Author: Nicole Luttrell

I'm a speculative fiction writer. That means I write about dragons, ghosts and spaceships. Sometimes I write about the ghosts of dragons on spaceships.

Falling From Grace, Chapter Two

Grace leaned against the door frame between the bedroom and main room, watching Victor pack clothes into a bag. “Calvin thinks we will not be gone longer than a week, but I do not know,” he said, adding a leather pouch of dried meat to his bag. “I hate to give you a time because I do not want you to worry if we are later than that. Did you make that flat bread I asked for?”

“It is on the ledge above the fireplace,” Grace said, not bothering to stir herself to fetch it for him.

“Thank you,” he said, striding across the room to get it. “I got that new bar put on the door, but it is not going to do you any good if you do not use it. I cannot imagine anyone would fuss with you, but you never know.”

“I will be in the square with the other women most of the time, anyway,” Grace replied.

“But you will come back here at night,” Victor said.

“Do not go,” Grace replied.

She didn’t know what she expected him to do with this, but laughter wasn’t really a surprise. “Do not go? Calvin and I finally get Timur to give us some real work, and you are telling me not to go. Woman, have you lost your mind entirely?”

“This is death, what he is sending you to do. Marching into the Septan palace, dressed like a Calistar soldier? You will not survive, not a man going with you will.”

“That is foolishness,” Victor said. He stood, and clenched his fist. A blue shield of light manifested. They’d yet to find anything that could penetrate it. “I will come home, and so will Calvin. So will all of us going.”

“And what if you do not? What are the girls and Morgan and I going to do then, eh?” Grace whispered.

Victor was across the room in two strides. He swept her up into his arms, and his mouth found hers. “Darling, I have to do this. I did not become a Brother to raid food storage barns, and I will not do it anymore. Timur has given me a chance here to prove-.”

“Timur has given you nothing,” Grace hissed. “He has given himself a way to be free of you, Calvin, and every other young man who would defy him. He does not expect you to come back.”

“Perhaps not,” Victor said. “But I will.”

“Vicky, are you not ready yet?” Calvin called from outside.

“I am coming, hold on!” Victor replied. He released Grace reluctantly and grabbed his bag from the table. Grace followed him outside.

Calvin had already hitched his wagon. “Are you done crying over your woman yet?” he asked.

“Do not be jealous, just because I have one,” Victor laughed, tossing his bag into the wagon. “Where is Boris?”

“Saying goodbye to Nikita, still. We will pick him up on the way out of town,” Calvin said.

Grace decided to try Calvin next. She stood beside his seat on the wagon. “Calvin, think about this. What is the point of starting a war between Septa and Calistar? The aristocrats will just send poor sons to go fight for them.”

“But that is part of the plan,” Calvin laughed. “Do not worry your head, Grace. Look after the girls and Morgan, and we will be back soon.”

But Grace grabbed hold of the horse’s reigns. “What if none of you come home? What about Boris, leaving Nikita here with his babe?”

“Boris will come home,” Calvin said. “And so will I, and so will Victor. Do not be afraid, Sister. And let go of my horse, please.”

Grace released the reigns but didn’t move away. She felt shaken to her core, as Victor grabbed her up into a hug. “Stop fussing, woman,” he laughed, swinging her around. “This is a great mission.”

“And nothing is going to stand before this,” Calvin said. He clenched his hand, and a ball of light appeared. Unlike Victor’s, his light was no shield. It was a ball of energy that nothing could stand against.

“But what if Timur is sending you into a trap?” Grace cried.

At this, Calvin leaned down from the wagon seat to whisper in her ear. “That is the thing, though. He is, and we know it. When we return victorious, we will have a very, very different conversation with him about where our country is headed. And I do not think he will enjoy it.”

May, June, and Morgan crowded around the wagon, and Calvin sat up straight in his seat. June, the middle of Calvin’s children, had an ever messy braid down her back. Her brown dress was stained at the bottom with mud and at the knees with soot.

“Take care of each other, and stay out of trouble. We will be back in a week,” Calvin said.

“Do not tell them that,” Victor said, swinging into the seat next to Calvin.

“One week!” Calvin bellowed and clicked at the horse to send him on his way.

“Goodbye Da, be careful!” June called, waving at him. Grace joined the others in their farewells, feeling brittle. She watched as they rode to the other end of the village, stopping along the way to pick up Boris and a number of other men.

“Come on,” Grace said. “We might as well head to the square.”

June and May nodded, but Morgan said, “I am going to go hunting. The sun is barely up, I should be able to get some good meat for supper.”

“Oh really?” May snorted. “You are going to go hunting? And why would you waste the whole day like that, eh?”

“You ought to stay and help us weed the garden,” June said.

Morgan scoffed. “What do you need four people to weed the garden for? I will go and get us some meat. Grace, will you make a pie if I bring you a bird? Your crust is better than theirs.”

“I would need the goat milked,” Grace replied dully. “And I might need to churn butter, as well. Go and get your game if you can. Be careful.”

Morgan was gone in a moment to collect his traps and head into the woods.

“Might as well get the goat milked, then,” Grace said.

“You are not going to be the one this time, are you?” June asked.

“The one what?” Grace asked.

June sighed. “The one woman who cannot help but mope until the men get back. They always ruin the whole experience for the rest of us.”

Grace shook her head. She grabbed her bucket and went into the small enclosure next to the house where her goat resided. She was napping in the sun, but came fast enough when she heard Grace come in. Normally she would have been milked earlier, but Victor hadn’t had the time before he left.

“Are you going to stand there and complain at me the whole time I do this?” Grace asked, settling into her stool to milk the creature.

“Maybe. Why are you so upset, anyway? You have never been this way before.” June grabbed some hay from the pile next to the enclosure and started making a pile of it.

“You all seem to think that these men are invincible just because of a little magic,” Grace muttered.

A single scream rang out just as she was finishing with the goat. Grace only just managed to not spill any of the milk before running from the paddock. June was just a moment behind her.

“That is Yulia’s house,” June cried. The front door was wide open, and they could hear Yeva shouting for help inside.

Grace stopped on the threshold. Yeva was kneeling next to her grandmother’s chair. A cup of tea had fallen and shattered on the floor. Yulia was slumped in her chair, not breathing.

“I, I do not know what happened,” Yeva sobbed. “I just came in to check on her, and she was like this.”

“Was there something off in her tea?” June asked.

“I do not know. She might have stirred something in by mistake, look at her damned work table!” Yeva cried. She gestured to a table near the window, laden with herb bouquets and bowls. Always a thin wisp of a girl, Yeva seemed even smaller now in her fright.

“What am I to do, I am all alone now,” Yeva sobbed.

Grace considered the girl. She couldn’t remember saying more than a handful of words to her since she’d been born. She’d said enough to Yulia, screaming for her book back, for help, for anything the old woman might have been able to do for her.

“I was alone younger than you,” Grace said. “You will be fine.”

Yeva turned a tear stained face towards her, her eyes wide. “How?” she asked.

“That is not my concern. When Morgan gets back we will help bury your grandma. That is more than she bothered to do for me.”

Grace went back to her chores, leaving the girl no room to say anything more.

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Falling From Grace is going wide! Click here to see all the places to get it.

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Falling From Grace, Prologue and Chapter One

Prologue

Thirteen years ago

The night was black, the wind slicing cold. At a little house near the woods where creatures crept, scratched and howled, a girl sat in front of the door. She was barefoot, wrapped in a quilt, shivering. But she had to get out of the house for as long as she could stand the cold. The darkness and smell inside were too much for her.

Ma was coughing again, and sobbing. The sobs were so loud that Grace could hear them over the wind. A moment later they were stifled, and Grace could hear Yulia, the village’s other healer, talking. The wind was too harsh for her to hear her words.

Until she called for Grace.

Grace swirled around and pulled the door open. The wind caught it and tried to drag it out of her hands. She had to use all of her strength to close it.

“Come and help me,” Yulia cried. Grace’s ma was jerking in the bed, her body twisting and convulsing. Her Da, lying next to her was still during this fit, ghastly still.

“Come here!” Yulia called again. Grace ran to the bed. The two of them turned Ma to the side, as flecks of spittle flew from the woman’s mouth.

Finally, she was still. Her chest rose and fell, and her breath was labored. But at least the terrible seizing was finished.

“Good, good girl,” Yulia said. “Do not be running outside again. Get yourself to bed.”

“But, but Da,” Grace whispered.

“There is no helping him now. I will move him out of your ma’s bed, but you are not strong enough to help with that. Now off to bed with you.”

Grace retreated to her bed, and fell on it. Her da was dead. What would she and her ma do without him? She settled into her blankets, and tried to do as she’d been told. But she just couldn’t close her eyes.

Eventually she dozed, as Yulia stoked the fire.

Grace was never sure how long she slept, when she was woken someone walking past the foot of her bed.

She sat up, startled. It was Yulia, but she had her cloak on. And she was holding Grace’s ma’s book. The book of medicines and herb lore that had been her own ma’s legacy. It was black and leather bound. When it was closed, her ma tied it with a red ribbon. This now was missing.

“What are you doing, Mistress Yulia?” Grace asked.

“Rochelle next door is having her baby. I must go attend to her,” Yulia said, and turned to go with the book.

“Wait, but what about Ma?” she asked, struggling to get out of bed. “Yulia, what about my ma?”

But Yulia was gone already.

And a single glance towards the big bed showed Grace that there was nothing more she could have done for her ma anyway. Both of her parents lay still, their chests not rising.

And just like that, Grace was all alone. She thought at first that surely Yulia would return to help her, to tell her what to do. But she didn’t.

The fire was low, its warmth and light fading fast. Grace hurried to the wood pile next to the fireplace, and began feeding it logs. There weren’t many, and Grace prayed the few remaining would last her until dawn. With her parents now only husks that had been people, the thought of darkness was too much. She tried to think of good memories of her parents. There were many to choose from. But right then, she could only be aware of the ghastly lumps tucked into their bed. Grace huddled close to the fire and waited for Yulia to come back with her ma’s book.

She was still there, alone, when the sun came up.

The next day men came to take away her parents. One of them was Calvin, Rochelle’s man. He was also the da of May, June and Morgan, three little ones that Rochelle had occasionally asked Grace to help with in exchange for a few eggs or vegetables from her garden. He looked haggard, but was the only man to spare her any attention. “Little girl, are you hungry?” he asked.

“I, I do not know,” she whispered.

He gave her a gentle smile. “Maybe you can come and help with the children while Rochelle heals? We do not have much to spare, but I will see that you have something for your help.”

“Thank you,” Grace said softly. “Did she have her baby?”

Calvin’s face darkened. “I am afraid it was still born. The Sky did not smile on this village last night.”

A boy came in to the house a few moments later, Calvin’s little brother Victor. He was only a year older than Grace. “Calvin, Rochelle is missing. I cannot find her. Morgan is crying for her, I do not know where she could have gone.”

“Ah, damnation,” Calvin muttered. “Victor, do you know Grace? Maybe she can help you look after the little ones while I go and find that fool woman.”

Victor looked over Grace, her hair a mess and her dress stained. “Please, if you do not mind,” he said. “I do not know what to do with babies.”

“I can help, yes,” Grace said. “I will be happy to help you, Victor.”

Part One

The Septa Mission

Chapter One

The women of the village had a tradition when the men were off on a raid. They would collect together, anyone whose man was involved, and spend almost all day at the center square. The village had no inn, for who would want to stay there? They had no tavern, because no one had the extra coin to get drinks. There was a meeting hall for the Brotherhood, but the women weren’t allowed in there. So they collected in what they called the square, but was really just a clearing in front of the meeting hall. They set up tables, and brought out chairs. They’d do their washing communally, and share what little supper they could as well. Those with children would bring them, and the women would lend a hand in caring for them.

They collected together because it was easier to work with so many other hands. They collected together also because it was loud. And it was good that it was loud. Grace had never spoken to the other women about the matter, but she was sure they all would agree. When they were surrounded by other women and children, making noise, it was easier to forget that sometimes men didn’t come back from missions.

While that wasn’t likely this time, it was always possible. It was a simple enough raiding mission, taking food collected for the greedy aristocrats to redistribute to those who had actually worked for it. But one could never depend on even a simple mission going to plan.

Grace, now a woman grown, sat in a circle of chairs with a basket of sewing. Her thick, light hair was pulled into a tight knot to keep it from her face. May, now also a woman grown, sat next to her with a larger pile of simple dresses, tunics and breeches, muttering. She had her da’s ice blue eyes, and his height.

“Can you speak up?” Grace asked. “I do not know how you expect anyone to hear you.”

“What is the point if anyone does hear me?” May replied. “June certainly does not care that she has left me with all of the mending. She is off pretending that she will catch some fresh meat for supper. As though she could.”

“Do not fuss at her,” said Nikita, sitting on Grace’s other side. Her belly was swelled with her first child, and she was crocheting a blanket. “At least she took all the bigger boys out to the woods. They might not bring anything back, but at least it got them out of here for a while.”

“Sure. It got them running in the woods, shouting and scaring away all the game for the next moon, so the men will not be able to get fresh meat when they return,” May replied.

“Speaking of,” Grace said, as a sound caught her attention. She stood, still holding a shirt in her hand. The other women began to hear it as well. The grind of wheels on the road, the sound of horses. The men had returned.

Women and children stopped what they were doing, eager to greet them. Timur, the leader of the Brotherhood, came from inside the meeting hall. He was an old man with gray hair, but he still walked steadily enough.

“Ah,” he said, seeing the men. “My brothers, you have returned.”

Timur’s sons led the way, driving a wagon full of barrels and sacks. They were calling out to the women and their da, and couldn’t have been in higher spirits. Many of the men were the same, hurrying to set down their burdens and grab up their women and little ones.

Grace watched for Victor, Morgan and Calvin. She knew she shouldn’t have worried. They were three of only a handful of mages in the village, and their magic was powerful. But that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen.

But they were there, walking at the back of the crowd. Victor and Calvin were easy enough to see. Victor’s reddish blond hair was in a tangle around his face. His broad shoulders were slumped. Calvin, taller and broader than his brother, was looking at the ground rather than at the crowd. His son Morgan was thin, and appeared thinner still when compared to the other two. His fine blond hair was pulled back neatly, as it ever was. They came to May and Grace, but there was a dullness in their greetings.

“Gracey,” Victor sighed, and grabbed her up into his arms. He hugged her tight, and she returned the embrace. “I have missed you, my girl.”

“Victor, what is it?” she asked, pulling away.

Calvin released May, letting Morgan hug his big sister. He gave Grace a dark look. “Where are Yulia and Yeva?”

Grace tensed. “They are likely in this crowd somewhere.” As though she would know where that thieving old woman and her granddaughter were.

“Now is not the time for old angers. We lost Vlas,” Calvin said.

“Oh, oh no,” May gasped. Vlas, Yulia’s son and Yeva’s da, had been a good friend of Calvin’s.

“A guard for the aristocrats took him out as we were leaving the stock house. We must tell them,” Victor said.

May looked quickly at Calvin. “Da, do not say anything stupid to Timur.”

“Do not be telling your Da what to do, girl,” Calvin said, but it was muted. “The fool sent us on this raid knowing damn well the guards would be thick. He should hear this.”

“Yes, but maybe not with screaming in front of the whole village,” Victor said.

Calvin sighed. “I suppose there is some sense in that. Where is June?”

“Out hunting with the bigger boys,” Grace said.

“Foolish girl should be here, not distracting the boys in their hunt,” Calvin muttered. “Alright, Vicky, let us go and find Yulia and Yeva.”

Grace let May trail after them. She would have no comfort for Yulia. No sense being there when she found out she’d lost her son.

Timer was with his sons in front of the meeting hall. He cast his hand over the wagon, full of foodstuffs and goods. “Look at all you have brought us!” he called, striding into the middle of the crowd. “These goods will go to villages in need, instead of the bloated coffers of the aristocrats. And that is something well worth celebrating, do you not all think?”

The village cheered, at least most of them did. Yulia and Yeva were listening to Victor and Calvin. Grace saw Yulia stagger, and lean heavily on her granddaughter. Yeva, all of fifteen years old, didn’t look as though she could bear the weight. May helped the older woman to a seat, where she broke down into sobs.

Timur didn’t seem to notice. “I want to thank each and every man who brought this bounty back to us. Together, we brothers will do what the aristocrats will not. We will feed our people. We will clothe them. We will bring our country back from the brink of darkness. And someday, no more children will starve.”

“I wish he would shut up,” Morgan said, eyeing his da. Grace had to agree. Calvin was still standing over the sobbing Yulia, but his eyes were on Timur. His raging eyes. His hands were starting to glow blue, he was losing control of his magic.

“Brothers, we have fought a long and hard battle against the aristocrats. We have been ground down. Look at this, look at what they had kept in their store houses, stolen right out of the hands of the people. They leave us to starve, but we say no more! We will defeat them!”

Calvin turned, as though he would march up to Timur and tell him just what he thought. But May put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

She didn’t think to stop Victor, though.

“When?” Victor called.

The crowd hushed, and turned to see who had spoken. Timur, still all grins, said, “What was that, Brother Victor?”

“I asked you when would we stop the aristocrats. Because these little raids are not doing anything.”

“I would not call this mountain of goods a little raid,” Timur said.

“I sure as hell would,” Victor replied. “Especially when you consider what we lost to get it. Or did you not even notice that we came back here a man short?”

Grace darted through the crowds to get to Victor, to shut him up. But it was far too late for that.

“Stand back, young wolf,” Timur said. “Your passion is admirable, but you are aiming it at the wrong man.”

“You think so?” Calvin called. Apparently May wasn’t able to keep him silent any longer. “All we do, all we have ever done is raid! We are the Brotherhood of the Broken Chain, and we act like a pack of thieves! Why are we not attacking the aristocrats? King Kurtis is old and mad, surely he could not stand against us.”

“I will not send men to die attacking the capital, Calvin,” Timur said. “Not even your magic light balls are going to take that castle down.”

“Maybe they would, if you were not too much of a coward to let me go find out,” Calvin snapped.

The entire village froze. They looked from Timur to Calvin, with Victor standing at his back. They waited.

“What did you just say to me?” Timur asked.
“We all know you heard me,” Calvin snapped. “So how long will you treat us like a thieving crew, eh?”
Timur’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he was trying to work out a puzzle. Grace waited. She felt like a deer who knows a hunter has her in his sights.
“You, you young men might have a point,” Timur said. He nodded, looking them over. “Yes, I think you just might. I am older, of course. I have spent my life making sure our people were fed and safe. But maybe that is not enough anymore.”

Timur walked calmly up to Calvin, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have such fire, such promise, young wolf. How about we see how far you can take that?”

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Falling From Grace is going wide! Click here to see all the places to get it.

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The story remains

Please indulge me in a moment of nostalgia today. It’s a very special anniversary.

Eleven years ago today, I started writing Woven. After years of feeling stuck in my writing. Years of starting projects but never finishing. Years of shrugging and saying I was a writer, but never really writing. I took expensive bread from a coffee shop that isn’t there anymore to a park that still is. I fed the birds and prayed for a book idea that wouldn’t die before its first real breath.

A spell is just a prayer with extra steps. I believe this was the most successful spell I’ve ever cast.

Eleven years have passed. I have moved homes three times. (And am getting ready to move again, God help me.) The walls and roof that surround me have changed. The desk at which I sit, sipping copious cups of coffee and tea, has changed. I’ve written at a desk older than me, painted over countless times. I’ve written at coffee shops, laundromats, doctor’s offices, libraries and day jobs. I’ve written at a desk my husband made for me by hand. It’s actually the first piece of furniture I’ve ever owned that wasn’t second-hand, and that’s where I’m still writing right now.

The story has remained.

I’ve changed jobs then job titles. I’ve changed my last name.

My family has changed. It shrank, but then swelled again. I lost people I never thought I’d lose. Never thought I could survive losing.

I’ve found new people. A new family, a new place in the world to need others and be needed in.

The story has remained.

I’ve written other stories. Some published, some not. Some tucked away for ‘someday’. Every one of them owes their existence to Woven. Because if it wasn’t for the story about a boy who weaves visions and a girl who spins light, I never would have had the courage or knowledge to write anything else.

I stepped out of my twenties and into my thirties. Soon, I’ll move into my forties. My hair has started to show silver. My back hurts in fun new places.

And yet, this story remains.

I became a horror critic. Then the site folded. Woven was bought by a publisher and then dropped. I republished it. Then I published it wide, a thing I wouldn’t have been able to do if the publisher hadn’t dropped us.

The story, through it all, remains.

We’ve lived through a pandemic and at least two recessions. At least some of us have. We’ve seen wars start and start. And start. We’ve seen three presidents. Well, two presidents and one threat to our country.

The story, though, remains.

And at this point, I feel like I’m ending a long journey. With Falling From Grace going wide this Friday, I’ve done almost everything I can do with it until I can afford to make it an audiobook. (I’m working on it.) Unless I write another book in the same world, the story of Woven is at its inevitable end.

Except, of course, that there are new readers in the world every day. New people looking for new stories. And I don’t think that’s likely to change anytime soon.

So this story will remain. I’ll write others. I’ll share others. And we’ll all keep right on changing.

I am so glad you’re here to share the journey with me.

Falling From Grace is going wide on Friday!

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A retrospective on the Hunger Games series

“If a book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” 

–Madeleine L’Engle

Hello, my name is Nicole. I’m thirty-nine years old, and I love young adult fiction. No, I don’t think we need a support group for this. Unless we all support each other in telling people who judge us to mind their own damn business.

One of my favorite series is Hunger Games. It’s been getting a lot of talk recently, with the release of the latest prequel, Sunrise on The Reaping. The good news is that the book was terrific. The bad news is that Suzanne Collins has said publically that this will likely be the last Hunger Games book.

However, I think that we’ll still be talking about this series for a very long time. While its popularity will likely wax and wane, this is the sort of story that stands the test of time. 

Inspired by the new book launch, I recently reread the series. And I have some thoughts, both as a writer and as a person living through the prolog of a distopian novel. 

So I know we’ve talked about several of the books by themselves. But today, I want to pull out and look at the series as a whole. Maybe we can learn something about writing a series that will stand the test of time. Maybe we can also learn something about dealing with our political situation. 

There are so many questions remaining

At this point I’ve read the whole series twice, except for Sunrise. And I still have so many questions. If anything, I have more questions after the reread. What happened to Lucy Gray? Is the Tigress that shelter’s Katness Snow’s cousin? If so, why does she now hate him so much?!

A great story doesn’t do all the heavy lifting from us. It leaves things open to interpretation, and argument. It allows fans to feel like we’re a part of the story. It also builds a community. A fandom. 

Speaking of which. What do you think happened to Lucy Gray? Let me know in the comments. I personally think she ran off and found a covey in the forest. 

The characters are complicated

There are several characters in Hunger Games that are wonderful people.

Katness is not one of those people. Neither is Haymich. And I don’t even think I need to discuss what sort of person Snow is. 

But, maybe I do? Because he’s not always a monster. Sometimes he’s kind. Sometimes he’s compassionate. He’s brave even, in some ways. 

That’s probably the best thing about this series. The main characters are morally gray. They do some bad things. And some good. These are characters that I think we can all see ourselves in, for better or worse. I think it’s the worse part that’s the bigger hook, actually. 

For me, Katness has a lot of the flaws I see in myself. She’s selfish. She uses people. She refuses to consider that other people might care about her. And she clearly doesn’t ever trust another human soul.

These are parts of myself that I don’t like. And so, I don’t like Katness. But I’ll also never forget her.

It asks something of us

I don’t think it’s any surprise to anyone that we are living through some dark times. Honestly, I lack the energy and time to list all the things wrong with our society right now. 

In the Hunger Games series, Katness is raised in a very dark world. She hates this world, but she accepts it. Her aim is never to overthrow the Capital. It’s just to make sure her sister survives. And while Peeta is happy to fight, he probably never would have if he hadn’t been backed into a corner where it was his only option.

Haymich wants to fight in Sunrise on The Reaping. So does Lenore Dove. They fight. They do not go quietly. They battle with everything they have, as little as it is. 

They paint their posters.

Hunger Games asks us to consider our actions in the America of right now. Are we painting our posters? Are we making good trouble? Or are we just enjoying the bread and circus?

We should strive to be Haymich and Lenore Dove, so that later generations don’t have to be Katness and Peeta. Sing the protest songs. Vote. Send physical mail to representitives. Protect your neighbors and show up for your community. 

Speaking of showing up for your community. I know a lot of people are struggling right now. But if you can, please consider donating to The Trevor Project. Their federal funding ended on July 17th, and they do crucial work to support LGBTQ+ youth.

Another charity that means a lot to me is the Brigid Alliance. They help people travel to access abortion care. 

Please do what you can, when you can, while you can. Don’t let the sun rise on another facist regime. 

Oh, I guess that got a little political. It’s almost like art is crucial in dark times. Go write something rebellious today. 

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Why Never Flinch Works

I recently finished reading Stephen King’s latest novel, Never Flinch. And it was a fun book. I mean, most of King’s books are fun. But this one was especially so.

Never Flinch is about a serial killer, a religious bigot, a political activist and a soul singer. And about how all of these people come together in a gloriously bloody mess.

Now, I will say that I think the ending was a bit anticlimactic. I think the end game could have been a little cooler. I don’t want to ruin it for you, but you’ll know what I’m talking about if you’ve read it. However, it wasn’t bad enough that it ruined the journey for me.

Today, let’s talk about why Never Flinch worked. Let’s pick it apart and see exactly why it was a great, light Summer read.

The story gave away a lot, only to have more secrets to reveal

Never Flinch is, like most of the Holly books, not a horror novel. It’s a crime novel. Yes, there’s a touch of supernatural right at the end. But for the most part, this book was firmly planted in reality.

In most crime and mystery novels, the fun is largely derived from figuring out ‘who dunnit’. I think we’re all trying to recapture the childhood joy of reading Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys, feeling quite clever when we figure out who the bad guy is along with the teenage sleuths.

So when the book opens up with a chapter from the pov of the killer, you might think this takes away a bit of the fun. But it doesn’t. Mostly because we know him by the name Trig, but we’re told early on that this isn’t his legal name. So while we know him, we don’t know his public persona. He might walk past our main characters, even have full-on conversations with them, and we’d never know.

This does happen several times, by the way.

Lots of real-world horrors baked in here

While I love a good haunting story, there’s something great about real-world horrors. Horror is, I think, smarter than critics give it credit for. Through horror, we often talk about the things that really scare us. Not the ghosts and eldritch monsters. But the real things that keep us up at night.

Never Flinch is great at this. This book talks about guilt. About the weight a false conviction can have, and how that can impact so many people. It also talks about the fear of standing up for what you believe in and the price you have to pay to do that.

We see Trig, eaten up by the death of a man who should never be in jail. We see Corrie, putting her life on the line to support Kate and spread the message of feminine power. (Hell yes, by the way. Get me a Kate McKay Woman Power shirt!) We see Kate willingly risk her life to keep spreading this good work. And we see, in a darker turn, siblings Chris and Chrissy sacrifice their lives to shut her up.

All of these are real things we are really scared of. My favorite example is Holly. Holly faces her fears in this book. She steps out of her comfort zone over and over. She is not the sort of person you’d expect to be a bodyguard. She is learning that she can do hard things. She steps out of her comfort zone, and she is still not smoking.

Holly’s my hero.

I like the way King writes women.

This brings me to my next point. I love the way King writes women in this book.

The short reason for this is that he writes them like real people. Our two main characters are women. The majority of characters are women. And never once does anyone ‘breast boobily down the stairs’.

King writes women like people. What an amazing thing. Not one of them is perfect. There are no scream queens. They do dumb, selfish things. But they also do amazing and brave things. They do dumb things, too. And great things. They are messy, ego-driven, protective, kind, cruel. They are, in short, actual people.

Well done.

One of the antagonists is sympathetic

While I certainly don’t agree with Trig or his motivations, I do feel sympathy for him. He saw something wrong, very wrong, happen. He felt guilty. And he wanted to do something to balance the scales. He wanted people to learn from this.

He was wrong and messed up. He reminded me of a meme currently going around Instagram. You’ve probably seen it. A video starts ‘Probably needed therapy, did (insert thing) instead’. The thing might be making jewelry, or adopting cats, or starting a farm. In Trig’s case, he probably needed therapy and started killing innocent people instead.

But he’s so broken. He’s so scared and sad and ill. It’s impossible not to feel a little bad for him.

We’ve had so much time to know Holly

Finally, I want to talk about Holly. Because I love her. And we’ve had so much time to get to know her.

She was introduced in the Mr. Mercedes series, scared of everything, and a hot mess. We saw her blossom in The Outsider. Then, in If It Bleeds. Finally, she got her starring role in Holly. And now she’s back.

I hope King keeps writing about Holly. It’s so nice to see a main character be a middle-aged woman with severe anxiety issues.

Gee, wonder why I like that.

In short, Never Flinch isn’t going to be my favorite book of all time. It isn’t even my favorite King book. But it’s a fun book. It’s funny, dark, and inspiring. And we as writers can certainly learn a lot about writing through reading it.

Do you have a book or movie you want me to talk about? Did you read Never Flinch and have thoughts? Let us know in the comments.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Falling From Grace is going wide! Click here to see all the places to get it.

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Falling From Grace is Going Wide

And now, we’ve come to this. It’s been years in the making. Over a decade, actually.

The Woven trilogy is now available wide. You can get it anywhere you buy ebooks. And as of July 25th, Falling From Grace will be too.

When Grace’s brother in law leads an army to overthrow their mad king, she inspires the women of their village to become healers, witches and warriors. But once she gets Calvin on the throne, her world only becomes darker.

Given all of the power of the crown, Calvin gives into his darker instincts. While Grace learns to be a witch and queen, Calvin slowly loses his mind. He becomes a crueler king than any the country of Calistar has ever seen. Grace finds that her greatest challenge is overthrowing the king she put on the throne.

This book was so much fun to write. Grace is witty, sarcastic, pissy. Everything my other main characters were not. I honestly might write more about her just because she was so much fun. I can’t wait for you to meet her.

Click here to check all the places you’ll be able to get Falling From Grace.

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The best books I’ve read in 2025, so far

It’s Summer, it’s July. As you’re reading this it’s the Fourth of July which I am not celebrating. I’m just coincidentally making ribs and watching fireworks today.

Hopefully, I’m also catching up on my reading. Because according to Goodreads, I am eight books behind where I should be to reach my goal for the year.

Boo.

This is even more of a tragedy because the books I have read this year have been great. Today, I’m sharing my roundup of the top ten best books I’ve read this year. Some came out this year, some didn’t. But all are books I read for the first time in 2025. And of course, we’re starting with number ten and working our way up.

Inspiring Creativity Through Magic by Astrea Taylor

I did a whole review of this book. It was a wonderful overview for both creatives and magical practitioners. If you’re a witch or a creative, this book is certainly worth a read.

Who Holds The Devil by Michael Dittman

This was such a fun book to read. I also reviewed it here.

The characters were delightful, and the story was eerie. And, it’s set in my hometown. Fun all around.

Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green

I’m going to do a full review of this book soon. It’s a great example of writing compelling nonfiction. More on this to come.

Incidents Around The House by Josh Malerman

As a horror fan, I loved how creepy this was. The story was immersive, touching, and infuriating in the best way possible.

As a writer, I loved the formatting and style choices. It was a bold move, writing the whole thing without proper punctuation. But it paid off.

Witchcraft for Wayward Girls by Grady Hendrix

Everything Hendrix writes is amazing. This one was no different. I can feel the discomfort of the main characters. I can feel the fear and the fury. Even reading this in my living room in winter, I felt the humid Florida Summer on every page.

Never Flinch by Stephen King

Every Holly book just keeps getting better. I’ll be talking about this book in more detail next week. But in short, Holly is hired as a bodyguard by a feminist icon who’s being hunted by a religious zealot. Meanwhile, Detective Izzy is hunting a serial killer who’s murdering innocent people to drive those he considers to be truly guilty mad. I love it.

Horrorstor by Grady Hendrix

I was on a Hendrix kick earlier this year. And I listened to Horrorstor while keeping house and doing far too many things that required my hands and eyes.

If you get a chance, listen to this one as an audiobook. It was a fantastic time.

Also, if you’ve ever felt something deeply disturbing lurking beneath the fake plastic of a big box store, you’ll love this story.

Sunrise on The Reaping by Suzanne Collins

I talked about this book. Everyone talked about this book. Bookstagram wouldn’t shut the hell up about this book. And frankly, I understand why. It was amazing. I had to read the whole series again with this new insight into Haymich’s game. And it was exactly what the series needed to fit everything together.

I just wish there were more books to come. But Collins has said she doesn’t plan to write anymore in this world. Which is a shame, because I can think of several novels I’d love to see off the top of my head.

The House of My Mother by Shari Franke

Let me warn you now. I do not suggest reading this book unless you’re in a good place mentally.

I imagine most people know about Ruby Franke and the horrific abuse her children suffered at her hands. Shari is the oldest of these children. She is also her sibling’s champion.

This book is Shari’s story in her own words. And it is heartbreaking. But also incredibly inspiring.

We Used To Live Here by Marcus Kliewer

Finally, We Used To Live Here was easily my favorite book of the year. The story, which is about a young couple who buys a house only to have a very unwanted visit in the middle of the night, is terrifying. It messes with you. It makes you rethink everything you think. And it makes you start counting the windows in your home.

I love a book that makes me start wondering if I’m losing my mind. Well done.

So now it’s your turn. What are the best books you’ve read so far? Let me know in the comments.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

The whole Woven trilogy is now available wide! Click here to get it now at your preferred retailer.

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Missing Stitches is now available wide!

Today is the day. A day that’s been over a decade in the making. Missing Stitches is available now just about everywhere. So the whole Woven trilogy is now wide.

None of this would be here without all of you. When I started this blog, I had barely written a line in the book that would eventually be Broken Patterns. This has been a long, long road and it’s one that you’ve walked with me. I’m so thankful for all of you for that. That is one of the reasons why I’m happy to provide you with these books no matter the platform that you prefer. I don’t want there to be any barriers to reading my stories.

I know things are rough in the world right now. I know a lot of us are struggling. But when things are hard for me, I turn to stories. If you do the same, I hope that my stories help make your day a little brighter.

Click here to see all the ways you can read Missing Stitches, and the whole Woven Trilogy right now.

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I was almost a Tradwife

I was raised to be a homemaker. I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, where being a wife and mom is considered the highest calling a woman can have.

My mother wanted to be a homemaker. My grandmother was a homemaker. My great grandmother was a homemaker. I was not encouraged to go to college or prepare for a career. I thought for sure I was going to grow up, get married, and be a homemaker.

I had an image of what my life was going to be like. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was thirteen. So I imagined that I’d get married, raise babies, and write stories. I had these lovely fantasies about bouncing children on my lap while I edited manuscripts. Writing poetry while the meatloaf baked. Submitting queries while the children were at school.

I suppose that would have been alright. That would have been a nice life.

But life happens. I was a full time homemaker for three years, until I couldn’t handle the abuse at the hands of my previous partner. After this, I discovered that I liked working far more than I liked homemaking. So when my Darling Husband and I moved in together, we decided together that he would be the homemaker and I would work. We did have discussions about this, and decided it was the best plan for our family.

When we got married, the Darling Husband had some health issues. But he was mostly fine. In the past ten years, his health has gone downhill.

Way down hill.

Last December, as you might know, he suffered from a hemmoradic stroke. One moment, he was sitting in our bedroom. The next, he was calling to me from help.

The next moment, he wasn’t able to form sentences. Or move. He was moments away from death.

Now, I’ve told you all that to tell you this. I despise Trad Wife Influencers. I think they prey upon women, selling them fantasies that are unrealistic and dangerous. Using our inherent guilt and years of bad traditions, Trad Wife Influencers tell women that not only should we all want to be homemakers, but that we can all do it. They post videos of themselves making bread from scratch, dressed in immaculant prarie dresses while carrying cherubic babies on their hips in gorgeous well lit kitchens. And they say that we can do it too.

These videos are lies. They’re staged, produced, lovely lies. These women are business owners, lying to you to make money off of you. And these lies can destroy you.

If I had still been a homemaker when the Darling Husband had his stroke, we’d have been cooked. I don’t know what we would have done. But this is just one example of what could go terribly wrong. Consider my mother. Through no fault of her own, she never found a partner and so failed to be a homemaker. Or my grandmother. She was a homemaker until all of her children moved out, but suffered through not one but two abusive marriages.

Marriages might not last. Healthy men don’t always stay healthy. The cost of living is getting more and more expensive, and a lot of families can’t afford to live on one income. Not all women want to be homemakers.

None of these things are failings. None of these things are wrong. In short, it’s not your fault if you’re not able or don’t want to be a trad wife.

I do not say any of this to shame homemakers. I have nothing but respect for them. I was one myself, my Darling Husband was one before his stroke. I would even suggest that I am still a homemaker, just not full time. I do, after all, keep my home. I cook. I clean. I mend clothes. I crotchet and knit. I care for my Darling Husband and our pets. I even bake things from scratch sometimes. These are all lovely things that I take pride in. I do none of these things perfectly. Even if I didn’t have a full time job, I probably still wouldn’t do any of these things perfectly.

It would be easy to say that I’m a failed homemaker. Even if I didn’t want to work, I’d have to work. And I am just over women attacking other women for not reaching unatainable goals. I am way over ‘traditional gender roles’. So let me leave you with some advice. If you, man or woman, want to be a homemaker, consider this.

Get financially smart. Just because you’re not making money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be helping to manage money. Learn about long term savings accounts and low stakes investing. Learn about credit, and how to use it to your advantage. And build credit in your name. Having no credit score is worse than having bad credit. It seems like a cheat, but it’s true.

Find ways to keep your hand in with some sort of career. Massive gaps in your resume aren’t going to help you if you suddenly need to get a job. Have a plan in case you suddenly need to step into the work force.

Have money of your own. Money that you have control over. Maybe you babysit, recycle for profit or sell handcrafts on Etsy. Maybe you and your partner agree upon a certain amount of money that is yours to save, spend or invest how you see fit. Remember, your partner benifits from your hard work. Domestic labor is labor and you aren’t being selfish asking for a safty net. I have a savings account set up for my Darling Husband for this exact reason.

Yes, all of this advice is about money. But, while I hate this, we will starve and become homeless without money. You need to be able to care for yourself and your family if the worst should happen.

In short, homemaking is not for everyone. It’s not desirable for everyone, and it’s not realistic for everyone. Don’t let someone making sourdough on social media tell you that you’re less of a woman if you can’t or don’t want to do it full time. Live your life, do your best, and do what makes you happy.

I am not living the life I thought I would. I am not living the life I was raised to live. I am living a much better life. One that is full of unexpected joys and surprising adventures every day. I have worries. I have sorrows. But I’m satisfied in the work I do in my day job. I am proud of the writing that I do. My home is comfortable, if not always tidy. My life is full of friends, loved ones, art, good food and good coffee. And good books, of course. So many good books.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, you can support us by liking and sharing this post. You can also support us financially on Ko-fi.

Missing Stitches is now available wide. Click here to check out all the places you can get it.

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Missing Stitches, Chapter Three

Victor looked down at his breakfast plate. There sat three soft-boiled eggs, sausage, toast with honey and butter. There was a hot cup of rich tea steaming next to his plate. There had been a time, when he was a poor boy growing up in Montelair, that a meal like this would have seemed an incredible feast.

He dug into his food with relish, ignoring the tutting sounds from his mother-in-law.

“I’m surprised that Stella isn’t with you, Sultiana,” Lenore said.

“She’s gone back to Coveline to visit her family,” Sultiana said, glancing up from her plate. “It was long overdue, I think.”

“Lenore,” Devon said, leaning across the table. “Can I ask you something strange?”

“What kind of strange?” Lenore asked, scratching something out on her date book vindictively.

“Well, Sultiana and I have been feeling something since we arrived,” Devon said, “something familiar.”

“You remember that we had a strange black substance attacking our border with Kussier,” Sultiana said.

“Hard thing to forget,” Lenore said.

“Well, whenever we would stand near that Black, we’d feel something,”

“It made me feel, cold. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you wake up from a nightmare that you don’t remember,” Devon said.

Victor sat his fork down. “Almost like you’ve lost someone, but you’re not sure who, and you can’t find them?” he asked.

“Like that, yes,” Devon said.

“I’ve had that feeling,” Victor said. “Usually at night, when I’m preparing for bed, or waking in the morning.”

“I’ve felt that way, too,” Lenore said. “But it’s always gone by the time I dress. I thought it was just the stress of everything going on.”

“It is probably just this whole mess,” Victor said, taking another bite of his eggs. “It’s hard to feel right about anything.”

But Sultiana shook her head. “It’s not that. This is too familiar to discount. I think we should all keep track of when we’re feeling this darkness. Look for patterns.”

“We can do that,” Lenore said.

The dining room door opened and a palace runner slipped in. “Prince Victor,” he said, setting a tightly rolled scroll next to his plate.

“Thank you, Lad,” Victor said, opening it.

Come to my office, soon as you can, it read.

Victor crumpled the paper, shoving it into his pocket.

“Is something wrong?” Lenore asked.

“Nothing,” Victor said, getting to his feet. “Just a note from the gardener. Slugs are getting into the olive trees in the garden, and he needs me to approve something or other to kill them.”

“And you’ve got to run off from breakfast to deal with slugs?” Lorna asked.

“Well, the head gardener is out sick, it’s just his assistant right now,” Victor said. “Anyway, killing slugs sounds like a fun gamethis morning.”

Lenore arched her eyebrow. The code word game was often used between the two of them. He hoped that it implied that he’d tell her what was going on in truth later. “Oh, go on, Love. The last thing we need is slugs getting into the orchard.”

Victor plucked her hand from the table to kiss her knuckles before leaving.

He made his way to the lower levels of the palace. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard raised voices down a hallway that led to servant dormitories. Hoping that whatever the spymaster had for him could wait, he turned to head in the direction of the disturbance.

Much to his surprise, he found Butrus face-to-face with a palace servant, shouting at each other.

“Hey!” Victor bellowed, hoping just to be heard over the men. “What in the view of the Sky do you think you’re doing?”

“Prince, this man just started shoving me!” the guard said. “He’s gabbling away in that foreign language, and I can’t understand a word of it!”

“Prince Victor, this man was screaming at his wife,” Butrus said in Calistarian. “Am I permitted to discipline him, or do you wish to handle it yourself?”

“Do you speak Septan, Butrus?” Victor asked, also speaking in Calistarian.

“A little,” Butrus said.

“And what led you to believe that he was yelling at his wife?” Victor asked.

“I, well I heard shouting, and he was with––”

“So you just barged in on who knows what? Where is this woman, anyway?” he looked past the men, into the room. There was a woman sitting on the bed, someone he recognized.

“Daisy,” Victor said.

The woman was pulling a cotton dress over her petticoats. Once she was dressed, she smiled at him. “How are you? You haven’t come to see me in a long while, Victor.”

“Well, my lady might frown on it,” Victor replied. “Everything all right? My friend seems to think you were in some trouble.”

“No,” Daisy said, “I had a nice time. All that happened was that Jimmy couldn’t find his boots, and he was scared of being late. We stayed up a little late last night. He was being loud, but not at me.”

She came to the doorway and fluttered her eyelashes. “You know none of Lulu’s girls let ourselves get treated wrong,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said, “Sorry your morning was disturbed. Give Lulu and her old man my best, will you?”

“If she won’t spit it back at me,” Daisy replied.

“James, find your damned boots. And let’s have no more scenes on work mornings, all right?”

“Yes, Prince,” James replied before hurrying back into his room, presumably to continue the search for his boots.

“Butrus, come with me,” Victor said. “Right now.”

Butrus followed after Victor as they headed toward the noble visitor’s wing. “You don’t speak Septan, and you thought it all right to barge into a man’s room and start making a fuss,” Victor said.

“The woman seems to be a friend of yours, did you want her ill-treated?” Butrus asked.

“You did not hear her explain that he was not even yelling at her, because you don’t speak Septan!” Victor said. “Butrus, I cannot imagine that Sultiana needed extra muscle, so why did she bring you along?”

“I am to be the new ambassador,” Butrus said, looking defiant.

“Because you are so levelheaded and diplomatic,” Victor snapped. “I will not tell Sultiana and Devon about this, and you will never let it happen again. If you think that a man in my palace is mistreating a girl, get a guard.”

Without another word, he walked away.

***

Talmadge Grace was sitting at her desk, sipping tea while she read over a stack of parchment. The office was barely recognizable since she’d taken it over. The desk was smaller than the old one, painted over with lacquer that made it glow red. The seats were plain but comfortable. The floor was swept clean around a blue rug that lay underfoot. A good lamp lit the room as there were no windows.

Talmadge herself was different. Her hair, which had been held back before in a messy braid had been cut. It was held away from her face with a steel clip in the shape of a bird. She wore breeches and a tunic with a cream vest, and good boots.

The most surprising change, Victor only saw when she looked up from her papers and stood to curtsy to him. After her bow, she stood straight and looked him in the eye.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Victor said.

“No need to apologize, Prince,” Talmadge said, “This is nothing crucial. I just haven’t had a chance to sit down and talk to you since you’ve returned.”

“My fault as much as anybody’s,” Victor said.

“Well, it’s good that you’re back,” Talmadge said. “Both you and the princess.”

“I have gotten some idea of that, yes,” Victor said. He took a seat at the desk. “What is going on with this noble uprising?”

Talmadge shook her head. “Prince Joseph is the trouble, not anyone else. I know that Lord David is angry about his bastard brother’s lordship, but James has been a lord for quite some time.”

“Since King Lyonal’s days, from what I understand,” Victor said, naming his grandfather-in-law.

“Yes,” Talmadge said. “Lord Constantine siding with the prince is easier to understand. He’s always been one too fond of power, and if his daughter is married to Hank, he’ll have power aplenty. But still, it seems strange that so many of the common people have sided with them.”

“When I hear that someone has gained influence so quickly, I hear the sound of gold clicking,” Victor said.

“Generally I agree,” Talmadge said, “and it’s a possibility. I know that the head of the merchant’s guild is unhappy about the changes Princess Lenore’s been pushing for. The last thing he wants is foreign merchants flooding his markets. He’s not too happy about the women inheriting businesses either. I wouldn’t put it past him to throw some gold at the problem.”

Just then, what had appeared to be a solid wall behind Talmadge opened in the center, revealing a small door. A young boy, a chimney sweep judging by the soot in his hair, popped into the room. He froze when he saw Victor.

“It’s all right, Lad,” Victor said.

The boy hesitated for only another second before saying, “Miss, Prince Joseph’s at the front steps of the palace. He’s wanting an audience with Princess Lenore.”

“Lenore?” Talmadge asked, getting to her feet, “What does he want with her?”

“Perhaps he is going to apologize and swear his fealty,” Victor said, causing Talmadge to release a mirthless laugh.

“You’d better get up there and keep an eye on the princess. She’s bound to be too trusting of her uncle,” she said.

“But, Miss, that’s the other thing,” the boy said, “Princess Lenore and Queen Sultiana left. They went into the city.”

“They did what?” Talmadge cried. “Bobby, why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now, Miss,” the boy said, giving her an incredulous look. “I only heard that the other prince was here when I was already on my way.”

“Send someone to tail her,” Talmadge muttered. She was reaching for her cloak.

“I will go meet with Joseph,” Victor said. “I grow tired of this family squabbling.”

He hurried to find the king.

Samuel and Devon were in the family sitting room. “Does anyone know where those girls ran off to?” he asked.

“Lenore got an urgent message from the temple just after you left,” Devon said. “Sultiana went with her.”

“I find myself missing Anthony, just now,” Victor said.

“What do we think Uncle Joe’s here for?” Devon asked.

Samuel laughed. “You know your uncle. He’s probably going to come right in as though nothing was ever wrong.”

A guard came to the door. “Prince Joseph Mestonie,” he said, holding the door open for Victor’s uncle-in-law.

Like his older brothers, Joseph was a big man, with a small goatee and mustache, well-trimmed. He wore his dark hair to his shoulders and was dressed entirely in Mestonie blue, save his boots.

He also wore a sword on his belt. Victor wore no weapons, neither did Samuel. The only blade in the room, aside from Joseph’s, was on Devon’s belt.

“Joe,” Samuel said. “Get in here next to the fire, Man.”

Joseph stayed by the door, with two of his own guards flanking him. They both wore the same red owl on their breasts that Victor had noticed through the city. “Samuel,” Joseph said. “I came to see Lenore, not you.”

“Lenore’s indisposed,” Samuel said.

“You mean you’ve hidden her away,” Joseph replied. “What have you done to that girl, Sam?”

“What in The Creator’s name are you talking about?” Samuel asked. “Come in and say hello to your nephews. Lenore will be here when she can.”

Joseph cast a dark look at Victor and Devon. “These men are not my nephews. If you don’t release her, I’ll turn this palace upside down.”

Victor took a step toward him. “I do not think we have met. I am Victor Mestonie, Lenore is my wife.”

“My niece is not your wife, Peasant,” Joseph spat. “Samuel, I am at the end of my patience. You stand there, with your wife’s bastard son as though he’s yours. You allow this Montelarian commoner to hurt our Lenore. You allowed your true son to die, and for what? Did Octavian find out something you didn’t want him to know? Samuel, what are you hiding?”

Devon was on his feet. “What did you just say about me?” he growled. Victor was surprised. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Devon stirred to anger.

“I said that you are a bastard, the son of some commoner your whore mother entertained,” Joseph said, “Now you’re sitting on the Calistar throne. You’re nothing but a farce. And you,” he turned to Victor. “You animal. I’ll see you gutted for what you’ve done to my niece.”

“You should be glad Lenore is not here,” Victor said. “The things you are saying about her brother may make her forget that she is a noblewoman. Let alone your insinuations about me.”

“You are speaking like a madman,” Samuel said. “Joe, have you been drinking?”

Joseph smirked. Victor felt cold. There was something wrong about Joseph, even more than his actions suggested. There seemed to be a coldness coming from him. Korhzik must have felt it as well, because he clung to Victor’s shoulder, crouched down with his ears laid back.

“If you’ve nothing to hide, let me speak to Lenore. Alone, so that she may speak freely to me.”

“I’m sure Lenore will be happy to speak with you when she is available,” Samuel said.

“No,” Joseph said. He turned from them, his guards hurrying to open the door. “Search the palace,” he said to them, “Everything from the tower to the cellars. I will find her, Samuel. And if you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you where you stand!”

Victor stormed after them, praying that Lenore was safe at the temple.

Copyright Nicole C. Luttrell. All rights reserved.

Missing Stitches is available everywhere, starting today! Click here for ways to find it.

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