The Queen and her Brook Horse, An Orc Saga Novella, Book 2.5, is Available Now!
Facets of Fate, a Fate of the Gods novella and short story collection, is available now in print and ebook!
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Tuesday, June 24, 2014

15th Century Music to Celebrate TAMING FATE! Released Today!

Taming Fate is here! In paperback and ebook, and available for your reading pleasure -- and in case you missed the memo, I've got cover copy below, and! an excerpt!

But first, since this Fate of the Gods installment is set in the 1400s, I thought some 15th Century music might be in order to set the mood. A little taste of what Eve might have heard in church or at a banquet, or maybe even danced to with the Marquis DeLeon. (As an added bonus, there's a lot of great 15th Century art in the accompanying video -- to check out when you're not too busy binge reading Taming Fate to these fantastic tunes, of course.)

Taming Fate
Fate of the Gods: Book 2.5

For the first time in her many lives, Eve would rather be anywhere but home.

In 15th Century France, Eve would have burned as a witch if it hadn’t been for the too-timely arrival of the Marquis DeLeon to save her skin. But Eve didn’t ask to be rescued, and their hasty marriage is off to anything but a smooth start. As tensions in the town grow and plague threatens, Ryam DeLeon knows if he and Eve cannot find common ground, their first Christmas may be their last.

Previously published in the anthology A Winter’s Enchantment.

Chapter One (Excerpt)

The man who sat across the table was a stranger. Dark hair, dark eyes, his face so familiar, and yet so different. The Marquis DeLeon showed more affection to his dogs and his horses than he did to his wife. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried, Eve reminded herself. That he didn’t still try. But from the moment she had not thrown herself into his arms, weeping with gratitude and relief, he had been at a loss as to what to do with her, how to move forward.

Oh, they’d married, of course. And even consummated their vows, not that the Church had not been known to ignore such evidence when it suited them. Which was why the Marquis wished to have children, as quickly as possible.

And he believed simply by saying so, by announcing this desire to her, for the security of their marriage and her own personal safety, she would welcome him unreservedly to her bed. And why shouldn’t she? Weren’t children the entire point of her existence? Shouldn’t she wish to carry on her line, expand her family? She pressed her lips together to keep them from curling at the memory of his words. His entire attitude.

Arrogant, pig-headed, insufferable man. From someone else, she might have expected it, but from a DeLeon—from her husband, when he knew her for what she was, knew she was more than just Anessa, daughter of some minor nobleman from Avignon—it was all the more frustrating.

“Will you go riding today?” he asked politely, tossing a bit of bread to the dog at his feet. A lean hound, tall and fast and elegant. She’d watched the Marquis working with it, sending it running after balls and sticks and the occasional servant, equipped with some sort of lure.

“I ride every day,” she answered, just as polite. A servant placed a plate of cheese between them, on the table. The last of the breakfast offerings, and more than she would have had elsewhere after St. Martin’s day. “Thank you, Robert. You needn’t serve us further.”

Her husband sat up, his eyes narrowing at her dismissal of the servant. But of course he didn’t contradict her. He wouldn’t, for appearances. She was, after all, the lady of the manor as his wife. And his dislike of her methods would not stop her from employing them. Not as long as he treated her with the same consideration he showed a brood mare.

“Anessa,” he began, after the room had cleared of servants. “You cannot truly mean to go on this way. Not permitting the servants to do their work, taking so much upon yourself. It is all well and good to give them some small holiday during Christmastide, but—”

“Christmastide is nearly here,” she interrupted. “And the running of this manor is mine, as your wife.”

“And what do you intend for Christmas itself? That we return from the mass and make ourselves some cold plate? It’s hardly a fitting way to end forty days of fasting!”

“The servants and maids have fasted too, all this time, and why shouldn’t they have some relief from their burdens?” The cheese was soft enough to spread, but she missed the butter they’d given up as an extravagance. For a religion neither one of them believed in. “I’ll cook the Christmas feast myself. For all of us.”

The Marquis opened his mouth, then shut it with an audible snap, his jaw tight. “And I suppose you insist upon this? That your mind is made up? You’ll not attend the mass yourself, then, either, I suppose.”

“Not if it can be avoided.” It wasn’t as if Christmas day was anything more than the church’s attempt to appease the pagans who would have celebrated solstice, even after their conversion. Jesus hadn’t been born in winter, and she should know. It had been her body which had brought him to term and birthed him, so long ago.

“Had I known you were such a stubborn thing—”

“What, my lord?” she demanded, the last thread of control over her temper snapping. “You would have left me to the inquisitor’s justice? Let me burn alive? Had it come to that, I would have survived, and it would have served as proof enough of my innocence. I never asked you to come for me. I never asked for this marriage. For any of this!”

“Nor will you ever need to ask for our protection, the protection of your own family,” he said tightly. “Why you insist on punishing me for doing my duty to you, I cannot understand in the slightest.”

“If you did not wish to marry me, you need not have bothered. You might have let the whole of it be a farce and left me to my own devices. I would have drawn no attention to myself as your ward. I have no need for position or power, you must know that.”

“And yet I chose to give it to you, all the same. To give you the respect you deserve beneath my roof. Oh, how I have wronged you!”

“Don’t be snide, my lord Marquis. It does not suit such a noble name.”

“And the lady of the manor roasting venison for le Réveillon does?” he mocked. “Or avoiding Christ’s mass, for that matter? I cannot protect you if you will make no effort to keep appearances.”

And this was what her family had become? Slaves to the Church, slaves to the King, when she had given up her innocence in the Garden, at the dawn of Creation, to make them free. The Church was as bad as Adam, crushing its people beneath its heels, and she refused to fear it. No matter how many times the priests threatened to burn her as a witch.

“This is my family, my lands, if I cannot be true to myself here, where might I find any whisper of freedom?”

He dragged his fingers through his hair as if he wished to tear it from his head altogether. “I do not mean to tell you that you cannot be free,” he bit out. “Only that some sacrifices must be made to avoid further difficulties. Turning the manor upside down with these strange customs of yours serves nothing but to draw attention to yourself and me. And once the Church notices, if your escape here is realized and the inquisitors are sent once more, there is little I might do to stop them from doing you harm, my lady.”

“They were bought once,” she mumbled, looking away. He was right, of course. Priests talked, and the absence of the Marquis’ wife from the midnight mass was not something that would be overlooked for any excuse. If word reached Avignon, the inquisitors would come.

All the more reason why they never should have been married.

“I did not buy an inquisitor,” he said gently. “I bought only a lesser priest, and it cost me a goodly fortune. The repairs to the palace in Avignon will not come cheap, nor does his silence on the matter.”

“Repairs to the palace?” She stared. “You can’t be serious, surely. I thought it was only some small stipend…”

His lips pressed together, forming a grim line.

“You are serious.” It was hardly believable, the expense, and for what? To prevent the inconvenience of her trial, the trauma of the result?

One of the blessings of being Eve was that she could not be killed. Not before her time. Not even by an inquisitor, invoking God. And even if by some miracle they managed it, she would be born again, live again for another life.

“Why, Ryam? It was hardly worth so much.”

“You are worth more, still,” he said. “Your safety is bound to my honor.”

“Ah,” she breathed. It all made so much more sense when he put it that way. He was sworn to protect her, and if he did not, he would be dishonored. Perhaps not in the eyes of any others but himself, his own family, but it did not matter. Any stain was too great. And in the end, it wasn’t about her at all.

“The estate can well afford it,” he went on. “I would not have you worry on that account. There is gold enough for three palaces, were it needed, I promise you. And better spent upon your safety than in any other pursuit.”

Better spent upon his honor. That was what he meant, whether he realized it or not.

Arrogant, insufferable, impossible man.

“Sadly, the fortune we’ve amassed is not near enough to buy Rome itself,” he was saying. “And even if they burn you and you survive, that will only bring you even more beneath her eye. You would have no peace, after. No peace until they had you crushed beneath their heel. Anything less only threatens them, and with all that has happened so recently—the popes and the renegades who claimed the title for themselves, the division of the Church in these last years—they can hardly risk another rallying cry. Surely you see that.”

Yes, she saw. She’d seen for some time that her very existence, were it known, threatened everything the fools had built. They pointed to their gospels and their letters, but she had lived it all. From the Garden, to the birth of Moses, to Jesus’ crucifixion. She knew the truth, and it had little to do with popes and palaces and midnight mass. But it would hardly have mattered if he had not insisted upon marrying her.

“You don’t believe any of it, and still you serve them.”

He stopped, hand half-way to his mouth with more bread, and met her eyes. He set the bread aside. “Unlike you, I will not survive if I am punished for heresy. And worse, I destroy the legacy you made for us. I am a Lion, my lady. Nothing matters more than that. If we ally ourselves with the powers of the land to ease our passage through time and maintain our heritage, at least we yet live.”

“Those powers are corrupt,” she said, lifting her chin. “And as long as you support them, you are painted with the same brush, stained by the same filth. If your honor is so dear to you, perhaps you ought to reconsider.”

His jaw worked, the muscles twitching beneath the skin as he struggled with his own self-control, and then he rose. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She watched him leave, but for some reason, it didn’t feel anything like victory.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

15th Century Fashion was Awful (And Eve Totally Agrees)

A (re)post of illustrated evidence, because really, I'm not sure the 15th century was a good look for anyone. Here are a few examples of why:
From Wiki Commons and it has ANNOTATIONS! GO LOOK!
The woman in red is the queen consort of France, I guess, Queen Isabeau, who I am told is, herself, Bavarian. The sleeves are pretty wicked but seriously the rest. I may be put off in part by the shaved gleaming white pasty forehead look and the crazy horned headdresses also, if I am being honest here. But I do kind of love the patterning on the red fabric so. There's that? I would so trip over those skirts all the time, guys. all the time. And speaking of tripping over things...

Another of the Queen (from wiki commons, natch). Talk about fancypants. How did they keep dresses like that clean? I mean really. I had a train on my wedding dress, and my white skirt was scuffed and dirty within 40 minutes of putting it on, even though I tried to keep it draped over my arm for 30 of those minutes. I'm just saying. Impossible. 

So maybe not everyone was as crazy as the French, hm? Maybe there were better looks! BEHOLD THE SPANISH! 

(from wiki commons)

These dudes, dudes. Those robe-like things! But I have to admit, that woman in the background with the black and blue and white dress is pretty sharp-looking, and if I had to pick one of those dresses to look kind of pregnant in (because seriously they all look like they are a little bit pregnant), it would be that one. 

And only that one. 

Lest you believe the lower classes had any kind of better deal in fashion, let me just give you a glimpse of what every man was wearing under those super long and ornate robes.

wiki commons
And now you know.

There are days I curse myself for including this particular period in the history of my novels. Thank goodness Eve can defy convention and skip the headdresses of doom when she's at home. And if you're curious how I made this all work when it came time to take the clothes OFF for some romancing, be sure to grab a copy of TAMING FATE, which is releasing as its own novella in paperback and ebook on June 24th, and tells the story of Eve's marriage to the Marquis DeLeon in 15th Century France! With some divine guest stars, of course. Mark it to-read on Goodreads today!

There also might have been something to do with rats and fleas involved in the production of this novella, too, just in case that's more interesting to you...

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

TAMING FATE, now with Cover Art and Pre-orders!

As some of you may be aware, TAMING FATE is coming out on June 24th as a stand alone novella in ebook AND Paperback!! This means, of course, Cover Art, and I am happy to share it with you, today! First, a little refresher on the SUBJECT of Taming Fate (which is maybe one of my favorite didn't-make-it-into-the-books side stories, P.S.):

In 15th Century France, Eve would have burned as a witch if it hadn’t been for the too-timely arrival of the Marquis DeLeon to save her skin. But Eve didn’t ask to be rescued, and their hasty marriage is off to anything but a smooth start. As tensions in the town grow and plague threatens, Ryam DeLeon knows if he and Eve cannot find common ground, their first Christmas may be their last.

Previously published in the anthology A Winter’s Enchantment.

And the cherry on top about this release? You can pre-order it via World Weaver Press! Huzzah!! (And of course you can mark it to-read on goodreads, too!)

And tune in next week for some 15th century Fashion talk on the blog!

Tuesday, June 03, 2014

On the Subject of Citrus

(crossposted a long time ago in a galaxy far far away...)

Citrus had not yet made its way to Greece during the Greek Bronze Age. No lemons and limes for cooking, no oranges, no grapefruits on the table, much to my dismay. Sweet Oranges took their (sweet) time making an appearance in general, really, and in northern Europe they suffered from a lack of availability and cultivation as late as the 15th century AD. But though these fruits weren't yet being cultivated in the west during the bronze age, they were absolutely being cultivated elsewhere.

In the Far East of Asia, there are mentions of citrus fruits as far back as 2400 BC in China (and this website by Mark Rieger originally put together for his horticulture class at UGA has everything you'd ever want to know about citrus today, if it's a bit sparse on the days of yore). And if there's one thing we know about the Greek Bronze Age, it's that they weren't shy about trade, nor were heroes like Theseus and Pirithous likely to be afraid of exploring new oceans, seas, or rivers.

In Homer's Odyssey, in fact, there's a reference to Odysseus wearing a material which is believed to be silk:
"And I noted the tunic about his body, all shining as is the sheen upon the skin of a dried onion, so soft it was; and it glistened like the sun" (19.233).
This attestation to another commodity of the Far East which had not spread widely allows the savvy writer a little bit of leeway when it comes to bringing Homeric myths into the historical world. While it's clear these kinds of luxuries were absolutely not available to even the common king or queen, it isn't outside of the realm of possibility for a hero to have collected such spoils, or even to have gone out of his way to present them as incredibly valuable gifts for a special occasion.

And if there's one thing we know about the Heroes of Greek Myth, Homeric and otherwise, it's how much they loved raiding, rustling, and sacking everyone from their neighbors, to the richest cities and kings they could find.

Of course, we already knew that Bronze Age kings likely also fulfilled roles as priests, or religious leaders -- but we shouldn't forget that kings like Pirithous or Theseus? They were most definitely Pirates, too.