My current WIP (work in progress) is entitled A Blossom at Midnight, The Scented Court.
As of today (July 6, 2021) I am 50,000 words into book 1. This series will be categorized as young adult epic fantasy. The individual books of this series will be longer than those of previous series, so launches will be further apart. It is too early to announce a launch date for book 1 but I am aiming for later this fall and hoping to keep old writing injuries at bay by prioritizing my health above word count. That said, the project is coming along rather quickly.
This series will follow several main characters and will be written in third person to accommodate a large cast and complex plot. If you read and enjoyed my Earth Magic Rises series then you’ll love The Scented Court. As the series title suggests, flowers and their perfumes play an important role in the lives of the citizens of Solana, even moreso than in Stavarjak, which is a kingdom to the north (and which you have visited already if you’ve read Georjie’s trilogy). Not only flora is important, but fauna too.
I have always loved flowers, insects, animals and nature in general. I think many people do, and this series is giving me an opportunity to immerse myself in the world of botanicals and pollenators, as well as that of the larger mammals who roam our earth. King Agir and Queen Esha of Solana keep a group of flora fae called the Calyx as part of their royal household. These fae are famous even beyond the borders of Solana. There are only fifty positions within the retinue but when an open position comes up (as Calyx retire) children throughout the kingdom and beyond who meet certain criteria are invited to the palace for Discovery. The Royal Gardener (but Ilishec is so much more than your typical gardener) helps the young fae realize what connections they have to the earth, and the especially gifted ones may be offered a coveted place among the Calyx. A Blossom at Midnight unfolds the enchanting life and world of the Calyx through the eyes of a naive young villager named Jessamine Fontana who has a lot to learn, not only about the world she inhabits but her own past and identity.
Other important characters of The Scented Court come from the northern Kingdom of Stavarjak (a certain red-headed, irreverent fae named Laec whom you know from Earth Magic Rises, who has been lazing around Elphame’s castle since he was rejected by the blond girl from Canada, drinking too much and annoying everyone), from the southern Kingdom of Boskaya (a beautiful half-fae woman named Çifta who dares to dream that her arranged marriage will be a loving one), and from the troubled Kingdom of Rahamlar (Prince Faraçek is tired of being marginalized and wonders if he should just become the monster everyone seems to think he is), a neighbor of Solana.
While Jessamine’s naivety falls away and she finds her place among the royal household, there are those abroad whose lives are not so enchanted, those whose lives are on a collision course with hers. The Scented Court will be full of beauty, but there’s danger in this world too. Intrigue, betrayals, friendships, deceptions, family alliances and strained betrothals, political interplay between kingdoms, and personal relationships that stretch all of our main characters and demand they grow beyond what is expected of them, all of these tensions play their part. When things go wrong, what can a young flora fae who is trained to conjure fragrance and blossoms do against powerful enemies? Perhaps she needs to better understand the Gardeners oft-referenced principle: soft does not mean weak.
Please enjoy this (unedited) excerpt (The Prologue) from the story, and keep in mind that it is subject to change.
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Prologue
Davegli is a pretty village cradled by pretty lands filled with pretty crops and pretty yards. It is a place where kind-hearted and fruitful people live simple lives of safety, protected by the power and authority of the king and queen of the Kingdom of Solana.
Nested in a southfacing dip like a semiprecious stone in a shining setting, Dagevli is home to some five-hundred hardworking souls. It has a single main street which meanders through town as though furrowed by a set of tipsy oxen. Branching from this main artery are narrow winding roads and culs-de-sac flanked by thatched roof cottages. A freshwater stream burbles parallel to the high street on the right as you come from the nearby village of Oubel. Filled with small fish and paddling ducks, the stream wends eastward, behind the town’s public pavilion (a rustic but handsome structure buried by woody, flowering vines), ducks beneath several arched bridges before heading downslope to where farmers draw from its mint-choked banks to irrigate their crops.
It was early morning, so early that the sky was mostly dark and the stars were still visible. Cows lowed in the distance. There were lights in a few windows, farmers preparing breakfast and getting ready for work.
Hanna—one of Dagevli’s beloved villagers (she is skilled with healing herbs) opened the white picket gate in front of her neighbor’s cottage, shifting her basket of supplies from the crook of one elbow to another. Her bicep was burning, though she didn’t have to carry the basket far. She let herself into the single-room abode without knocking, stepping quietly on the stone floor in case Marion was still sleeping. She left the door open to freshen the air and didn’t notice the flutter of an insect as it slipped inside. Kicking off her leather boots, she crossed the room on stockinged feet and set the basket—containing canned food, a bottle of fresh milk, a dozen eggs, a small box of salt and a few other basics—on the wooden plank table.
The sound of a baby’s coo from the bassinet in the corner made Hanna smile. With a glance at Marion’s sleeping form on the single mattress in the far corner, Hanna went to the cradle to look at the twins.
They were perfect. Hanna felt herself melting as she took in their tiny, softly pointed ears. These belied a fae father, though Marion had never admitted any such thing to Hanna. One thing Marion made clear when she first arrived in Dagevli only six months ago, was that she would not welcome questions. An older, pregnant widow was not something the village was accustomed to having among their population, but the villagers had been welcoming enough to their newest member, probably due to pity. Hanna was secretly thrilled for her lonely neighbor. Marion was a good woman, and a good person to live beside. In their small community, helpful neighbors were a necessity of survival.
The twins each had a cap of dark hair curling around their wee fae ears, soft as duckling down. They slept wrapped up in one another and had often been found sucking on one another’s noses. They were less than one month old and had been born on a rainy night with only the two women in attendance. Marion had been grateful for the heavy downfall to drown out the sound of her difficult labor.
A small furry shape moved on the pillow just behind the girl’s head, making Hanna start and suck in a breath. At first she thought its was a hairy spider with a body the size of a teaspoon. Her heart hammered as she considered how to get the spider away without waking the baby. But the shape uncurled a wing and she realized with a breathless jolt of amazement that it was not a spider but a bat, and it was no larger than the end of her thumb. It had shining inkdrop eyes and a furry brown snout. Fine rust-colored fur covered its wings. It blinked up at Hanna and then yawned (revealing pin-sharp, near-transparent teeth) as though it had every right in the world to be cozied up to the infant’s warm scalp.
Hanna had not yet recovered from what the presence of the bat might mean when a butterfly fluttered over the children, as if materializing from the air. It landed on the boy’s swaddling clothes, and crawled along him until it reached his head. There it stopped, flexing its wings. It was a specimen Hanna had never seen before, and not like the flamboyantly colored insects that danced all summer over the gardens of Dagevli. The panels of its wings were as transparent as glass. Through them, Hanna could make out the details of the boy’s hair. Framing each wing was a thin border of red-brown, and a dash of white decorated the tip.
Hanna’s heart galloped and she decided she had to wake Marion. This news was too lovely to wait.
Marion was a lump under her bedclothes, her breathing deep and even. With every exhalation she loosed a small whistle through her nose.
Hanna put a hand on Marion’s hip and gently shook her. “Marion, honey? Wake up, you have to see this.”
Marion’s breathing changed and her eyes slit open. She yawned. “Hello, dear. You’re here early.” She pushed herself up to sitting, her red and gray curls making a cloud around her head. She blinked blearily at the bassinet. “They were so good last night. Went right back to sleep after every feeding.”
“That’s wonderful,” Hanna whispered. “And something else wonderful has happened. Come see.”
Marion followed Hanna to where the twins lay sleeping but froze in her tracks when she saw the butterfly. Her face went the color of old candle wax, and she backpedaled with a moan. “No. No, no, no.”
Hanna stared at her, confused, as Marion cast about the room as though looking for something she needed right that instant. She bent to retrieve a softcover recipe book from beneath her cooking counter and rolled it into a slender cone as she returned to the cradle with thunder in her face.
Stunned, Hanna almost moved too late. As Marion raised the rolled-up weapon overhead, Hanna dove in front of her, grabbing her wrist. “You mustn’t!”
Marion went for the insect again. Her face crumpled, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I must!”
Hanna panted with effort and spoke quickly, desperately. “You cannot. Eliminating them will only bring another. Dead franions are quickly replaced, and killing them will hurt your babies.”
“They’re too young to know-” Marion sobbed.
“They’re not. Kill the franion, and you’ll hurt your own children, and to what end? Will you kill the next one that comes along? And the one after that?” Hanna spoke gently now, seeing that her friend was distraught but coming to her senses. Hanna’s hands were cold on Marion’s arms from the shock of the mother’s reaction.
“Them?” Marion lowered her rolled up book, defeated, her tear-filled gaze combing Hanna’s face. “I see only one franion.”
“If I let you near,” Hanna pulled the book from Marion’s limp fingers, and her friend let her take it, “will you promise not to hurt them?”
Marion promised.
Cautiously, Hanna stepped aside so Marion could approach the babies. She was rocked to her core by Marion’s murderous response to what most would consider to be a gift of magnificent proportion.
“A butterfly,” Marion moaned, “and a bat.” She covered her face. “I am cursed among women.”
Hanna put an arm around Marion’s shoulders, processing her strange words. She used the time it took to guide Marion back to her bed to search out the reasons why Marion might react this way.
“Just because they’re flora fae doesn’t meant they’ll ever be Calyx,” she said softly as she helped Marion lay down. It was the only conclusion Hanna could come to, that Marion was frightened her children might one day join the royal retinue. Many would give everything they had for this opportunity, but apparently Marion did not share this view. But the chances were so slim, even for flora fae, that Marion’s concern was greatly misplaced.
Tears leaked from Marion’s eyes. She nodded, gathering comfort from the words. “You’re right, of course. Silly me. I’m so embarrassed. It was just a shock, that’s all. A shock. Forgive me, Hanna.”
“Of course.” Hanna put a hand on Marion’s arm.
Marion lay her hand over Hanna’s and gave her a grateful squeeze. “Thank you. You’re too good to me.” She rolled away and faced the wall.
Hanna could still hear tears in her voice.
“Just a shock,” murmured Marion, sounding sleepy.
Baffled, Hanna straightened and looked from the babies to where their mother lay. “Marion, you must promise me you won’t hurt them. I can’t leave until you promise. Understand?”
Marion let out a long sigh. “I promise, dear Hanna.”
“What do you promise, my love?”
“I promise I won’t hurt my babies.”
“And?”
“I promise I won’t hurt the franions.”
Hanna patted her friend’s shoulder again, trying not to think about what might have happened if Marion had discovered the bat and the butterfly while Hanna had not been there. “Good girl. Now let me see what I can rustle up for breakfast.”
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