Category: Woven

Starting Chains is going wide

It’s official. Starting Chains is going wide on Friday May 30th!

If you’re new here, welcome. Starting Chains is the second book in my breakout fantasy series about magic, dragons and religious trauma.

After years of war between Montelair and Septa, the two thrones are united by family. Victor’s nephew, Morgan, is sharing the throne with the last heir of the royal line, Jacob. He and Lenore decide to travel to Montelair with their newborn daughters to help broker peace. But peace among their own people is harder to achieve. The city is tormented by a terrorist who calls himself The Tinker. He and his group of anarchists plant bombs through the city and call for the death of the new kings from every street corner. Meanwhile, in Calistar, Sultiana and Devon are marching to war with Kussier. The ancient hatred between the two countries is sprung anew when Sultiana is declared heir to the Calistar throne. Waiting at the border, though, is a much darker enemy. A force from legend threatens to consume both countries, and possibly the world.

Check out the places you’ll be able to get Starting Chains here.

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Why I wrote a prequel

When I wrote Woven, I thought it would be a simple fantasy trilogy.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I at first thought it was going to be one epic novel that only encompassed the first two books. But as I wrote, I discovered more about the world and its people. This is one reason why it’s so important to finish a rough draft. The story tells itself to you, sometimes.

And the story started to breathe on its own, taking on a life I never imagined when I first started scribbling ideas out on index cards.

Despite this, I was as surprised as anyone to realize that the story needed another book.

Falling From Grace is, of course, that book.

Authors have all sorts of reasons for writing a prequel or additional content for an existing series. And it’s something that most of my favorite authors do. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, for instance. You might have any number of reasons for wanting to write more in a world that you’ve created after your original tale is done. But I’m willing to bet the number one reason is that you felt there was more to the story. More to a side character, or a region, or even a legend told in your tale that deserved more space.

Today, I’d like to share the reasons why I wrote Falling From Grace. Maybe some of these reasons will make sense to you, and inspire you to write your prequel or additional novel.

I wrote Grace by accident

Grace came to me while I was writing a prolog for Starting Chains that I never ended up using. This just goes to show that you should never, ever throw away any of your writing. I wrote a story about a young woman tasked with brushing down and caring for a horse before a long ride. This young woman overhears Calvin’s plans to invade Septa.

But this seemed like such a small peak into her world. Who was she? What was it like living in this village with our main antagonist? What would she have to say, if I gave her space and time to say it?

I wanted to see more of the world than the nobility saw

I loved writing about Devon, Sultiana and Lenore. But, they all had one thing in common. They were nobility. Even Victor, by the time he’s a main character, is a prince.

Grace is not a queen. At least, she is only a queen for a short amount of time. She is a simple woman who stepped up and led a rebellion.

I wanted to write about witchcraft and magic and rebellion

Speaking of which, Falling From Grace deals with a lot of things I wanted to write about. And that, of course, was the real gift it gave me. I loved writing about a rebellion. I loved writing about women and men discovering witchcraft.

Falling From Grace was an indulgence of a writing experience. So, as much as I had all of these other reasons to write it, this was the most important reason. I wrote it because I wanted to write it. Because it was such a joy to write it.

I realized that I hinted at a massive story that I never told.

Finally, though, I did have a concern when I was writing the Woven series. I hinted at a war in Montelair, Victor and Grace’s home. I mentioned, however briefly, that Calvin took over the country and killed their king. Later, I talked about a little girl whose story deserved to be told.

There was a story there. There was a whole story in Montelair that I wanted to tell. Because, and I think this is the most important to take from this. If nothing else stays with you, let it be this.

Don’t write a prequel unless you feel like there’s a story that’s waiting to be told. Don’t write more because you think you’re supposed to, or because the original series sold well and you want to capitalize off of that. Write the story that is there. Write the story that is calling to be told. You, and your readers, deserve nothing less.

If you want to support Paper Beats World, you can do so on Ko-fi.

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Falling From Grace launches today!

For me, this day is over ten years in the making. Ten years of ups and downs, twists and turns I never saw coming, and the overwhelming need to have this story out in the world.

No matter how I had to do it.

Falling From Grace is now available. All of Woven is now available for the first time since April 2023.

It’s been a lot of work, waiting and praying, but it’s all been worth it to finally have this series out in the world again for all of you to enjoy.

Please let me know what you think of the story. I’m so excited to be able to share Grace with all of you. Especially going into the holiday season.

Stay tuned, there’s a lot more to come.

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Falling From Grace, Chapter three

Chapter Three

A few days later Grace woke alone in her bed with a feeling that she was late for something. There was a pressure, a certainty that she had a crucial, important thing to do, and that it must be done at once. She got out of bed in a flash, and pulled her clothes on. It took only moments to tug a tan dress over her shift and lace it up, but it seemed an eternity. Brushing out her hair and setting it in a bun to keep it out of her face took years. She brewed a cup of tea, and then sat down with a scrap of paper and a rough piece of charcoal to consider what she needed to do. What could weigh on her so desperately that she felt in such a rush?

She wrote down everything she could think of, everything that might need done. Clean the house, weed the garden, do the washing. It was a small enough list, but it seemed to press on her. With another quick sip of her tea, she headed to the river to collect a bucket of water and get started.

She was on her knees in the fireplace, scrubbing the soot away with a wire brush and heavy soap when she heard a gentle knock on her door. Grace winced as she got up, and opened the door to find Nikita standing there.

“Oh, you look a mess,” Nikita said. “What have you got soot all over you for?”

“I was scrubbing out the fireplace, what do you think?” Grace asked.

Nikita looked around the room, which had all been thoroughly scoured in the last few hours. “I was worried when I did not see you in the square. May and June said they had not seen you since supper last night.”

“I just needed to get some cleaning done before I came down,” Grace said. She ducked her wash rag into the water and started wiping away the soap. “It was such a mess, disgusting. What would Victor have thought if he had come home to that?”

Nikita shrugged. “Well, it looks fine now. Will you come back with me?”

“Suppose I should. The quiet cannot be good for me.”

“It is not good for me, either. I wonder, could I come and sleep here until the men get back? I would feel better if I was not alone at night.”

So she was not to have any peace, even in the evening.

“That would be fine,” Grace said. She used a dry cloth to wipe down her face and hands, then the front of her dress. “Come on, I guess.”

Nikita nodded, and all but pulled Grace to the square. June and May were there, busy with their needles. “There you are. What, were you sleeping in?” June asked.

“Oh, shut up,” Grace said. She had her own sewing to do, working over scraps from some old clothes for a blanket. She pulled her things out of her bag, taking a seat next to May. “Is Morgan off hunting again?”

“Yes,” June snorted. “For all the good it will do him.”

“He caught that nice pheasant the first day,” Grace said. “What happened to him?”

“Dunno, but Olga’s little boy has brought more game out of those woods than Morgan,” May sighed. “It is a shame, too. I would love to have some meat tonight.”

“He had better get himself together, in case Da-,” June began. She pursed her lips together and didn’t say anything more. Not as though she needed to.

May glance up from her work, as though to comfort her sister. But her face darkened. “What is she doing here?” she asked.

Grace followed her gaze and saw Yeva, creeping towards the collection of women. Traditionally, women and daughters of men who died didn’t come near the gathering in the square. It was a kindness, to keep away. To not remind women of the men lost before.

“She looks lost,” May said. “Should we invite her to sit with us?”

“I will leave if you do,” Grace said flatly.

“Be kind. She lost all of her family,” May said. “You know what that is like.”

Grace thought of Yulia, running from her house with Grace’s ma’s book. She thought of the silence, days later, when Grace had hammered on the door to beg for her book back. Yulia had forever acted as though the book had never belonged to Grace, as though her ma and grandma’s writing wasn’t on every page. “Aye, I do. And I earned a spot at someone else’s table, looking after you. She can find a way to be useful, or look after herself. A handout will just make her weak.”

“Grace, look,” Nikita said.

Outside of the circle of women and children stalked a thin man with thinner hair. He leered at the women, giving Grace a filthy smile when she looked his way.

“Yurick,” Grace muttered. “Can Timur not keep him under control?”

“He does this every mission, everyone knows he is too weak to be sent out himself,” June said.

“Worthless old fool,” Grace said.

“It is sick, what he is doing,” May hissed. “Sneaking about trying to get a woman alone while her man is gone. This is exactly why Morgan should have stayed here instead of going out to hunt.”

The day passed slowly. Once the sewing was done the girls weeded the garden and dug up some potatoes for supper. They went to the river and trapped a few fish, tiny things. Grace baked some bread, from her share of the flour that the men had gotten during their last raid. Nikita had some carrots. The food was cooking when Morgan returned, carrying a few dead squirrels by their tails.

“Well,” he grinned, holding up the animals. “Had better luck today.”

“Oh yes,” June crooned, looking over the animals. “That will be such a meal for five people.”

“You know what you are?” Morgan snapped, gesturing wildly with the dead squirrels still in his hand. “You are a thankless khu’i. I do not see you out there, trying to find anything to kill in those woods.”

“Um, excuse me, Grace?”

Yeva was standing near their cook fire. To Grace’s fury, she was holding her ma’s book in her hands.

“What do you want?” Grace asked.

“I, well I wondered if I could ask you a question. Lada gets these headaches, and she said my grandma used to make her a tea for them. Something stronger than willow bark, she said. But I cannot find the recipe anywhere. Do you have any idea what it might be, or where I might find it?”

“Why would you think I would tell you anything?” Grace asked. “You have the book, look it up yourself.”

“This book is too complicated for me. I mean, the medicine recipes are all intermixed with these strange symbols and I cannot make any sense of it. Besides, I am no healer. I only ever learned about midwifery,” Yeva said. “Grandma said you used to apprentice under her, I just thought-.”

“Your grandma was a dirty liar,” Grace said. “Now get away from here, you are not wanted. Go on, go home.”

“I need help. What is anyone going to do in this village if we have a healer who does not know what she is doing?” Yeva asked.

“I guess we will have to sort it out, since that is the situation we are in,” May replied.

Yeva turned away, her shoulders drooping. Grace felt her conscious pinch, but just for a moment. She wanted to snatch the book away from the girl, but what good would it do? She was no healer either.

***

Everyone dithered around the fires after supper. The women were hesitant to go home to empty beds. The children, unaccustomed to the mysteries and magic of the night, were just happy to be sitting around a fire and listening to stories from their mas and sisters. Thus it was late when the women started heading for their homes. Some carried little ones on their hips, others led sleepy ones too big to be carried anymore.

Grace, Nikita, Morgan and the girls left in a group. They were moving a little slow, acting a little silly. Morgan had a bottle of vodka, and they’d been passing the spirit around.

“Those wee little squirrels,” June laughed. “I suppose they were better than nothing with some potatoes, but they were so tiny!”

“A small animal is harder to catch than a bigger one,” Morgan said, shaking his finger at his sister.

“Then you should have spared yourself the trouble, and gotten bigger ones,” May chuckled.

“Oh, stop fussing at your brother,” Grace said. “He is trying, that is important. You keep right on hunting, Morgan, and you will get better someday.”

“The woods are half hunted out. That is what Boris says,” Nikita said.

“Da never fails to bring something home,” June responded, mulish.

“I am going to bed,” Morgan snapped and headed for the door. His hands were glowing blue. It wasn’t the shield magic of his uncle, or the destructive force his da had. It was just light. But on a dark night like that one, light was enough.

Morgan and the girls headed for their house, while Grace led Nikita to hers. “I will set a cot out in front of the fire for you,” Grace said. She shut the door, and secured it with the solid brace Victor had put in before he left. She tried not to think, before he left for good. It was just left, and he would be back. He had to come back.

Grace turned from the door, and nearly tripped over Nikita. She was frozen in place, staring at a shadow in the corner of the room.

Yurick emerged from the shadow, calmly. “It is about time you girls got home,” he said. He breathed deep, as though casting for their scents like a hunting hound. “I have been anxious, waiting for you.”

“You have no reason to be here, Yurick. Get gone,” Grace said, pushing Nikita behind her.

“Ah, but I do have a reason to be here,” Yurick said. He walked slowly towards them. “Nothing gets me harder than a woman with child.”

“Nikita, go,” Grace said, shoving the other woman toward the door. Nikita pulled the brace free, and ran. Yurick was at the door in a moment, slamming it shut behind her and trapping Grace in with him. He hit her, sending her sprawling on the ground next to the table.

“Are you so eager for a man?” he chortled, as Grace shook her head, trying to clear it. “Alright, then. I can have little Nikita later and you now.”

He fell on Grace, pulling up her skirts. Grace grabbed for the closest thing to her, a stool at the table. She hit Yurick hard in the side of the head, and shoved him off of her.

“You bitch!” he yelled, but Grace didn’t waste time. She brought the stool down on his head again, and again.

“Stop, stop it!” he cried. “I will leave, I will!”

“To do what, rape some other woman?” Grace snarled, and hit him again.

Just then the door slammed open. Morgan came in with a sword in his hand, June just behind him.

“Oh, Land and Sky,” Morgan snorted, looking at the puddle of Yurick on the floor. “You worthless old man, what did you think you were going to do?”

Grace stopped hitting him, allowing Morgan to grab the sobbing man by the back of his shirt. “Get out of here. I catch you sniffing around my aunt again and I will run your hide through.”

Morgan shoved him out of the house, laughing when Yurick stumbled and fell.

“Grace, are you alright?” June asked.

“He did not get what he wanted,” Grace said, setting the stool down with shaking hands. “I might have banged my head on the floor when he hit me, that is all.”

“Grace!” May called, running to the front door. “Grace, Nikita is going into labor!”

“What?” June gasped.

“She just collapsed on the floor as soon as Morgan and June ran out, and water started pouring out of her. What do we do?”

“There is no experienced midwife,” June said numbly. “What can we do for her?”

The three of them looked to Grace, as though she would have some sort of an answer. She had to have one.

“Damn it, someone go and fetch Yeva,” Grace said finally.

“She is a girl,” May said.

“She is an apprentice midwife, which is more than any of us,” Grace replied. “Go May. June, start boiling water. Let us get the new ma in a bed. Morgan come on.”

Falling From Grace is available today! You can get it right now on Amazon.

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Falling From Grace, Chapter Two

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.

Falling From Grace is coming out tomorrow! Preorder it here now on Amazon.

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Grace, Chapter One

In a sparkling city of canals and magic, there is a prince named Victor. He is married to a strong headed princess, and they have two daughters who are the center of their world. Together they have fought monsters and men, and changed the course of their country, Septa, forever.

But before Victor was a prince, he was a common man. And he loved another, a girl named Grace. This is her story.

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?”

Falling From Grace is launching on Friday! You can preorder it right now on Amazon.

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Falling From Grace is coming in December

Once upon a time, I wrote a story about a boy who wove visions and a girl who spun light. About how, together, they changed their world for the better.

I love that story. But it had a few problems. Problems I only saw after writing three whole books about Devon, Lenore, Sultiana and Victor. All of my main characters but one were born into nobility and wealth. All of them were mages.

Now, that is all well and good. But it’s also a narrow view of the world. Most of us aren’t wealthy. I’m sure as hell not. Most of us are not gifted with such inherent talent that it cannot be denied, which I feel is the closest equivalent to mages in our world.

Some of us have to get by on working hard, saving money and learning skills.

So I wanted to write a story in the world of Woven about a regular woman. Maybe someone not gifted, or destined to do great things. A woman who chose to do great things instead, and shape the world around her through determination and courage.

This brought me to Grace.

You might remember Grace as the angry woman Victor left behind when he moved to Septa. And if you didn’t like her, I’m sorry. I never meant for her to be even a temporary antagonist. She had every damn reason to be angry. Wouldn’t you be if your boyfriend vanished and ended up dating some rich girl?

I needed to give Grace a chance to tell her own story. And in doing so, I told a little of mine as well. Because while I was writing this book, I was also discovering modern witchcraft.

Falling From Grace was first published in 2020. It was a terrible year for most of us, but at least Trump lost his election bid that year. But this time he won, and I think we need Grace again.

I think we need as many women and men as possible who are ready to fight against a mad king. We need witches, advocates and activists. And we need stories about them. So here is mine.

Preorder Falling From Grace here.

I loved writing this book. And I hope that you love reading it. It’s fun, sweary, irreverent and optimistic. I hope it inspires you to see some light in a dark time.

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It’s Missing Stitches launch day

I hate launching a book this week. I hate this week. This is what happens when you make a launch plan months in advance. Sometimes you have to launch a book when you’re fucking furious. When everyone you know and care about is furious and scared and unsure of what’s going to happen next.

But here we are.

And in a way, I’m kind of glad I’ve been relaunching Woven during these times. For one thing, it’s nice to have a project to take my mind off things. Also, I kind of think we need more stories like this one.

Missing Stitches, which you can officially get right here, is the story of a country ripped apart by a religious sect that would rather kill a woman than see her on the throne. It is the story of a jealous nobleman who is willing to lie, threaten, and make deals with monsters to keep a woman off the throne. Not because she’s a cruel or incompetent leader. But because she’s a woman.

Lenore has to fight a theocratic terrorist group to save her city. And that feels like it’s sort of relevant right now, doesn’t it?

So here it is. The Woven Trilogy is once again out in the world. It’s a wonderful story of people who don’t fit into the world making the world change for the better. I hope that you all get a chance to read it. And I hope that it helps at least entertain you as we try to get through the next four years.

Stay tuned, there’s more to come.

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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.

Want to read the rest of the story? Missing Stitches goes live on Friday! You can preorder it now on Amazon.

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It’s launch day for Starting Chains

Here we are, launch day for Starting Chains. And it’s hard to believe it’s real.

These relaunches have been a true labor of love. Woven is such an important series to me, and I’m thrilled that it’s getting the proper launch it deserves.

Just in case you haven’t read it yet, here’s the blurb for Starting Chains.

If you haven’t already pre-ordered, here’s a link to get Starting Chains right now in either e-book or physical book versions.

If this is the first you’re hearing of the relaunch, I am not doing my job right. But here is a link to book one, Broken Patterns.

And of course, because this is a rapid release relaunch, rest assured that book three of the trilogy, Missing Stitches, is coming soon.

Thank you all again. I hope that you love Starting Chains as much as I’ve loved reading it. They say to write the book you want to read, and that’s exactly what I did. Starting Chains is half Norse political intrigue fantasy, part Middle Eastern dark fantasy. And it is so much fun.

Stay tuned, there’s more to come.

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