Diamond: Info and Snippets

I am happy to report that we're plugging right along on Diamond! I've been excited about this book for a while, and I know there are plenty of mad readers out there who want this book after reading the epilogue to Spindle Dreams. Have no fear! It's coming!

Eventually.

I'm not 100% sure about my publishing timeline, as much depends on how giving birth to and surviving the newborn months with baby #2 goes. Also, how much trouble the formatting and cover give me. *le blech* But I would love to have Diamond available by next summer, next spring if we can swing it. I just can't make any promises yet. I was ambitious enough to promise Spindle Dreams last fall, and we all see how THAT turned out.

But since we just hit 14K yesterday, and it looks like I'll be keeping this book under a cozy 25K (I hope I didn't just jinx myself with that), I thought I'd hop onto dear old blogger and share some of the story with you all!

This cover is mere inspiration, not the final cover, as I don't hold the copyright for the background photo (please notice the watermark/name in the corner). 

Diamond is book three in my Once Upon a Twist Tales. These are interconnected fairytales retold backwards and upside-down with just a bit of steampunk thrown in for fun. They were intended to be standalone novellas, but Spindle Dreams kinda connected itself to Diamond, so they're not completely standalone anymore.

When considering the fairytale Rapunzel, the first thing I decided that must be backwards was the tower situation. Rapunzel wasn't going to be the one hiding in a tower. Oh, she'd be the usual confined and hidden from the world, but not in the tower. And from there, the story kinda catapulted on its own into what I've now got saved in my rough drafts.

The second most important thing to consider was her hair. I'll admit, I struggled with this for a really long time, and this was mainly what kept me from working on the book for a number of months. I just couldn't figure out why she had long hair. I didn't want to backwards that too much and give her short hair, because that felt like a bad, cop-out Rapunzel. If we're talking Rapunzel, she MUST have long hair and, likewise, have a reason for that long hair. That's the #1 issue with Rapunzel retellings. THE HAIR. And I'll be honest with you, folks. The hair ain't easy. I won't spoil what I settled on for Diamond, but I'm hoping readers will appreciate the hair and the reason.

One sentence summary of Diamond:

This time, Rapunzel isn't the one stuck in the tower, but his secrets may cost her her life. 

Snippet time! Enjoy!

Mother had said many strange things over the years, but when she came home with the news that she’d been framed for murder, that was new for Diamond.

~*~

Erland bowed. “I thank you again, and state to you a good night.” 

As he left the study, a grimace took over his face. The Rohesian language was not easy to master, and doubtless that had been the cause of the countries’ lasting tensions over the last few decades. Not anymore. The rolled parchments he now clutched in his hands were the key to solving all the international difficulties – or causing a hundred more. 

~*~

“Another bowl of pudding, my good man?” 

Seth rubbed his stomach and gave a rueful smile. After the thick cheese sandwiches, roasted vegetables, and first bowl of pudding, he doubted he could fit anything more. “No, I thank you. My stomach eats more than I can hold. Your wife is a wonderful cook.” 

The innkeeper beamed. “Of course, she is. You tell those fellows back in Trothen you never had a better cheese sandwich, you hear? It’s a shame you were the only man here tonight sensible enough to ask for them.” 

Seth saluted him and stumbled off the bench. “It will be the honor of mine. I will tell them of all.” The cheese sandwich definitely held its own proudly in the world of cuisine. 

~*~

At first, Diamond couldn’t make out what it was – Maybe a bear? – but as she moved closer, the hump began to look more and more like a human being. 

It wasn’t until she was almost standing next to it that she realized it was a human. Other than Mother, she’d never seen another human before in her life. With a tremble, she now looked upon her first stranger. It was definitely human, but the shoulders and chest were broader than hers or Mother’s. The head looked pretty normal, except for an extra pair of eyes that seemed to be made of glass sitting on the very top, looking out from black hair that was cut short at the neck. Instead of a skirt, the figure wore trousers that clung tightly to the legs, and a thick tunic that almost touched the knees. Little, dark hairs decorated the chin, and Diamond drew a deep breath. 

This isn’t a woman. 

A man. 

~*~

“Rapunzel,” he called once the trapdoor had opened and her head was in view, “I want to demonstrate to you something.” 

Old fascinations took on new enjoyment when you could show them off to people who’d never seen them before. He made a few colorful smoke bombs and watched her face. 

At the first one, she stepped back. “What kind of magic is that?” 

“Not magic,” he said, the response slipping easily from his mouth. “It’s alchemy.” 

She came closer. “What?” 

“I use different elements and transform them into something else. For example…” He showed her the two tubes he was using. “These two liquids, when combined, evaporate into a smoke.” The cloud he made nearly blocked her from view. 

~*~

God bless!

Post All The Snippets!

Okay, well... maybe not. But I am going to take advantage of this opportunity and link up with Katie's Snippets of Story. I unofficially did a NaNo challenge of sorts during the month of March while working on Secret of the Hazel Tree, and got 45,000 words as a result, so I have lots of snippets to choose from!

The second dance quickly turned into a nightmare for both Julien and his partner as it was one of Queen Louise's new selections, a lively song with a piping flute descant. The pattern one's feet should follow was complicated, indeed, and no matter how he studied the other dancers' movements, he could not make any sense of it.

At length, after running consecutively into no less than six couples, Julien gave up. “Perhaps we should sit this one out?”

The girl's cheeks had turned a bright pink with the effort she had put into the dance, yet it was clear that the song was getting the better of her. With what Julien was certain was a relieved nod, she surrendered the steps to the dust and allowed him to lead her off the floor.

~*~*~*~*~

With a sniff, the housekeeper drew herself up. “Well, iffen yer not goin', then I will. I could pass as one 'o 'em rich ladies. I know I got the 'aughty part done ta perfection. I'll jest march up ta the prince an' order 'im ta take me ta the baron. An' jest ya wait 'til ya 'ear what I'm goin' ta do ta that uncle 'o yers... why are ya laughing?”

The mental image was too hilarious for Celesta to hold it in anymore. She could believe that Ahna would do exactly as she said she would, but she didn't think Prince Julien would appreciate a housekeeper crashing the event of the century. The duchess would never approve.

~*~*~*~*~

Celesta knocked on the door as Ahna grumbled, “R'mind me next time, I 'ate walkin'.”

“It's not that far.”

“It's 'azardous fer a woman o' my age ta weary 'erself with cross-kingdom treks!”

~*~*~*~*~

Denstan sat with his back to the visitors, intently working on something on the table before him, while Rerik hung on his father's knee, completely enamored. Ahna swaggered up to him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, well, well, if it ain't our Kadsa's young man! Still as reckless an' wild as ev'r, I 'magine.”

“Father's not reckless!” Taimee insisted while Rerik only gaped at the strange woman who dared to thump his father's collarbone.

~*~*~*~*~

He was battling a grin, and losing miserably. “I am slighted to think you deem me unfit to learn your name. Or even just one of your names. Come, you must have pet names and the like,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides in a playful exaggeration. “Won't you tell me one of those? I must call you something besides that girl or young lady!”

Celesta licked her lips, trying to calm her racing heart. “Pet names?” Surely that is not dangerous. I might be able to oblige him in that, at least. Something that won't link me to the Hill.

“What does your family call you?”

“My family?”

“Yes, your family. Surely they have something they call you, even if it may not be your real name. You can share that with me, can't you? What do they call you?”

The question hit hard, a lot harder than he may have meant it to, but the hit was there all the same. He could never know what it was exactly that he was asking. She took a deep breath and gave the answer.

“Cinderella. My family calls me Cinderella.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Will you not tell me what is going on?” The queen planted her hands on her hips firmly. “You have been gone hours from a ball thrown in your honor, and now after I abandon it in the hopes of finding you and bringing you back, you reappear with your shirt torn, your face pale, and blood staining your clothes.”

“I was showing Cinderella the library when someone attacked me.”

He wasn't sure what she thought more important: the mention of the girl or the attack. Fortunately, she chose the girl. “You were with who?”

~*~*~*~*~

The prince stared at the brothers. Jorah was taller by appearance the elder of the two, yet the features shared between the two almost made them twins. He could not think why he didn't notice it before. What he did notice was that neither one looked anything like Ilmiltora, for they boasted sandy curls where hers were dark, ruddy countenances where hers was delicate, and pleasant faces where hers was decidedly not. How such different people could all be in one family was beyond Julien's reckoning. He burned with curiosity about them, but wasn't sure how to phrase his questions with a pretend innocence.

“If you are the nephews of Sir Perradd, then...” he coughed, “Ilmiltora must be your sister.” There. That wasn't too shocking, was it?

Jorah's eyebrows went up. “I'm afraid we do not have that pleasure, Your Highness.”

The other, Jacynthe, laughed and spoke for the first time. “You mean we're lucky to claim her only as a distant cousin and not a blood sister.” 

Again, all snippets from Secret of the Hazel Tree. And yes, it's all mine. Please don't steal anything. *grins*

God bless!

February Snippets

If you've noticed a lack of posts around here, you're very observant. Pat yourself on the back and have some virtual gingerbread. That's because I have been endeavoring to write as much as I can on Secret of the Hazel Tree. It is my wish to finish up the first draft by the end of March, and this morning I reached 117K words. Yes, I am glad of it, but there's still a long way to go. But we'll get there. I am determined to finish this story. Even if it kills me in the process... which, it won't, I'm sure, but you never can tell what some of your characters might do if they get a hankering.

Anywho, I'm taking advantage of Katie's Snippets of Story to share with you some of what I've been writing on SotHT. I *think* these are all from February, but there could be some of January and March mixed in... *cough* 

Enjoy!

 “Then why did ya shriek ta wake the dead, Miss Georgettica?”

Georgettica's face adopted a light flush. “You heard that?”

“Aye, and so did most 'o Iron.” Ahna threw her hands onto her hips. 

~*~*~*~*~

The duchess was already annoyed with the world, and mostly Veroniscen, by the time the carriage rolled to a stop at the front door later that afternoon, and seeing Georgettica giving her a sly grin as she exited the carriage didn't help one bit.

~*~*~*~*~

 “Silver skies, darlin'!” Ahna nearly fell over when the door thudded open. Her face went white when she caught Celesta's pained gaze. “What's it? Someone 'urt? Sick? 'Armed ya? The magpie? Do I need ta spit? On who? Tell me!” She leaped forward and dragged Celesta by the arm to a hard-backed chair. “Sit. Spill. Now.”

~*~*~*~*~

Celesta made certain her hands did not tremble as she scooped steaming vegetables on each plate. Georgettica made a face at the pile of green staring up at her, but apparently she'd heard enough of her mother's lectures on healthy eating and the benefits of such, and so said nothing. Veroniscen, however, parading on her status of favorite daughter, could not hold her tongue.

“Is this all, Mother? Peas and lentils?” She raked her fork across her plate, scattering peas in all directions. “I will wither away on this diet, and then the prince will never look at me.”

“That's because he was looking at me.”

Veroniscen snarled. “Hush, Jetta! No one cares about that!”

“But it is true!”

“Girls!” Duchess Nicolinabeth slapped her hand down on the tablecloth. “That will be enough. Georgettica, I do not want to hear such things from your mouth again, do you understand me?”

Georgettica understood and pouted.

“Didn't you make anything else?” The duchess directed her question towards Celesta as though she were to blame for the sour moods.

“O-oh, Ahna put together some gingerbread and a glazed nut cake.”

“Marvelous!” Veroniscen glowered her triumph down upon her lentils and pushed her plate away. “Fetch the cake, Cinderella.”

~*~*~*~*~

The bowl Veroniscen had thrown was evidently beyond repair, and the fragments of its former glory gleamed among the ashes and dusty spheres of vegetables. Celesta bit back a groan. The duchess knew as well as she that picking the peas and lentils from the heap would take sufficient time; the task had only been given as a deterrent. She really didn't want her lowly stepdaughter to accompany them to the ball. How could the prize of meeting the baron compare to the insult of bringing a servant to the prince's masquerade?

Celesta shook the thought from her head. “For Mother's sake,” she said softly.

As she reached for the first pea, thunder rumbled in the distance.

A storm was on its way.

~*~*~*~*~

Julien pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the room, with the motive of distracting himself from the upcoming festivities, to a large structure over which had been thrown a large but thinly woven blanket. He tugged the cloth from its place with gusto, revealing the golden gleam of parallel bars making up a fine cage, in which sat a hunched bundle of feathers. With the blanket gone, and light streaming freely into the cage, the feathers ruffled and rearranged themselves to their proper position, leaving in the place of the bundle a magnificent sparrow hawk.

“And shall your bird ever grace the royal aviary with his illustrious presence, Your Highness?”

Julien flashed a wry grin at the musketeer. “Only until my mother deems it necessary for him to be housed within my own chambers.”

“My prince is incorrigible.”

“Indeed.”

Denstan did not look the least perturbed at Julien's use of his personal favorite word, for it was not often that the prince found opportunity to toss it back at the musketeer.

~*~*~*~*~

The queen had insisted on several last-minute etiquette lessons for Julien, claiming that he was in desperate need of polishing himself up before presenting himself at the ball. Personally, Julien would have preferred to forfeit all polish and arrive at the masquerade in a wrinkled shirt and the dirt of the training yard plastered on his face, much to the horror of Sir Perradd and his own royal and particular delight, but he knew it was pointless to go against his mother.

~*~*~*~*~

Julien and Veroniscen had made a few turns about the room before more couples joined them. While the prince was determined to prove himself most disagreeable in any manner than might seem advantageous, his partner was settled in her own mind to make the most of this first dance.

“Your Highness is looking remarkably well this evening,” she began.

“Hardly,” Julien responded, keeping his face as stone-like as possible. He counted himself lucky to have learned so much from Denstan all these years.

“May I say that I was deeply grieved to hear of the loss Your Highness underwent this morning. How awful it must have been to loose your eagle.”

“Sparrow hawk,” he corrected blandly.

“I cannot imagine how hard it was for you, to loose such a friend, even one so...” she tittered, “inhuman, if I may say. You can be assured, however, that you will not a friend among this company, myself greatly included, and we shall all stand by your side. You shall never fear for a loss again, I am certain.”

“Provided I claim this company as friends.”

The remark was blunt, but Julien didn't regret it as a sudden shock passed over Veroniscen's face. But in a moment, she had recovered.

“My, Your Highness, do not think me a vain flatterer, but you certainly are a most wonderful dancer! I don't think I can claim to have ever had such a delightful partner whose grace and lightness of foot were so excelled. Indeed, it is a rare pleasure.”

Julien thought her a toady and resolved to drag his feet. 

God bless!

Upward To Live On Clouds

After working very hard on Secret of the Hazel Tree and reaching the great count of 86,000 words just this afternoon, I figured I deserved a break. And while I'm here, why not some snippets because you've all been such dear and wonderful readers? *high fives each of you* 

{Snippets of Stoy hosted by Katie of Whisperings of My Pen}

A girl with bouncing auburn curls dashed from the trees and stopped dead in her tracks when she caught sight of Celesta and the boy. “Oh, I thought we were... I mean, um, does this mean we're done now?”

“I don't think so.” He responded, still watching Celesta. “Are you sure you're all right? We're in the middle of a race, and that's why I didn't see you.”

“Donhans Leign!” The little girl couldn't have have been much older, or younger, than the boy, yet the way she spoke and planted her hands on her hips reminded Celesta greatly of Ahna. “Does that mean you ran her over?”

~*~*~*~*~

Jenisal's blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “You have the face of the Duchess Claria.” She held out her arms and Celesta stepped into them. “It's wonderful to see you again, Miss C'lesta!” She stifled a small gasp as her arms closed about the girl. “You are so grown now! I do believe you are my height!”

“She is, Ma.” Vrasen volunteered boldly. “An' she looks like you from the back.”

“No, she don't!” One of the smaller boys piped up. “Ma don't look nothin' like that!”

“Doesn't look anything, Kemual.” His mother corrected without taking her eyes from Celesta. “But I do believe you're right. She's a lot prettier than I am.”

~*~*~*~*~

 “Oh, Kadsa, I almost forgot.” Jenisal gave one last kiss to the cozy cradle sleeper and came back to the table. As she sat down, she dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. “I found this on the bottom of Miss Celesta's bundle, slipper between two pieces of gingerbread.”

Celesta leaned forward. “A paper? Ahna didn't tell me anything about that.”

“I'd expect not, Miss Celesta,” Jenisal sent a smile in the girl's direction, “as it's got Kadsa's name on it, and not yours. I think Ahna sent it, judging by the handwriting.”

Kadsa accepted the paper, and her eyebrows flew up as she read the scrawl of her name inked onto the front. “That's Ahna's handwriting, all right. It hasn't changed a bit since she left.” She held onto the note for a moment, her eyes misted over with the love and memories of the past, before falling to tearing the sticky seal Ahna had pressed onto the back.

Jenisal couldn't wait for Kadsa to properly get the note open. “What's it say?”

“Now does it have your name on it, then?” Kadsa grinned, moving her fingers even slower to only further aggravate her friend. When it was finally spread out before her eyes, Kadsa read it quickly, and a knowing look crept into her face.

“What? What does she say?” Jenisal put both hands on the table in her enthusiasm.

Kadsa cleared her throat. “She's sorry that she couldn't come visiting today, but she's certain she'll be around soon enough to make sure that young man I married is taking care of me. And of course, she wants to see Taimee and Rerik.”

Jenisal's eyebrows went up a hair. “That's it? I don't recall Ahna being in the habit of sending greeting cards. If she writes anything down at all, it usually means she's planning to move the sky and send us all upward to live on clouds.”

~*~*~*~*~

Ahna was singing.

Celesta and Hasteri exchanged astonished glances. It wasn't uncommon to hear the sprightly tune of Prince Filbert being sung amid the poorer people of Troisem, for it was a nonsense song that even most children knew by heart before they turned six. It wasn't even odd that some of the notes coming from the kitchen sounded flat or off-key because the old song had been passed down verbally through the generations, from lips that sang beautifully to mouths that rasped like a hurricane in a monotone, until no one was certain what the original tune was at all because so many variations had resulted from the different singers. No, nothing about that surprised them at all.

It was the fact that Ahna was singing that was so astonishing.

Ahna. The stern housekeeper, the steadfast organizer, the one who kept things running smoothly and the woman no one wanted to cross or argue with was singing. Ahna never sang.

In all the years that Celesta had known her, she had never once broken out into a song. Not even a simple hum had escaped her lips in all her time at work. She always claimed songs were distracting, that tunes kept one's mind off the important things that needed to be done. Ahna didn't even whistle while she worked.

And now she was singing.

~*~*~*~*~

“She can have some sausages,” Georgettica inopportunely offered. “They are quite delicious.” She selected one from the platter in front of her and bit into it hungrily before reaching for a second to slip to The Count who was waiting impatiently under the table. She licked her fingers in enjoyment, but Veroniscen only smoldered.

“My dear, ladies of noble birth do not consume meat.” The duchess reprimanded her youngest. “It is a disgusting habit, and it does deplorable things to one's waistline. I really cannot condone it.”

“But I saw Veroniscen eat some venison yesterday,” Georgettica said in a quick pout, “and you like fried fish.”

“Fish is not technically a meat, and I was speaking more of red meat.” Her mother sighed heavily. “Gracious, Georgettica, I have so much to teach you. It is a small boon to know that the Crown Prince will not be marrying you. Veroniscen is so much better suited to royal life.”

“The palace is the last place for you, Jetta. You would only embarrass us, I'm afraid.” Veroniscen looked sideways at her sister, her tone one of sympathy, but her eyes filled with a gloating.

Celesta could hardly blame Georgettica for stomping her foot, sticking her tongue out at Veroniscen, scooping up the entire platter of sausages, and parading out of the room with The Count behind her, his tail wagging expectantly.

~*~*~*~*~

 “That name means nothing to me.” Julien rolled his shoulders back and stiffened into a rigid pose. “But names escape me more than I care to admit, so I suppose it is little wonder that I do not remember that one, Denstan. I can always remember a face, much to the dismay of many, yet titles and names are merely trifles, and I cannot recall them as well as I should please.”

“Indeed, my prince.”

“Denstan, it is not your place to agree with your Crown Prince when he is woefully berating his own flaws. Musketeers are to protect, not chafe.”

Julien caught snickers coming from the other guards and forced down his own smile. Denstan was the closest thing he had to a best friend, or any true friend at all, so how could he help such comments? They not only made Denstan speechless, which was an accomplishment all on its own, but it was also rewarding to break the stoic faces of the other musketeers.

“Indeed, my prince.”

Julien sighed. Almost speechless. 

God bless!

NaNo '13: Secret Of The Hazel Tree

You all should know by now that I've been steadfastly stuck in NaNoWriMo-mode this month, and on Saturday, the 16th, I hit the 50K word mark. Was I excited? You bet! That's when I managed to get on blogger and write a post which, reading it now, makes little to no sense. But hey, I was celebrating! Those things don't have to make sense, do they?

Ever since the beginning of November, I've been meaning to write a glorious post all about the story I've been working on, and I kept putting it off. The little writer inside of me kept yelling at me, "Work on the story! Work on the story! You can blog later!" And I'm sure all of you NaNo-ers can understand.

But now, I'm happily at 58K words and still climbing, and I'm making the time now to tell you all a little more about it. Be quiet, Little Writer, I've earned this blogging break. And all of my wonderful friends deserve to know more about the story that I have not introduced to the public yet.

Once upon a time... or something like that, I came across a certain writing contest that sparked a great idea in my mind. Anne Elisabeth Stengl and Rooglewood Press announced in May of this year that they were holding a writing contest called Five Glass Slippers in which five Cinderella stories would be published all in one book. Details aside, in short, my Little Writer went, "Nope, Kiri, you've got too many stories to work on. Forget you even saw this." And I went, "Let's do it!"

My mind went into overdrive, as you can well imagine, and I soon hit upon what I thought was a great idea for a Cinderella-based story. I chewed on it, made a Pinterest board for it, and began writing up notes. I added characters, did this and that, and then realized I could never write this story in 20K or less, which is the word limit for the contest. This was more 75K. Or more, because I have a tendency to follow every plot bunny that crosses my path. So, to stop beating about the bush, I'm not going to enter the contest. I'm writing this story because it has a right to be told and because I'm way too interested in it to leave it alone.

So, what exactly is it that I'm writing? Get ready for it... a Cinderella Murder Mystery.

Yup.

It's loads of fun.

Celesta Le'Blancard is the only daughter of Duke Gerarn and Duchess Claria of Marchalla Hill. Like most fairy tales, tragedy must hit first before a heroine can emerge, and Celesta finds tragedy in the event of her beloved mother's death, after which her father distances himself from everything and leaves their home. Months later, he returns with a new wife, a widow with two young daughters around the same age as Celesta. 

And you know what happens from there, right? 

Celesta becomes your classic Cinderella character, forgotten by her father, unloved and mistreated by her new step-family, with only the housekeeper as a true friend. When an invitation to the prince's ball comes, along with the rumor that the prince, the Crown Prince, is seeking a bride (which is another matter entirely), Celesta's two stepsisters are giddy at the thought of dancing at the castle and marrying the prince. 

And that's when the story changes. This is not your typical fairy tale, people. When her stepmother refuses to let her go to the ball, Celesta doesn't sit and cry and wait for her fairy godmother. In fact, she doesn't have a fairy godmother at all. Or a pumpkin coach. This is Cinderella without any magic at all, and it's based on Cinderella with the hazel tree (duh) and the white bird. And yes, that's a different version than the one with the pumpkins and the fairy godmother.

Although legend claims that Cinderella went to the ball seeking a husband, Celesta went for no such reason. She was seeking a murderer. Her mother's murderer. When Duchess Claria died from an unknown illness, no one thought much about it. Celesta missed her mother terribly, but she didn't guess how her mother really died until a terrifying meeting with a man whose threats make her think something more sinister might be at work. When she learns that her uncle, a baron that she had never met before in her life, will be in attendance at the prince's ball, she determines to go to discover what truly happened to her mother. 

Luckily for her, the prince's ball is a masquerade, so no one knows it's her.

And now with the summary behind us, how 'bout some snippets, just so I can unofficially link up with Katie's Snippets of Stories? These are all from the first part of the story, when Celesta is eight years old.

Many men and women claim that happily ever afters are bestowed to those who so richly deserve them; others say such an ending can only be granted to those with title and royal blood, and the majority of tales seem to favor the latter opinion.

But what of those who many deserve happiness? Those who, by their kind actions and generous hearts, have given themselves a reputation that others may hold up in high honor, a reputation of such worth that they may justly ask of some reward? Alas! Many times they and their goodness go unnoticed, and those people live out their lives doing the same as they have always done.

For it is those that continue to help and encourage others without a thought of recompense that truly deserve a happily ever after. But the proud opinion of history seems steadfast to keep them from their rightful claim.

Once there was a girl who had no title or social standing, nor was she fortunate enough to have been born in the royal family. Shy but kind, she met with tragedy and poverty alike and did not hesitate to lend a helping hand. How could they expect to allow such a girl to have a happily ever after?

Her name was Celesta, and this is her story.

~*~*~*~*~

The mother's cloudy gaze held the sight of her daughter's face for a long minute. Then with a trembling chin, she swallowed weakly and said, “I... I fear we must say farewell now.”

“No, Mother! You don't have to!” Celesta cried, but her earnest petition fell on ears that could no longer hear her.

“Don't forget... my hazel tree...”

“No, no, I won't forget!”

“Farewell, Celesta...” her mother's voice grew softer. “Always remember that... I love... you.”

~*~*~*~*~

All too soon, the story came to a close, and Ahna was reading the famous ending of the princess and her prince living happily ever after.

“Why is the princess always beautiful?”

Ahna shrugged. “Not sure, chil'. It could be 'cause the royal blood in 'em makes 'em pretty, but I think the writers of these stories jest make that stuff up.”

“Why?”

“'Cause ain't no princess as beautiful as you, darlin'.” She touched the tip of the little girl's nose with her finger.

Celesta turned away from the finger. “I'm not beautiful.”

“An' why ya say that?”

“Because I'm not skinny, and I don't have long hair like the princesses in the stories, and I have ugly gray eyes, and they have all twinkling blue ones.”

“But ya got yer mother's dimples, an' I think that makes you the most beautiful eight year old girl in all of Troisem.” Ahna put her hand on Celesta's cheek and brought her face back around so she could look into Celesta's eyes. “'Member darlin', skinny don't make someone automatically pretty, jest like long hair or blue eyes don't make a princess. There's a lot more to pretty than what's on the outside. Yer heart is what makes ya beautiful, an' ya have the most beautiful heart 'o anyone I knows.”

~*~*~*~*~

 The petticoats were easy enough to get on, but the dress stubbornly insisted to present itself a problem. Celesta got her arms in all right, but no matter how she twisted and turned she couldn't reach the back of the gown to fasten it up. It was a full five minutes before she gave up completely and focused on her stockings.

She had gotten one partway up her leg, gritting her teeth with frustration the whole while, when the door opened again and Ahna came sweeping in.

“Breggti never got ya up?”

“No.”

Ahna pursed her lips and looked ready to spit. “Lazy girl. That's the last time I trust 'er with somethin' on a day like today.” She knelt by Celesta and raised her eyebrows at her charge's attire. “Did ya think ya could run 'round all day with yet dress hangin' open like that in the back?”

“I couldn't reach the buttons.” Celesta demonstrated, straining her fingers to their utmost length.

~*~*~*~*~

The Crown Prince, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. “This gingerbread is really quite marvelous, Denstan.” He said, holding it aloft and admiring it with an eager eye. “You must try it.”

“If you wish it, Your Highness.” The somberly dressed man answered in a voice to match his attire.

The Crown Prince caught his tone and rolled his eyes. He leaned toward Denstan and whispered in a voice that Celesta clearly heard, “You're boring.”

“I thank you for your educated observation, Your Highness. It demonstrates the great attainment of your tutors.”

~*~*~*~*~

 “Your mother died, too?”

Kadsa nodded, her eyes full of sorrow, and although Celesta already felt a keen friendship with this older girl, built on the recent months they had laughed over the laundry, the knowledge only further knitted them together.

“I was thirteen at the time,” Kadsa reflected, “an' I had seven younger siblings ta watch out fer.”

Celesta's mouth dropped open. “Seven?”

“Aye, an' I had three older ones, too.”

“Three?”

Kadsa laughed. “So, tell me young scholar, how many children does that make total?”

Celesta ran the numbers through her head quickly. “Ten?”

“Almost.” Kadsa tapped Celesta's nose. “It's eleven when you count me, too.”

~*~*~*~*~

The elegantly carved tombstone stared at her placidly. Although she had seen the words countless times since the funeral and had them every one memorized, Celesta read them again. In her last days, the duchess had written out exactly what was to be carved on the stone, and the mason crafting it had done all that she had requested, even to adding the design of hazel branches along the sides.

The Duchess Claria Marchalla Le'Blancard

Wife and Mother Taken Home To Père

Where Lies Greater Treasure Than Below

“Farewell, Mother.” She fought to keep her sobs back. “I'm sorry I have to leave, but the duke needs me in Larsen's Valley. I'll come back, though. I promise.” A sniffle threatened to break her words. “I will see you again. I-”

Celesta could take no more, and her tears got the better of her. She threw her hands over her eyes and let the sorrow she had so successfully held back all that morning flow freely.

God bless! 

October Snippets

Well, September was a slow month as far as writing was concerned, but I did manage another couple thousand words on Rebirth of a Legend. Here you are, folks. Enjoy!

“Hey, Dick! You're not listening!”

The offended speaker grabbed his pillow and flung it across the small room. The missile hit Dick square in the face and, combined with his unawareness of being attacked, the sudden torque of the pillow, though soft, sent him reeling backwards on his bed.

“Blast! Axel! What was that for?”

 

Axelsen Elnefar was prepared for the returning projectile his younger brother sent his way. Reaching out with one long arm, he snagged the pillow before it hit his forehead and yanked it aside to give Dick a glare. “I was talking to you.”

 

Dicksen rubbed his poor attacked nose. “I was listening.”

 

Axel gave a rough guffaw. “No, you weren't. Your mind was a million miles away.”

 

“I wish I was with it.” The grumble was so slight that Axel almost missed it. 

~*~*~*~*~

Axel gave the shoulder a jerk that stilled Dick into submission. At twenty four years of age, he claimed the right to be the stronger of the two, and although Dick worked hard at upsetting that claim, so far Axel held it tightly intact. 

~*~*~*~*~

“No, no, no.” Grant shook his head, approaching the dueling pair rapidly, the heels of his boots stomping madly against the stone floor. “You've got it all wrong, Dav. If you don't fully own your sword, then your opponent will own your flesh.”

 

Davin stepped back and swung his weapon around in a defeated gesture. “That's a lovely mental picture.”

 

“How in all of Dron did you ever survive any of our skirmishes with Krunnerus? The battle in the pass? I'm sick just thinking about it, Dav.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Ye'd better be careful 'bout drinkin' that much,” Fircanel offered quietly. He didn't fancy pulling the heavy man, completely drunk and unconscious, to the door later on that night.

 

The man ignored him, setting the glass down with a thump and giving his mustache an exaggerated wipe with the back of his hand. He swayed slightly on his stool, the motion, no doubt, induced by the multiple glasses of beer, but he kept his seat and merely peered at the tavern owner over the top of the now empty mug. His eye should have been clouded over by the affects of the drink, yet it still glowed with an uncanny alertness and anger that unnerved Fircanel. The tavern owner congratulated himself on facing many unsavory characters in this very room innumerable times, holding his ground with every encounter and never backing down, winning every face-off, even during that unforgettable event when a drunken youth had pulled out a knife and threatened Fircanel's daughter, Irell, yet there was something about the sandy bearded drinker that the tavern owner couldn't stand against, still considering that he was the tavern's best customer.

 

The man leaned forward and blew a blast of fetid-smelling breath in Fircanel's face.

 

“More.”

~*~*~*~*~

The dragon's roar echoed through the cold stones of the stronghold, dancing off the smooth walls of the tunnel leading to the distant library. The sound had barely reached their ears then Davin and Ahmis exchanged a quick glance and dropped their books. Davin nearly ran into his brother and a number of chairs and desks in his haste to exit the chamber. Both knew that the dragons rarely released a roar such as that one, and what alarmed Davin more was that he didn't recognize the roar. The lack of the familiar musical note behind it and the confused sensations he was receiving from Pennar told him immediately that the roar hadn't been of the green dragon's making.

 

“Was that...?”

 

But Ahmis shook his head. “Not Borlo. Quinessa, do you think?”

 

Davin shrugged as he ran. “Can't tell.”

 ~*~*~*~*~

“I did nothing, Ahmis!” Grant flung his arms wide in his frustration. “Why do you think it's all my fault?”

 

“You've been showing off with that dragon of yours since the day we arrived at the stronghold! How can that not be encouraging to her? She copies everything else you do! Why wouldn't she try some stupid stunts on a dragon of her own?”

 

“They're not stupid! And since when did Netsrik become that dragon? She's just as good as Borlo, probably better!”

 

Ahmis brought an accusing finger to level with his brother's chest. “Any dragon that freely bonds with you as a rider must be...”

 

“That's enough!” Davin leaped between his two brothers before Ahmis could finish the insult, pushing them apart as best as he could with his hands against their torsos. This was the angriest that Davin had ever seen his brother, and he knew Grant wasn't far from a retaliation. Already, he could see the young fighter had balled his fists in defiance, and Davin feared that he wouldn't limit himself to striking back only verbally. Grant couldn't have lived at the barracks in East Delt for years without knowing how to forcefully attack his opposition.

 

“The dragons are all equal, just as we are. No one is higher than anyone else, not even me. You both heard Olette. She knew it was foolish to try to mount Azulla like that, but she did it because Lyndee asked her to. I don't know what she was trying to prove by doing that, but it's over. No one was hurt, and I'd like very much to forget about this whole thing.” He looked at both of his brothers in turn. “Can we leave this in the past peaceably?”

~*~*~*~*~

It wasn't until she had neatly tripped on an obstacle in her path that Olette realized that she wasn't the only one not sleeping at that hour. With a sudden cry, she thrust out her hands to catch herself and landed sprawled across someone's legs.

 

“I'm sorry!” The obstacle hastened to apologize, stand, and assist the girl to stand as well. The attempt, however, was a failure as neither could see the other in the dark, resulting in bruised knees and bumped elbows. Olette finally gave up on her feet and sat with her back to the outer wall, when at length she found it, pulling her own legs up to her chin in case the obstacle decided to take a walk of his own and trip over her.

 

“Grant, what are ya doin' up still?”

 

He gave a quiet snort. “I could ask the same of you.”

 

“I asked first, an' I think ya sorta owe me an answer considerin' ya almost killed me.”

 

Olette fully expected Grant to debate that statement, and she was greatly surprised when he said nothing. She had almost begun to think he wouldn't even answer her question at all when he sighed, sat down opposite her, and gave her one word.

 

“Pouting.”

 

Olette knew her eyebrows went up, but she knew that he would be unable to see the confusion in her face so she pushed it into her tone as she threw another question back at him. “Why?”

 

“I can't sleep, so it seemed like a good way to pass the time.”

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God bless!