? Send us your best Lord of the White Hell fanart! The art doesn't have to be new, but we will need you to tweet it at us or send it to us in a new Facebook message during the dates of the contest. We're really looking forward to seeing all your lovely fanart of Javier and Kiram--especially Kiram. He may be a favorite of mine. Shout out to anyone who wants to draw the matriarchal society of Kiram's family! One lucky winner will be selected at random and will receive an Amazon gift card for $50!

The one stipulation we have for both contests: keep it clean. We have to ask that all fanart be safe for work. It can be as suggestive as you want, but we can't accept any entries with genitals in them. Get creative with some fig leaves, if you have to, just make sure we can count your entry by keeping it dong free!

Enjoy the encroaching Autumn, faithful. We'll see you next month!

-Theresa

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Hey there, BEB faithful!

We're hard at work this month, and it all comes down to all the appearances we're putting in later this year at conventions! Get these dates on your calendars, and come by and say hello if all the times and places align!

First up, star BEB author Ginn Hale and heavy-hitting head editor Nicole Kimberling (excuse the fact that this sounds like a wrestling intro from GLOW, we've been loving the show) will be in Helsinki August 9th-13th for Worldcon. If you've never heard of Worldcon before and you're a science fiction fan, you're missing out! Worldcon is short of World Science Fiction Convention, and it happens somewhere different each year. This year, it's in Helsinki. Specifically in Messukeskus, the Helsinki Exhibition and Convention Centre.

Next up, Blind Eye Books will have a table at Geek Girl Con. You may have seen us there before—spoilers, it's because it's one of our favorite cons—and we'll definitely be there again this year. Especially if you're wearing cosplay from any of our books, DROP BY THE TABLE. We might have a special treat for you if you do. Geek Girl Con will go from September 30th through October 1st and will be held at The Conference Center in Seattle, WA.

And last but certainly not least, Ginn Hale and Nicole Kimberling will once again appear in Seattle for Read with Pride Northwest. As the Northwests biggest celebration of LGBTQIA romance, this is an event you won't want to miss! All events will be held at the Seattle Public Library from November 3rd-4th. Take this chance to meet some of your favorite authors, celebrate queer romance with other fans, and maybe even pick up a few new books!

See you next month, all. Perhaps literally if you're in Helsinki!

-Theresa

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As you know, it's Pride! Here's hoping you've been having a safe and supported experience. Just in case you need a little you time with a super gay book, though, we're chopping 25% off of Ginn Hale's new book The Long Past! Grab your copy before Pride is up to make your savings count.

We're also taking some time this month to remember the victims of the Pulse shooting. What happened last year was tragic, and it's made us even more resolute to keep publishing queer stories and queer voices than ever before. The more we speak and read and write these stories, the freer we'll all be someday. So go shove some queer books in a friend's face and make a difference this Pride. We're all counting on you. <3

-Theresa

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We've got two exciting things to announce this month, the first of which is our newest Ginn Hale title available for pre-order The Long Past & Other Stories. Reserve your copy now at the special pre-order price!

Our second bit of news is Dal Maclean's Bitter Legacy has made the list of Lambda Award finalists in the category of Gay Mystery! Show Dal your love by dropping by dropping her a line on twitter (@MacleanDal) and congratulating her on this colossal achievement!

And, if you haven't already picked up your copy of the book, look no further than the publications tab of our website. We're happy to enable some of the best rainy weather mystery reading you've ever had--and if that isn't enough to fill your reading hours, check out the full list of Lambda finalists here!

See you next time for Pride Month!

-Theresa

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Our new title, lesbian mystery anthology "Blades of Justice" by Helen Angove, Jess Faraday, and Rachel Green came into the world last month, and it's been getting a lot of attention! A collection of three novellas, this book is three interlinking stories for the price of one. While such a book could be created by one story teller, having three authors benefits this tale. Each author brings their own strengths to the table to form a collaboration no one author could have created on her own.

Learn more about the women behind the novel!

Helen Angove is an electrical engineer and active author of everything from flash fiction to novellas.

Jess Faraday hails from California and spends her time teaching and writing novels.

Rachel Green tweets haiku daily and lives with her two partners and dogs in Derbyshire.

With such powerful women from different backgrounds, you know you're in for a treat when they start working together. Pick up your copy of Blades of Justice today and get a taste of their story.

-Theresa

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Dal Maclean's name is popping up on "Best of..." lists all over the place. From All About Romance to Sinfully and The Novel Approach, readers agree that Maclean's debut novel is something special. This naturally leads to the question, "What's next for Dal Maclean?"

Well readers, fear not! She is hard at work on her second novel and we here at BEB cannot wait to read it. More news just as soon as we have it.

-Nicole

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It’s easy, it’s free, and we promise not to spam you. We send out about two newsletters a year with information about new releases, special deals, and more, so don’t miss out!

Read our July Newsletter

To subscribe, click here.

Or you can view an archive of older newsletters.

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Our new imprint, One Block Empire will be dedicated to bringing you mysteries and contemporary LGBT stories of the same outstanding caliber as our science-fiction and fantasy titles.

To that end, we are now seeking manuscripts that fit those categories, 80,000 to 120,000 words.
For how to send submissions, please see our existing guidelines.

More on this exciting project soon!

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Arrate Hidalgo Sanchez’s wonderful translation of Wicked Gentlemen is now available in print and digital editions worldwide! Watch this space for an interview with Arrate and Ginn coming soon! More info

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Entrevista en español aquí.

Hello again from Mady, here with a Blind Eye Books exclusive! I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Ginn Hale (author of such titles as Lord of the White Hell, Champion of the Scarlet Wolf, and part of new anthology Irregulars) and Arrate Hidalgo, English-to-Spanish translator and sci-fi editor. These lovely ladies have collaborated on an exciting new release of an old favorite, bringing the steamy world of Wicked Gentlemen to Spanish-speaking readers.

Ginn Hale had this to say:

Intern Mady: When you were growing up, did you aspire to be an author?

GH: I do recall that the first time I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “taller”.

I didn’t really get the whole idea of picking a career. Probably, because creating worlds and sharing stories never felt like a choice, so much as an extension of what I was. Ducks quacked, cats meowed and Ginns wrote down stories. I would have done those things even if there hadn’t been any money in it for me. I’m not sure I could choose not to—even now.

I didn’t begin to think about being a professional author until, really, it was too late and I was already publishing books and paying bills with my royalties. Then of course I suddenly realized how truly lucky I’ve been to have found so many supportive readers.

M: How would your teenage self react to being told your novel was so successful that it was being translated into Spanish?

GH: Her little punk heart would have exploded from the shock and joy, particularly since teen-Ginn spent a large portion of her years in Mexico. Though I think she would’ve wanted more skulls and blood on the cover; she didn’t have the best taste back then. J

M: Previously, you’ve had the Lord of the White Hell books translated into Japanese. What is it like to work with translators?

GH: It’s both flattering and humbling. Arrate Hidalgo and Fumiyo Harashima are profoundly astute translators. Their poetic and technical senses of language proved fascinating and brought up all kinds of details and ideas that I hadn’t pondered, when first writing the books.

For example, seashells can have a sexual connotation in Spanish—one that I certainly didn’t intend to apply to Harper’s fingernail. Names in Japanese can convey a character’s foreign or native Japanese origin depending upon the alphabet used. Those are just two tiny considerations among hundreds and hundreds that the translators worked out.

They did so much more than just replace an English word with a Spanish or Japanese one. They dealt with puns, word-play and the difficulty of teasing out levels of intimacy from a language devoid of formal tenses.

To have two such talented people working so intently on my manuscripts made me feel really honored and fortunate.

M: If you could pick one other novels to be translated which one would it be? And into what language?

GH: Hmmm…I’m going to cheat and say The Rifter (which has been printed in three books but was originally written as a single, very long novel.)

And I think it would be really beautiful to see any LGBT fantasy book translated into Sudanese Arabic, (or better yet written in Sudanese Arabic originally). Not just because Arabic is a gorgeous language—and it is.

But right now homosexuality is a capital crime in Sudan, (to name just one country) but imagine what it would say about the world-wide acceptance of LGBT communities, if some day a Sudanese publisher could think nothing of translating and printing a LGBT fantasy novel.

I wouldn’t care if it was my book or if I would ever be able to even read it, I’d buy it just because it would represent so much for so many people.

Arrate Hidalgo, the translator of novel, responded to a few questions as well—even hinting at more translation projects in the works:

Intern Mady: When did you begin translating fiction? How did you come to this decision?

Arrate Hidalgo: Translating fiction wasn’t so much a decision as something that I fell into more or less naturally. As a Spanish kid, I grew up reading translated books, which is something that native English speakers aren’t usually so accustomed to. This afforded me an awareness of the central role of translation in shaping the way I learned about the world, as well as in filtering the sort of fictional worlds I fell in love with. As I completed my English degree, it became clearer to me that I was happiest when I could combine my love of language, its building blocks and idiosyncrasies, with my passion for fantasy and sci-fi. That’s when I began translating stories I loved.

M: What was the most challenging thing about translating a novel like Wicked Gentlemen?

AH: Something that I always kept in mind was the fact that Belimai and Harper are both very charismatic characters, which is transmitted in the language chosen by Ginn, and I wanted to make sure this transpired in my stylistic choices, without it being too much. The thing about Spanish is that it tends to be longer and more extravagant than English, and when you have a story set in such a luscious pseudo-Victorian world, it’s easy to get carried away with the lace.

M: Were there any particularly difficult passages or concepts to translate into Spanish?

AH: The sex scenes! They are hard to write in style, and the same goes for translating them. When is it too much, or too little? I suppose the readers will have the last word about that. Aside from that, there were concepts, due to the story’s Victorian-inspired setting, that kept coming up and have no exact counterparts in Spanish. “Tenements”, for instance. Or “estate”, which doesn’t look like it should be that difficult, but even when it could be considered synonymous of mansion or country house, the estate is a very specific British concept with its own particular history. The UK and Spain went through very different processes of colonial expansion and industrialization, which occurred in different time periods and left different sociological fingerprints on each of the languages. This is reflected in the terms I have available to work with, which in a novel like this need to convey a sense of antiquity without being alienating or incongruous. The map was also challenging in its own way, but lots of fun, too.

M: How long was the process?

AH: It took me nine months to translate the book, which I combined with other translation work and with my job as a science fiction editor.

M: Do you have any other translation projects in the works right now?

AH: I do, and I can’t talk about them just now, but I’m excited to reveal them soon. In the meantime, I’m giving Wicked Gentlemen a last revision and preparing its promotion among Spanish-speaking audiences. I’m really looking forward to it seeing the light.

You heard it here first, folks! And, a little birdie has told me that we may be seeing a few more translations of Wicked Gentlemen in the near future (French? Cantonese? Klingon? You’ll just have to wait and see!)

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¡Hola! Os habla Mady, miembro en prácticas de Blind Eye Books. Hace poco tuve el placer de entrevistar a Ginn Hale (autora de títulos como Lord of the White Hell, Champion of the Scarlet Wolf y parte de la nueva antología Irregulars) y a Arrate Hidalgo, traductora del inglés y editora de ciencia ficción. Las dos han colaborado en el lanzamiento de uno de los primeros y más queridos títulos de la editorial, que ha introducido a los lectores hispanohablantes al vaporoso y calenturiento mundo de Caballeros desalmados.

Mady: ¿Aspirabas de pequeña a ser escritora?

Ginn Hale: De lo que me acuerdo es que la primera vez que me preguntaron lo que quería ser de mayor, dije: «Más alta.» Nunca entendí el concepto de elegir una carrera, probablemente porque nunca sentí que crear mundos y compartir historias fuera tanto una elección como una extensión de mi ser. Los patos hacían «cuac­», los gatos hacían «miau» y las Ginns escribían historias. Lo habría hecho incluso aunque nunca hubiera podido ganar dinero con ello. No creo que pudiera elegir no hacerlo, ni siquiera ahora.

No empecé a pensar en ser una escritora profesional, la verdad, hasta que fue demasiado tarde y ya había empezado a publicar libros y a pagar las facturas con las ventas. Por supuesto, me di cuenta de inmediato de lo verdaderamente afortunada que he sido de haber encontrado el apoyo de tantos lectores.

M: ¿Cómo reaccionaría tu yo adolescente si le contaran que tu novela tendría tanto éxito que acabarían traduciéndola al español?

GH: Su corazoncito punk habría explotado de sorpresa y alegría, especialmente dado que mi yo adolescente pasó gran parte de aquellos años en México. Aunque creo que me habría gustado tener más calaveras y sangre en la cubierta, pero no es que tuviera muy buen gusto en aquel entonces.

M: Antes de Caballeros desalmados (Wicked Gentlemen), se publicaron las traducciones al japonés de los libros de Lord of the White Hell. ¿Cómo es trabajar con traductoras?

GH: Me halaga y me hace sentir humilde al mismo tiempo. Arrate Hidalgo y Fumiyo Harashima son unas traductoras profundamente sagaces. Sus sentidos de la poética y la técnica del lenguaje me parecieron fascinantes; sacaron a relucir todo tipo de ideas y detalles en los que ni siquiera me había parado a pensar cuando escribí los libros.

Por ejemplo, las conchas marinas puede tener connotaciones sexuales en algunas variedades del español, cosa que en ningún momento pretendía que inspirasen las uñas de Harper. Los nombres en japonés pueden transmitir el origen extranjero o nativo nipón de un personaje, según el alfabeto que se utilice. Estas son solo dos minúsculas reflexiones entre los cientos que las traductoras lograron resolver.

Hicieron mucho más que limitarse a reemplazar una palabra en inglés con una en español o japonés. Lidiaron con juegos de palabras y las dificultades de desenredar niveles de intimidad a partir de una lengua, el inglés, desprovista de marcadores de formalidad.

Contar con dos personas de tanto talento volcadas en mis manuscritos es un honor y una suerte.

M: Si pudieras elegir traducir otra novela, ¿cuál sería? ¿Y a qué idioma?

GH: Pues… voy a hacer trampas y diré que The Rifter (impresa en tres libros aunque originalmente la escribí como una sola novela muy larga).

Y creo que sería precioso ver un libro de fantasía LGTB traducido al árabe sudanés (o, aún mejor, escrito originalmente en esa lengua). No solo porque el árabe sea un idioma precioso, que lo es, sino también porque en estos momentos la homosexualidad es un crimen capital en Sudán (por mencionar solo un país). Imagínate lo que supondría para la aceptación mundial de las comunidades LGTB si un día una editorial sudanesa pudiera traducir y publicar, sin preocupaciones, una novela de fantasía LGTB.

Me daría igual si no fuera mi libro o si no pudiera leerlo jamás; aun así lo compraría solo por todo lo que representa para tantísima gente.

Arrate Hidalgo, traductora de Caballeros desalmados, contestó también a algunas preguntas… e insinuó que hay otros proyectos de traducción en marcha.

Mady: ¿Cuándo empezaste a traducir ficción? ¿Cómo llegaste a esta decisión?
Arrate Hidalgo: Traducir ficción no fue tanto una decisión como algo en lo que acabé metida más o menos de forma natural. Crecí en España, donde los niños y niñas leemos libros traducidos, cosa a la que los hablantes nativos de inglés no están tan acostumbrados. Esto me permitió ser consciente de la función central de la traducción en el proceso que moldeó mi forma de descubrir el mundo, además de filtrar el tipo de mundos ficticios de los que me he ido enamorando. A medida que terminaba mis estudios de filología, fui dándome cuenta de que era más feliz cuando podía combinar mi amor por el lenguaje, sus cimientos e idiosincrasias, con mi pasión por la fantasía y la ciencia ficción. Así fue como empecé a traducir las historias que me importan.

M: ¿Cuál fue tu mayor reto al traducir una novela como Caballeros desalmados?

AH: Algo que siempre tuve en cuenta es que tanto Belimai como Harper son personajes muy carismáticos, cosa que se transmite en el lenguaje escogido por Ginn, y quise asegurarme de que esto era patente en mis elecciones estilísticas, sin pasarme. Una cosa que tiene el español es que tiende a ser más largo y más extravagante que el inglés, y cuando trabajas en una novela ambientada en un mundo pseudo-victoriano tan exuberante, es fácil dejarse llevar por el encaje.

M: ¿Hubo algún pasaje o concepto especialmente difícil de traducir al español?
AH: Las escenas de sexo. Son difíciles de escribir con estilo, y lo mismo se aplica a traducirlas. ¿Cuándo te estás pasando? ¿Cuándo te quedas corta? Supongo que los lectores tendrán la última palabra al respecto. Aparte de eso, había algunos conceptos, debido a la inspiración victoriana de la historia, que aparecían una y otra vez y no tienen equivalente en español. Tenements, por ejemplo. O estate, que a primera vista no parece tan complicada, pero incluso cuando podría considerarse sinónimo de mansión o casa solariega, lo cierto es que el estate inglés es un concepto británico muy específico con su propia historia particular. Reino Unido y España experimentaron procesos muy diferentes de expansión colonial e industrialización, que ocurrieron en periodos históricos distintos y dejaron huellas sociológicas dispares en las dos lenguas. Esto se refleja en los términos con los que puedo trabajar, que en una novela como esta tenían que transmitir una sensación de antigüedad sin resultar demasiado ajenos o incongruentes. El mapa fue un reto, a su manera, pero también muy divertido.

M: ¿Cuánto duró el proceso?

AH: Me llevó nueve meses traducir el libro, que combiné con otras traducciones y con mi trabajo como editora de ciencia ficción feminista.

M: ¿Estás trabajando en otros proyectos de traducción en estos momentos?

AH: Sí, y ahora mismo no puedo hablar sobre ellos, pero tengo muchas ganas de revelarlos.

Ya lo habéis oído, amigos. Y me ha dicho un pajarito que es posible que veamos unas cuantas traducciones más de Caballeros desalmados en el futuro cercano. (¿Francés, cantonés, klingon? ¡Tendréis que esperar para descubrirlo!)

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Caitlin Cohen is our current intern at Blind Eye Books and is a writer at What’s Up magazine. Recently she sat down with Dal Maclean to talk about her upcoming release, Bitter Legacy.

Caitlin: Could you describe the moment you discovered you wanted to be an author?

Dal: I wouldn’t say there was a moment of discovery as such. I’ve always written for a living, but my training and experience weren’t been in creative writing. That crept up on me as a ‘why not give this a go to see if I can do it?’ moment when I tried fan fiction for the first time. It’s a totally different animal from factual writing though. I suppose it involves the same basic skills but a very different part of the brain. Not being formally taught how to do it, I just went with the flow and wrote on instinct. I had no idea why I wrote the way I did; I just blindly did it.

The thing is though, creative writing is so much more personal than factual, and it can be incredibly difficult to put that out there for other people to judge. Like performing in public I suppose.

Caitlin: How did you come up with the idea for Bitter Legacy’s protagonist, Detective Sergeant James Henderson?

Dal: I suppose James came from some of the stoic British public-school educated guys I’ve met. It’s easy to take them at surface value — superb manners, a highly developed sense of duty and honor, trained to appear 100% confident, even arrogant. But beneath the carapace of privilege, as full of repressed uncertainty and shyness and insecurity as anyone else.

Caitlin: What is your process of putting your ideas for your books onto paper?

Dal: To be honest, process rather glamorizes it. Generally I get an idea, research around it (occasionally to an abnormally finicky degree), and then comes verbal diarrhoea. I basically write what pops up in my head trying not to second guess myself too much, or spend time going back and editing. Then I start hacking it about and trying to finesse while closing holes in plot or character logic.

I’m compulsive about having answers to the ‘but why would he do that?’ thing. I need to have good, believable reasons, even if I have to agonize for weeks to make sure it works, because lack of character logic is one thing that really gets to me as a reader.

I would say though, that this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional editor and that has taught me a massive amount. My next attempt should be a bit more organized. Maybe. Hopefully.

Caitlin: Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

Dal: I think it might be a bit too soon to be giving out advice, given I’m still very much an aspiring author myself. But I suppose if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the process of getting Bitter Legacy to print, it’s to try to take advice.

It can be hard, because creative writing is such a baring of the underbelly, and writers are so immersed in the worlds and characters we’ve created. They’re very personal to us, and I think we all want to present them to readers as we visualized them. It’s a tightrope, and sometimes a writer does have to hold out for something they see as vital. But on the whole, I’ve discovered these editing chaps do know quite a lot. Usually they’re right. So, I suppose my advice in a nutshell (I’m not very good at nutshells ) is, if you’re lucky enough to work with a professional editor, try to trust them, and hope that they, in turn, will trust you.

Bitter Legacy will be available this October.

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View the amazing new book trailer for Nicole Kimberling’s Cherries Worth Getting, available in the Irregulars anthology: