Blog Post September 12th
It’s September and I’m winding down from a busy summer. September is a great month, because it feels like I get a moment to catch my breath. The heat isn’t as bad. The nights are cooler, and invite the feelings of slowing down and getting cozy. My two favorite things are sitting wrapped in a blanket, on the couch reading a book, and drinking coffee or sitting around a campfire, drinking cocoa, and eating toasted marshmallows. If you follow me on social media, you’ll notice I post a lot about food. I am who I am, and food and eating are hobbies, so no judgement please.
I’ve spent the last nine months doing the Romance Writers of America Pen to Paper program. It’s been informative, providing me with lots of resources. The program is helping me learn the craft of writing. I’ve enjoyed the time and, most importantly, it helped me find a tribe of other writers.
During the program, I finished my first rough draft of my third book. Wahoo! Now I’m looking at the next steps. I’ve been working on getting my first book published, understanding what all is involved with that Answer: A lot. Publishing a book is not just about having a story, it has to be finished, polished, and promoted. Then you have to do it all again with the next book. When I started Sorceress, it was me pushing myself to try to see what I could do.
Now, seven years later pushing myself to figure out what do I do next. I’m realistically optimistic. I’ll publish Sorceress in December. Celebrate that I’ve finally accomplished something that I’ve been wanting to do since 9th grade. Building a career as a writer. Then in 2025, edit and polish, the two books I’ve finished. I’m hoping to do what I did with Pen to Paper, and do RWA’s Paper to Polish program.
That means in two years I’ve managed to publish three books. Can you hear my pulse pounding? I still need to keep writing, though. In the next few weeks, I want to start brainstorming/plotting the 2nd book in the Sorceress Series. Tempest & Wolf’s story. I have a long road ahead of me to get to those points. I don’t set myself too many deadlines. Not because I’m afraid I won’t meet them, but because good things take time. So far everything that I’ve accomplished, and done has taken time, small steps. So I’m not going to rush it. I’ll need moments to catch my breath. Good thing it’s September and I can do that.
As September continues to march on, while I catch my breath, I thought I would give you a little excerpt from the book I’m publishing this December.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1
Callum Razor squeezed the hilt of his sword so tightly it cut into his hand. He welcomed the pain with a grim satisfaction—until Riddick shifted beside him. He glanced at the tall warrior lounging against the wall. Riddick’s raised eyebrows and liquid-mercury eyes shot a pointed look at Callum’s hand, reminding him of their purpose.
Callum consciously relaxed his grip and then lifted his hand and absently scratched at his arm. The black body paint he wore to cover the Theld ceremonial tattoos itched. His shackled hands hindered the movement, but they were a necessary part of the illusion.
Riddick’s nonchalant stance didn’t change, but his gaze traveled around the hall. On Callum’s other side, Riddick’s younger brother Ronan kept watch as well.
Callum scanned the Great Hall of Castle Pheria, fighting back his revulsion. The giant hall was crowded with the perfumed bodies of the courtiers, courtesans, and brightly colored nobility, all there for the party to celebrate Vertan. He breathed through his mouth to ignore their sweet, nauseating scent. They lounged on pillows and silks, laughing and feasting on roast pig, duck, and braised vegetables. Pink-frosted cakes and brown bread littered the table. Servants scurried, filling goblets of red wine and clearing trays of food, avoiding the mangle of bodies as courtiers wrestled with one another. Courtesans coyly fanned their bosoms, their hiked-up skirts revealing legs and garters.
Callum bit the inside of his mouth. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue. The amount of food on display was extravagant, especially since the commoners of Theld and Pheria were starving. But Pherian nobility didn’t seem to notice as they celebrated the end of a long, frigid winter—despite the blood moon still being weeks away.
Braziers burned throughout the hall, providing light but adding to the warmth of too many bodies. Sweat trickled down Callum’s back. He ignored the heat and the stench as he surveyed the immense hall. Glowing in the light of the braziers hung a wall of extensively colored tapestries, the fine material catching and reflecting the light. The woven colors and pictures depicted King Leondaus’ victory over Abivar and his subsequent rise to the throne.
Bitter bile rose in Callum’s throat as hatred burned like acid in his stomach. He took a deep breath to focus and calm his rage and then raised hooded eyes to the tapestries.
In the first, a man wearing long black robes and the Pherian crown stood on the throne. His red hair curled around the crown like a wreath, and his pale face twisted into a menacing sneer. Beady black eyes stared out, entrancing anyone brave enough to look. Black smoke swirled from his hands to pour into the ground, creating a black pool. In the background, Castle Pheria bathed in the sinister pool. Woven in words at the bottom of the tapestry was its title: King Abivar Poisoning the Land.
The next tapestry, The Fall of King Abivar, was of a young, fit warrior with flowing blonde hair and a massive sword confronting the dark king. Callum scoffed at the image of the warrior’s sword plunging through Abivar’s chest.
The last tapestry was of the young warrior placing Abivar’s crown on his head, his golden hair a beacon of light like the sun. All Hail King Leondaus.
A drunk noble stumbled against the wall; he took a large bite of his pork chop and then wiped his mouth on the fine tapestry.
Callum turned to study the other wall and expelled a deep breath as sunlight filtered through the intricate floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. The first window depicted the First King of Pheria striking his deal with the rock golem to ensure only his heirs ruled Pheria. Pictures in angular relief showed his successive bloodline of ruling kings and queens.
Callum’s eyes rested on the most recent windows, which showed the Theld warrior Godfrey, with his red hair and merry eyes, looking at the raven-haired Pherian Princess Roisia, her blue eyes and beguiling smile filled with love as she gazed at her warrior, their hands clasped one over the other like an infinity symbol—the Theld sign of mating for life.
Beneath them, a bassinet seemed to rock back and forth in the jeweled sunlight. The birth of their heir, signifying the union of the Pheria and Theld kingdoms. Callum swallowed the pang of regret forming in his throat as his eyes followed the line of stained glass and came to rest on a black curtain covering the last window, a sign of death and lost hope.
Callum’s gaze at last fell on the real-life Pherian King Leondaus. In the handful of years since he’d taken the throne, the young king bore little resemblance to the stalwart youth portrayed on the tapestry. Callum gritted his teeth as renewed anger singed through his veins.
Leondaus, dressed in pinks and purples, drank from his goblet, the red liquid sluicing down his cheeks and jowls. Leondaus’ long blonde hair was more stringy than flowing. His ruddy complexion made worse with drink, and his gold-embroidered tunic strained to hold his girth. His crown sat askew on his head in what may have been an attempt at a rakish air but succeeded in only making him look the drunken fool.
He winked at the servant as he held up his goblet for more wine, and his attention shifted between the cleavage of the serving girl and the performers of the visiting circus.
A clown juggled and performed a back flip, landing on his ass, his painted face a comical mask of pain. The circus minstrel’s music matched the antics of the clown, and a loud horn blasted as he landed. Leondaus’ loud guffaw spurted more of his drink down the front of his stained tunic. The rest of the court laughed and pointed. The circus performers were quick to change the show based on Leondaus’ amusement. If he stopped laughing or didn’t appear to enjoy the performance, the entertainers quickly moved on to the next act. Keep the king happy or face the consequences; the performers were swift to keep the show moving.
Callum and his men—dressed in half masks and shackles—were a part of tonight’s entertainment. But Callum vowed there would be no laughter, only death and slaughter. Patience, he cautioned himself. He was the Prince of Theld and he needed to be patient. Months of planning had brought him to this point. Now he was so close, close enough to see Leondaus’ sweat stains on his expensive tunic.
Callum focused on the king as he lounged on his throne. One fat leg swung over the arm as he tipped up his cup to take another drink, belching as he finished. His throne stood on a dais surrounded by servants. The light from the braziers and the stained glass lit everything in the hall, including the dais, with radiant light, giving the illusion of heaven.
But there was an area where the light couldn’t reach, a spot of darkness behind where the king sat. There, darkness swallowed the light, devouring it like a gaping maw, and in that darkness sat the Sorceress Laris Moonfall.
Callum couldn’t see her. He knew, along with everyone else in the room, that she watched from the shadows. Servants avoided the area. Prickles of power emanated and coalesced from the depths of the darkness, making the hair on Callum’s neck stand on end. Rumors of her capabilities slithered like the coils of the snake. Everyone agreed she was powerful, but nobody knew just how powerful. Once Abivar had claimed the crown, she’d appeared as his apprentice, his dark power enhanced by her darker one. When Leondaus had killed Abivar—his father—to claim the throne, the Sorceress had been by his side.
Callum had planned everything about this slaughter of Leondaus, but she was the unknown. Callum hated unknowns. He had soldiers set up to take her out the minute she moved to protect Leondaus, but if her magic was powerful enough, she could destroy them.
A man dressed in a yellow coat and a black top hat strode forward and bowed low. “My King, I now present you with the finest act in my show. I give to you…my warriors.”
The gathering of courtiers and courtesans twittered as Callum, Riddick, and Ronan stepped forward. Callum imagined the image they presented. Tall warriors, broad shoulders dressed in animal furs, blackened tattoos and scars gleaming in their tanned skin and shredded muscles. Each carried an enormous weapon; Callum had his long broadsword, Riddick had a long black spear, and Ronan held an iron mace. Each wore a half mask to designate their enslavement to the ringmaster. “These are the best fighters in Theld. I defy you to find any better.”
A raven squawked from the shadows and flew up, which the ringmaster ignored. “For your pleasure, my King, they will show you a test of their skills as they fight each other for you.” The ringmaster bowed with a flourish.
“Theld warriors!” Leondaus exclaimed. He stood up, pointing with a greasy finger. “They’re forbidden!”
The ringmaster bowed again. “They’re exiled, my lord.” He pointed to the painted-over ceremonial tattoos. Theld warriors tattooed their bodies to highlight their scars as proof of their fighting skills and victorious battles. They’d covered theirs in black paint to show their shame at being exiled from their Theld clans.
“No!” Leondaus replied. He began to shout and point at his guard. “Remove them!”
The king’s guard moved forward to escort Callum and his men out of the hall.
The Sorceress, Laris Moonfall, glided from the shadows. A subdued silence filled the room. The king’s guard froze. Musicians ceased playing and courtiers and courtesans paused with goblets raised to their lips, transfixed. The warm temperature dropped. Leondaus froze in the middle of his tirade. The hall was quiet as death, and all eyes were on the Sorceress as she descended from her position.
A flowing black robe with no embroidery. Ebony hair slicked back tight to her scalp, as if it feared being out of place. Pale skin, almost translucent. She walked stiff and erect, her chin raised in haughty disdain. She had a silver-and-black staff as straight as her posture. The ebony wood gleamed in the firelight. The top of the staff encircled a multi-layered gray stone, which Callum realized was a soulstone. He worked to hide the surprise from his face. Soulstones were rare and powerful.
Callum tracked the Sorceress as she drifted forward. A bracing coldness filled the room, and the light in the braziers dwindled to a low blue flame. Callum inhaled, and the smell of perfume had evaporated, replaced by a pungent biting tang. The darkness surrounded the Sorceress, embracing her as if it were a living creature frightened of the lights and merriment and finding solace in her company. It clung to her as cobwebs clung to the skin in a long-undisturbed room.
The Sorceress’ unblinking black eyes bored into Callum and his men. She walked past the brightly dressed people without acknowledging their trembling relief, as they were not the subject of her scrutiny. As she skimmed closer, Callum saw her pale face was not entirely white; kohl rimmed her obsidian eyes, and her lips were also black. Purple veins twined up from her neck to her lips and to her eyes like the twisted branches of a tree, giving her the appearance of old age, but no wrinkles marred her skin, leaving Callum with no way to tell what her natural age was.
She stopped in front of Callum and his warriors, placing her staff in front of her with a sharp tap that echoed in the hall. The black raven landed on the top of the staff. She raised gnarled black fingertips and smoothed the glossy feathers to pet the raven. The gray soulstone twinkled in the dim light. She turned the staff and the soulstone. Its layers of rock shifted, and the raven squawked and flew up from its perch.
Her soulless black gaze rested on Ronan first; her dark eyes peered into his for a moment until Ronan dropped his gaze. Without pause, the witch turned her regard to Riddick, her black stare probing into Riddick’s eyes until he, too, turned his head away. Callum steeled himself. He would not yield, he told himself. Her ebony eyes lifted to his and Callum felt himself pulled into their dark depths. Cold emanated from her body, stealing his breath, leaving his lungs aching as if he’d been plunged into a frozen lake. He remained still, willing his body to be a statue.
Even as his brain screamed at him to turn away, he felt her probing gaze; it scratched at his soul, flaying the skin from his body. Voices whispered and echoed in his head. His plan wouldn’t work. He was a fool. Callum felt himself waver, but a snarl threatened to erupt from his chest. No, he was a Prince of Theld; he had come here to fulfill a vow he had made to his father. Nothing would stop him.
The Sorceress raised her chin. A gleam entered her eyes, and that’s when Callum realized they were not entirely black. Callum saw a faint ring of purple between the iris and the pupil.
The ringmaster interrupted. “Is there something you wish, Sorceress?”
The words broke the spell of her and Callum’s face-off. They both turned towards the ringmaster, his hands clasped in front of his chest to hide their trembling. Gradually, the Sorceress turned towards King Leondaus. He and his entourage watched her with rigid tension. “Proceed,” she said, her voice raspy, like sand scratching a piece of glass.
Leondaus slid her a mutinous glare, one she ignored. “I forbid Thelds in my court.” His voice was booming in the quiet hall. All eyes stayed on the Sorceress.
She paused as she sidled past the king. “I want to see what they can do. I am in the mood to be entertained.” She floated back behind the king’s throne. The shadows did not swallow the Sorceress. Instead, they held back just enough to illuminate her menacing form. Callum watched her. Her dark gaze found his once again; he wasn’t certain, but he thought the corners of her mouth tipped up in the ghost of a smile.
King Leondaus cleared his throat, trying to regain the court’s attention. Like a petulant child, he tossed the leg bone he had been gnawing at Callum. “Proceed.” He skulked back to his chair, flopped down, grabbed another goblet of wine from a servant, and downed it with a gulp.
The ringmaster took a hasty step forward, casting the occasional glance back towards the Sorceress, but continued with a flourish. “They’re banished from their kingdom. Their brethren have rejected them.”
Leondaus snorted. “Only an act of betrayal or dishonor could banish a Theld.”
The ringmaster nodded. “They have no love in their hearts for the Kingdom of Theld. These men betrayed their king, and he cast them out. They’re my slaves. They don’t fight for honor, they fight for coin. It ensures a good show.”
Leondaus gave an uninterested shrug. “I’ve seen many a Theld fight. What do your fighting men offer me I would enjoy?”
The ringmaster faltered. “Their fighting skills are impressive, my lord, surely…”
“Boring.” A malicious light entered the king’s dull gray eyes. “I know what I will find entertaining—fighting to the death.”
The ringmaster hesitated. “My king…no. They will show you their skills, but not to the de—”
“To the death!” boomed the king, his voice echoing in the giant hall. “Theirs or yours, ringmaster.”
Leondaus looked around the hall, relishing that he was once again the center of attention. Callum hid a feral grin behind his half mask. If it was death Leondaus wanted, then Callum would be happy to oblige.
The ringmaster nodded at Callum. The warriors came closer, and he released the shackles on their legs and hands. He quickly stepped back as Callum and his men circled each other. Callum hefted his sword as he glanced between Riddick and Ronan. His skin prickled; he felt the eyes of the Sorceress on him. His crude broadsword felt warm and ready in his hands.
Leondaus yawned. “If someone doesn’t do something soon, I will execute the whole troupe.”
Callum feinted towards Ronan.
Ronan raised his mace to block the blow of the broadsword, but Callum brought the sword up and roared a battle cry. He swung around suddenly and brought his sword down, dealing a killing blow to a king’s guard. Alongside him, Ronan and Riddick slashed through more guards. Servants tore off their serving clothes, revealing swords, shields, staffs, and maces. Courtiers screamed as Leondaus yelled for reinforcements.
The hall exploded as more of Callum’s warriors entered and immediately started battling the king’s guard. Leondaus yelled at his men. “Kill them, you fools!”
Callum hacked at a guard who scrambled before him. Blood spurted from the guard’s body, coating Callum’s leg, but he shoved the soldier away. Anticipation filled Callum as he strode closer to the guards now surrounding the king. He eyed the Sorceress, but she remained motionless with a bored look on her face as carnage surrounded her. Callum cursed as he watched one of his young warriors move to stand behind the king and face the Sorceress.
Distracted by the young buck, a guard threw a punch and struck him in the shoulder. Callum grabbed the guard, knocking his helmet off his head and putting him in a headlock. His fist connected with the guard’s forehead, dropping him in a single blow.
Callum straightened and paused for a second. Leondaus was mere feet away. The untrained warrior’s sword was pointed at the Sorceress. Callum had to choose: go help the young warrior, his sworn man, or go after Leondaus, who had murdered his father.
The Sorceress’ sharp gaze traversed the room, but she ignored the slaughter, the cries of the people, the blood soaking the floor. Leondaus was hiding behind his throne like the coward he was. Anger boiled through Callum as he stalked towards Leondaus. Guards intercepted him, and his nostrils flared as he felt the heat of battle flow through his veins.
***
Laris raised a black eyebrow. “What are you supposed to be?” she asked, not bothering to hide her disdain.
The young warrior swallowed, pointing his sword at her. “Move and I’ll kill you,” he threatened, but his voice trembled. He was smaller than the other warriors. Laris’ piercing gaze bored into the young warrior’s eyes. He swallowed again, eyes darting back and forth.
His skin is soft, she thought. Untattooed, no scars. He’s nothing but a baby.
Laris eyed the sharp tip of his sword and then placed her black fingertip on it, piercing her skin. Black liquid oozed from the wound. “What if I don’t move?” she asked in a bored voice. She felt a cruel chuckle bubble in her throat, but it would never surface. “Will you watch your fellow warriors get slaughtered while you wait for me to move so you can kill me?” Her obsidian eyes glittered like a lake on a moonlit night.
“I have my orders.” Chin raised, he continued to point his sword at her. Laris removed her finger, quirked her eyebrows as if to say suit yourself, but still didn’t move. She scanned the surrounding carnage, her eyes coming to rest on the tattooed warrior who had sent up the battle cry and had refused to back down from her gaze.
Callum’s broadsword slashed at one guard while two more landed punches to his stomach and kidneys. The punches didn’t faze him. He swung his sword, removing the head of one guard, and kicked the other. Determination and blood lust in his gaze, he bore down on Leondaus only to be blocked by more guards. He had hesitated only once when he had looked over at the baby warrior he’d assigned to watch her.
She’d seen the hesitation in his gaze. He was wondering if he’d miscalculated.
Blood coated the floor of the hall, making it slippery. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and Laris could feel the energy seep into the room. “My,” she said in a breathless whisper, “that’s a lot of blood.”
Laris watched as the pubescent warrior’s eyes darted back and forth between the fighting men. Her expression remained blasé as she continued. “Seems silly, to be a warrior and not fight, especially while your comrades die so gallantly. Don’t you hear them calling for you to fight alongside them?”
The warrior stiffened as he heard the call of his fellow warriors.
“You’re wasting your time,” Laris said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I am not a fighter. Go fight, save your fellow warriors.” She glanced up at him from under her black eyelashes. “They’ll die without you.”
The young warrior jumped as a scream erupted. In his vision, he beheld brawny warriors slaughtered by the king’s guard. He raised his sword and started slashing at the guards. “For Theld!” he screamed.
The king’s guard lay in pools of blood and scattered limbs. The sound of clanging metal filled the air.
“Sorceress!” Leondaus said, urgency in his voice.
Laris ignored him and instead watched the warrior with the broadsword—the Theld leader, commanding the men as they fought. He gathered momentum, his speed impressive as he chopped down guard after guard, his sword singing as it sliced through the air. Sweat poured off his taut muscles, causing black paint to drip from him, revealing tattoos on his arms and chest and making his skin gleam in the fire of the braziers. The heat didn’t slow him down.
She studied the warrior, fascinated by his determination. The tangy metallic taste of blood filled the room. Laris resisted the urge to reach down and touch it, to see if it was sticky and sweet or wet and salty. Blood was power, and the hairs rose on her arm as the spilled blood released its energy. She inhaled and drew power from the scent; she wanted to flex her fingers as she felt them loosen as the magic flowed through her.
“Idiots!” Leondaus yelled. “All of you will die!”
Laris refrained from rolling her eyes. Theld warriors decimated the guards. It was obvious to Laris the king’s guard was no match for the Thelds. Still, Leondaus’ sword remained sheathed as he continued to insult his men. Noblemen and women raised their hands in surrender even as their king railed at them for not fighting.
The broadsword warrior slashed at the last of the king’s guard. He paused, his breathing heavy. Blood dripped down his torso, mingling with the sweat and running black paint on his body. His blue eyes were as hard as glittering sapphires, and Laris knew he would enjoy killing Leondaus. He raised his sword.
“For my father,” he said, his voice an echoing baritone. His sword arced down in a killing blow.
Leondaus stumbled backwards towards his throne, unsheathing his sword quickly enough to deflect the hard blow, but the strike stunned the king as he fell back over the dais, causing him to drop his sword. The warrior smirked as he kicked the king’s sword away and picked him up by the scruff of his neck.
Leondaus struggled as the warrior bent him over his throne, intending to behead the monarch.
A savage hiss issued from the man’s compressed lips. She snapped her fingers again. All the men fell.
Leondaus’ eyes widened. He sent a frantic look towards the Sorceress.
“Laris! Help me!”
Covered in blood and sweat, his chest heaving as tattoos and scars glistened, the warrior spared a glance and realized Laris was unguarded. Laris felt a sudden admiration for the man.
He shifted his attention back to Leondaus, raised his sword, and brought the blade down.
“Noooo!” Leondaus screamed as the blade rent the air.
Laris snapped her fingers, and everyone in the room froze. The warrior’s eyes blazed as Laris stood up with deliberate slowness and drifted over to the king, whose panicked eyes darted back and forth between the blade inches from his head, the warrior, and her.
Laris glanced around at the carnage and ran her hands over the warrior’s chest, smearing his blood-soaked skin. She felt his energy and his anger. He smelled of sweat and salt. Her fingers were numb to the heat of his body, but his energy sizzled through her blood. She left a trail of black marks from her blackened fingertips.
She saw his murderous rage as he struggled to move. She cocked her head to the side, tsked, and then said in her sandpaper voice, “I’m always entertained by man’s fatal flaw to underestimate a woman.”
