Here we are, just a few days away from the launch of the new book six in the Imdalind Series, you know, that Novella that decided to be more than 40k words. The one with a bit more kissing and a lot more of Sain.
Take it or leave it, he’s here.
And now that we are only a few days away it’s time to give you what you are waiting – the first chapter.
Before you dive in, make sure you snag your copy at the pre-order price! I don’t want you to miss it!
Chapter One – Joclyn
Wyn’s attack crashed into the wall above my head. If I hadn’t been paying attention it would have crashed into my head, which was clearly what she wanted given that she was cackling like some old crone.
Well, an old crone that appeared both young, beautiful, and perhaps too obsessed with the 70s.
She looked so innocent. Well, she would if it wasn’t for the look of mischievous death that was wrinkling along her hairline, and the tiny bit of fire that was dripping from her fingers.
I wasn’t out of the woods just yet.
Sparring with Wyn was always treacherous.
She laughed again and sent another attack right at me. The ribbon of flame smashed into the broken pew to my left and sent burning embers over my arms. The shower of sparks left little spots of black behind. My shirt, however, was not quite so lucky, each spark burned into the light cotton and spread like oil on water.
“What the heck!” I screeched, patting down the burning fabric as I jumped away from where I had assumed I would be safe and into the open fighting arena.
“Eat fire, Joclyn! You are going down!” Wyn yelled, her voice echoing over the stone floors and bouncing off the few fragments of ancient wood furniture that was littered through the massive space.
The main floor of the cathedral may be cleared, and the walls might be covered with what could only be explained as a magical protective bladder, but when one chooses to spar against the only known person to wield fire magic you are pretty much guaranteeing destruction. And resigning to come away with a few burn marks.
Best friend or no. No one was safe.
“Teach you to take me away from Thom!”
“You mean pull you out of the dark man filled room?” I was careful to keep my voice low as I scooted behind the pew, lest she send another attack and more sparks my way. Which she totally did.
“I liked this shirt,” I mumbled to myself, finally patting the last of the burning holes into submission as Wyn’s laugh bounced off the sparkling walls of the cathedral bladder.
If I had been paying more attention to the ruthless assassin and not to the remains of what had been a cut geometric elephant printed tee, I would have recognized that that laugh was all trouble.
The air heated as her magic sparked, an eruption of red and yellow filling the cathedral as Wyn popped up from where she had been hiding and attempted to attack. It was the worst thing she could have done. Both her and her attack were open to view, and what she had expected to be her winning attack was useless.
My smile spread wide enough that I could have been the villain in this story. With a quick swipe of my hand, my magic pulled through the air and lifted from the ground in a wall that extinguished both her flame and her smile.
“Oh shi-” She wasn’t able to say more before my attack hit her straight in the chest and with a grunt worthy of a tennis player she was thrown back, right into the magical wall that was protecting the ancient space from a rouge attack. Or in this case a flying Wyn.
She hit the wall with a smack, a ripple of light spreading away from her as the magic absorbed the velocity of her flight. She was lucky it was there. If she had soared through it she would have hit the heavy carving above the pulpit, possibly even the ancient stained-glass rosary to the side. Both things that Ilyan would not be happy to see get anything more than an admired glance.
“Not fair,” Wyn gasped, the words strained as she slid down to the ground with a sigh, her body sagging as though it was limp and broken. Which of course, was an act. Wyn didn’t give up that easy, and I wasn’t a fool enough to think that that was all it was going to take to beat her.
“I think that’s game point,” I announced loudly, keeping my magic in the tips of my fingers as I vaulted over a broken pew to another, closer to where she was toppled over. Rag doll indeed.
“Claim defeat,” I commanded from where I stood atop the next pew, still a good fifteen feet from her, one of my feet resting on the arm rest as if I was going to sail the thing far away from this mess. It probably looked like it with how the long golden ribbon Ilyan had woven into my braid that morning trailed around me, caught in an invisible breeze. I was sure I looked awesome. Wyn didn’t even move.
“You have clearly lost. I would hate to have to finish you off, I will make it hurt Wyn.”
I really wouldn’t, and she knew it, either that or she realized she looked like a fool with her face squished into the stone floor like that. Ugh. Stubborn best friend for the win.
“Besides, the faster you claim defeat the faster you can go back to pining over Thom.” We both knew she wasn’t pining, but it was fun to prod her.
I flicked my fingers at her as if I was firing a toy gun and sent one spark of electricity into the soft part of her neck. The attack looked like a silverfish as it cut through the air and darn it all, Wyn didn’t even jerk as it zapped its way into her nervous system. I suppose in this situation most people would stomp their foot, but that was undignified for a queen in any stature, even a one month old baby-queen such as I.
Rolling my eyes at her was out, too.
“I can see you breathing, Wyn,” I said, letting sparks fly between my fingers as I tightened the shield around me, ready for whatever she was about to throw at me. Because she was going to throw something at me. “I command you to accept your defeat, by order of the Quee-!”
The pew I was standing on exploded.
I had completely missed the twitch of her hand, and her palm flattening against the stone floor.
Wood splintered into the sky, hundreds of sharp points pressing against my shield like a giant needle. None were able to pierce my skin, thanks to the shield, but the shield did not do anything to protect me from the force of the explosion. As the wood flew into the air, so did I, pieces of wood twisted among my arms and legs as we tumbled and what remained of the pew below me was burned to a crisp.
Wood and body landed in a huddle, my legs flopped over my head in such a way that I had to check that I hadn’t broken my back again.
I wasn’t that flexible.
When I was finally able to untangle myself, pushing myself to my hands and knees with one loud echoing groan, I opened my eyes to a pair of tattered black Converse that had more than a few holes in the toes and in the soles.
“This is so not fair.” It wasn’t even worth trying to fight at this point. I could already feel the ground heat underneath me, besides, I had won the last four times we had sparred. I guess I couldn’t win all of them.
“Concede,” she boomed from above me, the fire dripped from her fingers to land on my back and burning away even more of my shirt.
“Concede? What is this a coup?” I tried to push myself up to face her, but before I could move too much, her left foot pressed against my shoulder blade, holding me down and letting her big ugly toe press through the hole in her shoe against the now exposed skin on my arm.
Great. Skin contact. Now there really was nothing I could do. I had officially lost.
“It could be.” Wyn said with a laugh, her dark eyes narrowing at me in a challenge. “I don’t mind taking on Ilyan. I secretly think he’s scared of me.”
‘Okay, will you please finish her off?’ Ilyan’s voice boomed in my mind, his magic buzzing through our connection as it normally did when I was in distress. Wyn challenging him was only the icing in the cake. He couldn’t help himself.
“Gladly.” I responded out loud, Wyn’s features squishing up in confusion before they widened in understanding and she attempted to scuttle away.
Too late, I didn’t even need the buzz of Ilyan’s magic to scare her. She saw it all in my eyes, in the bright silver that was defying her, and she took off running. I jumped to my feet, my old destroyed sneakers slipping on the ash and wood she had left behind as I tried to catch up to the treacherous snake. Okay, not that bad, but a little green garter snake maybe.
“Come back you little cheater!” I hissed as I ran after her, the sparks of my magic growing as I prepared to attack her.
I didn’t get that far before my head spun, my vision popping, and yes both Ilyan and I swore in tandem.
So much for beating her butt, something more important had come up.
“Drak!” I alerted her as the magic pulsed and I fell to my knees, my vision shifting from the cathedral, to one of the many destroyed streets of Prague. Wyn was running through my sight as she had been in the chapel. Except she hadn’t looked quite as scared in the chapel. Her face was panicked as she looked behind her, her dark eyes digging into me.
“The turn is near.” My voice rumbled through my mind, and I was sure the cathedral. The vision shifted at the words, although instead of Wyn running through the deserted streets, it was now a man concealed by a heavy woolen cloak. My mind wanted to say it was Wyn, but there was something about the way the figure was cowering and trying to hide in the grey shadows of the ruins that didn’t play to the girl I knew. Either the 70s groupie or the assassin.
“Beware the spark.” The words croaked as the cloaked figure vanished in a flurry of white flakes. It took me a second to recognize it as snow, everything was so hot inside of Edmund’s globe that I wasn’t sure we would ever see snow again.
The snow washed the vision as it faded back to red, one quick spark of what I was sure was long blonde hair mixed in with the flakes before it was gone.
“Well, that was weird,” I said as my vision pulled back to the cathedral, my hands flat against the stone as I kneeled like a dog, staring not at the floor, but at the upside-down face of Wyn, who was laying on her back between my hands, watching me.
“Yeah, that still looks freaky,” she said with a smile, pushing herself to sitting as I leaned back, both of us sitting on the stone floor like children waiting for story time. “If I was going to make a horror movie, I think you would be the star.”
“I’m flattered,” I grumbled rubbing my temples as the sight replayed, more for Ilyan’s benefit than mine.
“At least tell me it was something good, I mean, you were about to beat my ass, and then I won.” She grinned broadly, ignoring the glare I was giving her, my nose wrinkled in frustration.
“You didn’t win.”
“You forfeit for a sight, Jos, nothing you can do about it now.”
‘Does anything look familiar?’ Ilyan asked, but I only shook my head, as if he could see it.
“I’ll just have to beat your butt in a rematch then,” I said, giving her a smile and ignoring the few Skȓíteks who were now whispering on the other side of the barrier.
There were always a few that watched us from the other side of the barrier, someone had even gone out of their way to place a few chairs near the doorway. Normally, the space was used for training the Chosen Children that we had been rescuing and I had been healing, but Wyn and I always brought a crowd.
The Queen and Edmund’s former assassin, and the only Trpaslík in our camp, going at it. I was sure it was quite a show. I was too focused on beating her butt to care. Sitting here, covered in sweat with a partially burned away shirt, however, and I suddenly cared. I wished they would stop gossiping like a whole bunch of old ladies, which I guess was technically correct.
Beautiful immortals or not. They were all just a couple of old biddies, bored of the apocalyptic life.
“Oh, it’s on!” Wyn said with a smile, holding her hand out for the awkward secret handshake she had insisted I learn last week.
“Consider your butt beat,” I promised with a wink, using my magic to bring the mug I had left at the edge of the ring to me and filling the thing with Black Water. I would need a bit of strength after that battle, that and with how Ilyan was poking around in an attempt to decipher the sight.
‘There is nothing new to see, Ilyan. I am sure it will all make sense in a few days. It hasn’t started snowing on the other side of the barrier, yet.’
‘We will have to ask Sain if he sees different.’ He continued, his voice hard with the suggestion. If he was here I would have given him a look, even though it was clear in his tone he wasn’t a fan of the idea either. As much as I hated Sain, and Ilyan distrusted him, his constant need for information and opinions in the sake of ruling often brought Sain into places he didn’t belong.
Like my life.
I would be so much happier if he would step out altogether.
‘You don’t mean that, mi lasko.’
‘Sure do. Besides, I am sure a snowflake will fall differently than it was supposed to and break every sight for the next millennium. I say we leave the old man out of it all together,’ I suggested, as I grumpily took a long sip of the black water, scowling into it, which sent Wyn into a fit of giggles.
“Ilyan being stubborn again?” Wyn was prodding for more than family drama, she was all support now, my best friend shining through as she draped her arm over my shoulders.
I would give anything to spill everything to her, and complain about Sain for a few minutes. Wyn still felt like she owed him for getting her out of the dungeon in Imdalind, and as such wasn’t a huge fan of my complain-fests.
She may have started standing up to him, but Sain was a tension point that I would rather not test too far. Best to avoid the Sain-subject all together.
“Do you have a cloak or something that you keep handy?” I asked, fully aware that my voice had already started cracking with the ridiculousness of the question. “Like for emergencies or something.”
“I’m sorry, I think I left my emergency cloak back in the 14th century.” Wyn’s lips pierced together as she tried to restrain a laugh, although her eyes were completely betraying her.
“I figured as much.” I was careful not to let my shoulders sag too much. Queens aren’t supposed to let their shoulders sag, or at least that’s what Wyn liked to remind me. Seeing as we still had an audience, the less sagging the better.
“Is that what you saw?” Wyn asked, cutting off my train of thought. “Me in a cloak?”
“Or someone in a cloak.” I amended, I saw her running, and a figure in a cloak. I knew my sight well enough not to assume that both of those were one in the same. “Not that it matters. They were just running, no wicked deeds included, for all I know we are going to have cloak Olympics next summer and I was getting a sneak peek at the winner.”
“I’m sorry Jos,” Wyn said, pulling me into her and sending a bit of black water splashing over my hands, thankfully avoiding Wyn. “That’s a terrible sight to concede over. At least you can sleep easy with the knowledge that I’m going to make a great queen.”
She gave me a grin and tugged playfully on the golden ribbon in my hair, the délka vedení královsk the equivalent of my crown.
“Oh, are you now?” The heavy Czech accent cut through our rambling and Wyn shot to her feet, ready to bow or nod or whatever it is that she was supposed to do. That was until she saw me still sitting below her and began crouching to try to keep her head below mine, or whatever it was she was supposed to do.
“Oh whatever,” Wyn said throwing her hands in the air. “You all know I could care less about bowing. And you could care less about bowing. You hate bowing, which is great because I’m anti-bowing. And if any of our stalkers ask, I’ll tell them you threatened to remove my fingers or something.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Ilyan said with a chuckle, his hand wrapping around mine as he pulled me to my feet and into him. The second our skin touched, his warmth flooded me, the sparks of his power igniting my veins like I was the track to a one man marathon.
“But I would. I have a reputation to uphold.” I said as I wrapped my arms around Ilyan’s waist and earned myself a look from both of them.
“What reputation?” Wyn was snickering and I couldn’t even pull myself together enough to scowl at her, I was still in the middle of an Ilyan overload. “Are you turning into a gangster?”
“Do we need to facilitate a costume change before today’s meeting?” Ilyan said as he tugged on the now singed shoulder of my top. “Gold chains and a sideways hat.”
“Pretty sure they only wear those in magazines,” I prodded, and his smile pulled into a stubborn scowl, his lips pressed into a tight line. “But I would like to change into a shirt that is in one piece.”
“Why wear a shirt…”
“I will let you two do that on your own.” Wyn loudly interrupted Ilyan, my cheeks beginning to flush an electric shade of pink. “I need to change Thom’s bandages before the meeting anyway.” Wyn dug her toe into the ash covered floor, suddenly refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Or rather, refusing to let anyone see the shine of tears that was sliding over her eyes. “I’ll see you both in a few.”
She didn’t look at either me or Ilyan before she bolted from the Cathedral, snapping at a few of the stragglers who were still staring at us like we were royalty. Sparring was supposed to help extinguish her pent up energy over Thom’s incapacitation.
Not sure it worked.
“Darling?” Ilyan said with a laugh, clearly having read my thoughts. I refused to acknowledge him.
Yes, I know we are royalty.
“How is Thom doing?” I asked, grabbing my mug from the floor and emptying it before we left the chapel. I couldn’t risk the black water dripping onto another overzealous Skȓítek. Yes, it had happened before. Sometimes their bowing got a bit too eager.
Ilyan shook his head, “The quicker we get out of here the better.”
“Well then, I guess we better to get to our ‘Pop Edmund’s Zit’ meeting.”
“I already told you we aren’t calling the dome that, my love.”
I smiled at him, he knew we were totally calling it that. He couldn’t change my mind. His returning grin understood that.
It all started with a birthday present: a little book I wrote for my grandfather, helped along by a little bit of performing experience and a whole lot of love. It has since evolved. Get to know the woman behind the words. 
