Fates of Ruin available for Pre-Order

FatesofRuin_ThunmbHappy Lock Down Readers! It’s been a long time coming, but Fates of Ruin is now available for pre-order over at amazon. This is the revised and relaunched version of The Empyrean Key and a version of the book I was wanting to write for so long. Finally, I had the opportunity to give it another go and I’m so happy with the result.

If you are a die hard fan of the original The Empyrean Key, never fear, I still have it kicking about in ebook and paper back and would be more than happy to get it to you. If you are one of those amazing people who supported The Empyrean Key and would like to see what all the fuss is about in Fates of Ruin, I’d love to supply you with a free ebook copy. Just get in touch with me at jotomlinsontales@gmail.com

You can pre-order Fates of Ruin at…

Amazon US
Amazon CA
Amazon UK
Amazon AU

As well as a bunch of other amazon countries. The paperback will be available on release. Keen to check out the new and improved introduction to the Ardentia series? I’ve posted the first chapter below. Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE – Friziel Sunrender

“So lost, my dear friend,” Friziel whispered. “So dark and cold where you are. Do not fear. I am at your side.” He lay his withered hand upon Moyle’s heaving chest and pressed his nose to the sleeping king’s forehead. “Always at your side.”

The room was black, the air thick and stale. Myole’s broad face hadn’t seen the sun in months and had grown wintry and sallow. Friziel tried best he could to recall the glow of his king’s cheeks, the golden wealth of his auburn beard and lustre of his hair. It was fading all too quickly from his mind, as most things were these days.

Friziel had crept into the room when all others had retired for the evening. He had sat beside the giant bed and whispered stories of their past adventures, hoping that a single tale might ignite a spark, but for weeks nothing.

Myole was growing weaker. The mysterious illness had reaped his vitality and left him a shell of a once great king. Soon his divine eversoul would pass, and his queen would take command of Myole’s vast dominion.

This was something Friziel could not allow. “I will make this right…”

He took up his gnarled staff and hobbled across the room, his body hunched and thin. He could hear the guards chatter outside as he passed the huge wooden doors. Friziel did not even glance at the bronze handle, instead making his way to the very corner of the bed chambers and putting all his weight behind a slab in the stone wall that was slightly lighter in colour than the rest.

The wall creaked and slowly gave way, revealing a dark passage. Friziel had no need for light, he had walked Castle Kalavar’s hidden tunnels a thousand times. For a short while the only sound was that of his own shuffling steps, but soon they were drowned out by music and laughter. Friziel approached another hidden door and leaned into the rock and when it gave way, he found himself in a darkened alcove near the grand dining hall.

The music and merriment were louder now, and it had Friziel incensed. How could there possibly be any sort of celebrations with Myole so gravely ill? He marched to the door, thumping his staff with each step to be sure he caught the guard’s attention.

They exchanged displeased glances.

“You are not invited to this event, old Eye,” one guard called. “Return to your room before you upset, her grace.”

“You should know by now boy, that I live only to upset, your grace,” Friziel snapped.

The guard rolled his eyes, half-heartedly crossing his chest with his polearm. “I ask you again, old Eye. Please leave, there’s nothing to see here.”

“Oh, I agree,” Friziel said. He tugged back the hood of his deep orange robe revealing his braid of hair, thick as mooring rope, that nearly reached the floor. But it was his eyes that held the guard’s unease, murky white pools that had been blind since he was a young man, even so, all was his to behold. “I would happily scratch out what little sight I have if it meant I did not have to observe the irreverence unfolding behind those doors, boy!”

Friziel grinned. He called the guard boy because that is how he remembered him best. He once played in the courtyard with wooden sword and tattered trousers. Now he stood strong in the golden armour of the ruling family Dubraycon whom he served, his chest emblazoned with the white summer-lion, the sigil of their house. He was proud and loyal, traits that had earned him Friziel’s patience over the years. Not tonight though.

“I will not be denied, little Arman,” Friziel taunted, “I have collected many secrets that would make a fool of you, things that might be frowned upon if you one day wish to ascend to the Kingsguard.”

Arman scoffed. “I am an open book, old Eye. I have no secrets.”

“Ohhh …,” Friziel chuckled. “These secrets are not yours. They belong to your beloved whom I bumped into at the market.” He waved his hand, his fingers dancing upon the air. “I did not have to dig deep. It was all right there, just below the surface. You must love her dearly, Arman, I mean … your children have his eyes.”

“Enough!” Arman yelled.

The second guard could see his captain faltering. “If you let him in there you won’t be made a Kingsguard neither, she’ll likely put your head on a pike.”

Arman ignored his pleas and glanced vacantly to the courtyard. “I think I heard something. Come.”

The guard frowned, obeying Arman’s instructions even though all present knew there was nothing happening outside. Friziel moved forward, stumbling with his staff. Arman was quick to assist him before he fell, their hands touching briefly. In that moment, Friziel’s lucid-eye granted him a fate through a flash of blinding light.

Arman helped him steady. “Are you alright, Seer?”

Friziel’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes, boy. I am fine … and I am sorry.”

“For what, old Eye?”

Friziel offered no explanation but a smile, an expression he still hadn’t mastered after all his years. It was crooked and limp and conveyed more regret than happiness. He left Arman to wonder on his words while he took hold of the massive gilded handles of the dining hall and threw open the grand doors. His entrance drew the attention of the decadent assembly and for a moment there was utter silence. Lords and ladies; knights and wellborns, all eyes were upon him. Most were curious, some indifferent, but there was one set of green eyes that burned with ire.

The ivory-skinned, Queen Selizardra sat at the feasting table, her hair a tower of scarlet ringlets, her long fingers and blood-red nails grasping a jewelled goblet. She glared at Friziel as she sipped but did not seem surprised that he had arrived uninvited.

Friziel browsed the guests, noting that none of the Brother Lords were in attendance. Good, it would have been a further insult to Myole’s health had they been here drinking instead of at his bedside. The guests were mainly light-blessed knights and nobles from the great cities or those whose wealth granted them the privilege of dining with royalty. One among them stood out, a woman whose beauty alone was enough to rival the stars, but it was her flawless blue skin and violet hair, her brow, cheekbones and jaw all lined with silver that set her apart from the rest. Her body was draped in fine silks, sleek and slender, and she moved with a feline grace. She had several wellborns fawning over her, no doubt in awe of attending a party with an exotic Klathazuit, but none had her attention. In fact, the Lady Lerathane looked bored beyond belief, that was until she spied Friziel. Her dark lips turned upwards, revealing her fanged canine teeth. She beckoned for him to join her.

Selizardra watched, rising to her feet and slamming her goblet on the table. “Seer Friziel. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Her voice was thick with the accent of her homeland, the frozen tundra of Meth’morn across the sea. She was stifling her aversion to Friziel’s intrusion. He could see that in her clenched fist and stiff pose. But she knew better than to unleash a tirade upon him. Regardless of her own feelings, Seer Friziel was highly respected amongst the Brother Lords, including Lady Lerathane’s husband, the Lord Ossbrien of Ivahmar. With Lerathane present, any mistreatment would surely reach Ossbrien’s ears.

“My Queen regent, I simply wish to share in the celebrations.” He tapped his chin. “What is it we are celebrating again?”

Selizardra spoke through a painted smile. “Why Seer, winter has come to an end. Do you not recall? We raise a harvest wine to Fressia and pray she grants us a prosperous spring. Lady Lerathane herself has visited to join us in our worship.”

“Worship the Celestials … you, Lady Lerathane?” Friziel chortled.

Lerathane shared his sentiment, giggling behind her hand. “You know me better than that, Seer. I was simply passing through as I travelled to my homeland and was told wine was on offer.”

Selizardra bit down on her lip. “Whatever the reason. We are honoured to have you join us and please, Seer, help yourself to a drink or some spiced pork before you leave. The hour is late and a man your age needs his rest.”

Friziel bowed. “Your concern is noted, Queen regent.”

Selizardra slumped into her chair and took up her goblet, her eyes not leaving Friziel even with her advisors twittering at her ears.

Lerathane shooed away her admirers when Friziel approached. “I wondered when you would rear your head. A stay in Kalavar is not complete without your scowl.” She offered her hand to Friziel, he cocked a questioning brow. She grinned. “I have nothing to hide.”

Friziel touched her skin, laying a kiss on her knuckles. Again, there was a flash of golden light behind Friziel’s lucid-eye and the vision confirmed Lerathane’s candour. Whether wicked or true, there was nothing shown to him that Friziel did not already know. The one thing that did startle him was how frozen her skin felt. It was common amongst all Klathazuits, but just how cold their bodies are was always a bracing surprise. He noted droplets of water at her fingertips.

“Are you growing too warm, my Lady?”

Lerathane shuffled uncomfortably in a chair that was glazed with a layer of ice and studded with jagged icicles. She gripped the velvet arms and through her will forged ripples of crackling cold to keep her cool. “It is hard being away from home too long. This climate is not to my liking.”

Friziel leaned close. “Then I shall not keep you too long.” He reached into his orange robe and presented Lerathane with a single blush niasyle blossom.

She took the flower from his palm and immediately the petals came over with frostbite. She nodded and with that their exchange was complete.

Friziel bowed and lugged himself across the room to the doors, not sparing a glance for his Queen even though he could feel her piercing stare following him until he was free of her sight.



Friziel had not retired to his room, instead travelling the maze of passages until he emerged from a shadowed alcove in the northern courtyard that overlooked the pithart. The round stone structure was bathed in the spring moon’s golden hue, illuminating the names etched above each of the five arched doorways: Herathese, Fressia, Methelos, Agia and Capheron, the Celestial guardians of Ardentia. But even these great deities were below another. Arden the Creator; Queen of the Celestials; Bringer of Light, her effigy was that of a winged queen, her long arms stretched toward the heavens, her face masked by a chainmail veil. She stood atop the pithart, lording over them all.

Friziel moved quietly from his hiding place towards the closest doorway. A petal fell upon his shoulder, followed by another, then another and at his feet lay a thousand more, blanketing every inch of stone within the courtyard. He looked up to find himself beneath the towering niasyle tree with its spiral branches abundant with blossoms. The tree bloomed all year round and no matter how many flowers it spilt upon the ground; it was never barren. It only grew here in Kalavar, its roots reaching deep below the pithart, into the crypt of the dead kings.

When he reached the doors, his keen ears caught the tiniest hint of someone behind him. He grasped his staff and turned only to find Lady Lerathane giggling at him.

“Did I startle you, Eye?”

Friziel grumbled. “Of course not. I heard you coming a mile away, crackling frozen petals beneath those hooves of yours.” He gestured to her feet which were far too wide and long to fit a lady’s shoe. Klathazuits had two large pronged toes attached to a paddle shaped foot to help them tread the deep snow of their homeland.

Lerathane lifted her nose to the air and shimmied her dress down an inch to cover her feet. She returned the now frozen blossom Friziel had given her, a fallen flower from this very niasyle tree.

Friziel bowed gratefully and scattered the petals to the ground with the others. “Thank you, Lady. Come, we do not have much time.”

Lerathane followed Friziel into the pithart. In the centre of the room was a large marble slab with a silver offering bowl sitting at its head. This ceremonial altar had seen the passing of the divine eversoul through many kings, the last being Myole’s father, Myken the Restorer. Friziel turned his eyes from the thing, not able to look upon such a foreboding omen. Lerathane was the opposite, curious as usual, dragging her hand across the smooth surface and leaving behind a sprinkling of ice. He urged her past the altar, to a stairwell that led to the crypt below. Though Friziel did not need a torch to see his way, Lerathane struggled to see her hand before her face. She gripped Friziel’s shoulder and he grimaced at her cold touch.

“If you do not wish me to freeze you to death, I suggest some light?”

“I do not want to draw attention to our presence here,” Friziel replied. “Can you not be less cold for just a moment?”

“You sound like my husband.”

Friziel could sense her grin in the dark. “Take my staff instead,” he said.

The stairs started narrow before widening grandly at the very end. A fire bowl blazed at the heart of the crypt with flames that reached for the ceiling and it was encircled by over a dozen stone tombs. Each was unique, a hand-crafted wealth of gold and jewels, its gilded effigy a tribute to the great king that lay within. The most splendid of them all was at the forefront, closest to the flame. It was not splendid because of its decadence, in fact there was not a single treasure to be seen. Instead it was solid stone, its edges worn and rounded from the ages with large cracks marring its sides, but still this tomb was strong as Ardentia’s foundations. It was the first of the tombs, built for the first man of the Dubraycon line, Mytian the Forefather, first king of Ardentia, son of the God-King Mytis.

Very few would see such a hallowed relic in their time, it was something that Friziel himself had not seen since he was a child, when he was first taken from his Narcean family and presented to Myole’s father as Eye. Friziel had not cared about a dusty old box then and to be honest, did not care much for it now either. Despite the worship the Forefather legend demanded and the fealty of his subjects which was inherited by his sons, Friziel would happily dance his old bones upon the grave of every Dubraycon, save for one; Myole. For his friend, Friziel would endure this place one last time.

“You’re sure about this, Eye? It is a great sacrilege you ask me to perform.”

“I would not ask if such an offense wasn’t necessary. I have seen the shadow, Lerathane, the great void that will devour our land. It sits hungrily at the foot of Myole’s bed, waiting on his last breath.”

“And you think our queen has something to do with it?”

The very thought of Selizardra turned Friziel sour. “I would wager my life on it, which is not something I am eager to risk. I am far too busy to die.”

“I believe you, Eye, but once this is done, our bargain is settled. You cannot ask me for help again.”

Friziel bowed. “Of course.”

“And your tongue will keep silent? At least until I am dead anyway.”

“You have my word.”

Lerathane sighed, unconvinced. “That will have to be enough I suppose.’

She moved forward, her body seeming to glide across the stone. She passed the jewelled tombs which were worth more than her kingdom, neither was she interested in the priceless remnants of Mytian, instead she approached the fire that burned eternal, gifted to this pithart by the sisters of flame.

Friziel could see her hesitance. If the legends were true, the flame meant death to any man who dared touch it. But Lerathane was no man and Friziel was sure the legends hadn’t prepared themselves for someone of her kind. She was not timid for long and abruptly she thrust her hand into the fire. The flames turned blue, sliding between her fingers. Lerathane exhaled. She was brave to a fault but was grateful there was no pain.

“Is it there?” Friziel asked, “did you find it?”

Lerathane was rummaging through the burning fire, her face set with determination. Soon a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I have it.”

She pulled her hand free, grasping something in her fist.

Before her curious eyes could take in what she had retrieved, Friziel had peeled back her fingers and taken the object for himself. Lerathane pouted with disappointment.

It didn’t look as he had expected. It was lumpy and solid black and stained his hands with ash. Friziel pressed his thumbs hard into its surface and it cracked, falling away and revealing the treasure he had been hoping for; a smooth, crystal shard threaded with bright red veins. It was etched with words not of the Ardentian tongue, a language even Friziel with all his reading couldn’t understand. He was sure though that is was exactly the item he desired, the artefact that would save Myole’s kingdom. He held it to his chest and shut his eyes tight.

“You are praying?” Lerathane asked, checking her hand for signs of injury but finding none. “Now I believe you.”

Friziel opened his eyes. “We will need the aide of any Celestial willing to help and I have crossed enough of them to not be fussy.”

“Careful what you wish for, Eye. You never know who may want to bargain with you, although you are quite the bargainer yourself.”

Friziel tore a scrap of fabric from his robe and wrapped the shard, then pressed it back into Lerathane’s hand. “You’ll take it now, to Groden Cove and put it in the hands of the Narcean you find there. Tell her to find me in the Shala’jin.”

Lerathane snarled. “Groden Cove? That was not what we agreed.”

Friziel ignored her protest and closed her fingers around it. “Now we are done.”

She tucked the shard away in her cloak. “I don’t think we’ll ever be done, Eye.”

Suddenly there was a flicker of torch light from the stairwell and the rustle of armour echoed through the crypt.

“Who goes there? Old Eye? Is that you?” Arman approached them, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s you again! I have the worst luck in all Salamone. Who’s that with you?” Arman immediately dropped to a knee when he recognized Lerathane. “Apologies my lady, I didn’t see your face in the shadows. What are you both doing here?”

Friziel and Lerathane exchanged looks. They were not supposed to be here, if anyone found out, if Selizardra found out, she would do all she could to stop them. Friziel’s work was far too important to trust an ambitious young guard to keep quiet, even if he did have leverage over him.

For Myole, he could not fail.

With one swift movement, Friziel unsheathed the ruby-studded blade at his waist and slipped it across Arman’s throat. He gurgled and gasped, his eyes stunned with fear and pleading for help. He reached out a trembling hand and grasped the hem of Lerathane’s gown. She grumbled and kicked him away, being sure not to let his spilling blood touch her dress. Before long he fell to the ground.

Friziel’s shoulders slumped. “I told you I was sorry, boy.”

“What a mess.” Lerathane snapped. “What do we do with him?”

Friziel approached a tomb and used his dagger to pry several gems from the effigy, tucking them one by one into his cloak. “Let them think poor Arman stumbled upon a thief taking something far less valuable than what was actually taken. Now, to Groden Cove with you!”

Lerathane shook her head. “Do the Dubraycon’s even know the savage they have in their midst?”

“They should do,” the old blind man, Friziel replied, returning his blade to its sheath. “I am a creature of their making.”


Light Tripper Released + Giveaway Goodness

Well, I did it. I released another book and I’m pretty stoked. If i haven’t bombarded you enough for sales pitches, GO BUY IT NOW  It’s also available on Kindle Unlimited if you have a subscription.


And did you happen to see the book trailer? It has a real Scorsese feel to it …

In other news, Light Tripper is currently in the whirl of a book blitz. To celebrate its release, there’s a $20 Amazon giftcard up for grabs. You can enter the here;

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

I can’t wait for more Light Tripper to get out there in the world and I’m excited to hear what readers think of it. I’ve linked a playlist in the book, here’s one of the songs that inspired me cause you know, Lorde.

Light Tripper – Cover Reveal

Exciting news, amigos … COVER REVEAL TIME!!!?!?!?!!?!??!!

My cover designer, Lisa has been hitting that photoshop super hard for very poor pay and even with such horrendous working conditions, she’s come up with a real gem.



Nice right? Or in the words of my unrequited love, Bobby Roode …


Light Tripper is available for pre-order on Amazon and you can add it to Goodreads or make sure you’re following me on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter so you know when spend your hard earned money, some of which will be going to Lisa.

Feed a starving cover designer. Buy a book.

Releases October 23rd, 2018!


Light Tripper Chapter Two

The next installment of Light Tripper for your reading pleasure….

space 1


The more distance they put between themselves and the lounge, the louder Morgan started to laugh. Sal hadn’t found the funny side of what had happened just yet.

“That was insane,” Morgan said, trying to catch his breath. “We’ve still got it, kiddo!”

Sal frowned, relieved to catch sight of their ship as they rounded the last corridor. They hurried inside and Sal waited to be sure nothing followed them through the airlock before joining Morgan in the cockpit.

“Hurry up and get her in the air,” Sal said with urgency. “I don’t know how long it takes a Denian to regenerate and I don’t want to find out.”

“You cut off his freaking hand!” Morgan laughed. “You are amazing!”

Sal wanted to smile, Morgan’s laugh was infectious – a guffaw with a touch of snort – but she could smell the shine on him and his finger tips twinkled silver. He was high as a lunar satellite. Once he passed out in an hour or so, he wouldn’t remember any of this and Sal would be tasked with the unfortunately familiar job of cleaning him up.

She tried not to think about that for now, instead focusing on getting the hell off Enos. She took off Morgan’s cap and shoved it on his head. “Punch it.”

Morgan activated the holo-panel controls, retracting the heavy impact shields from the view ports. The engine began to moan, gears began to grind and there was a loud thump as the thrusters came online and ignited. Then… nothing. With a shudder and a shunt, the ship shut down.

“Not again!” Sal whined. “I told you we needed to get that left thruster repaired.”

“We don’t need it repaired, it just needs some Sal magic. Go and do your thing.”

“I almost blew it up last time!” Sal argued.

“Well then I guess we’ll just sit here, wait for Kar to grow his limb back and kill us both.” Morgan leaned back, tipped his cap over his eyes and rested his hands behind his head.

Amidst their own bickering, a third voice called loudly from outside. At first Sal guessed the Denians had caught up with them, but then she sighted a small posse of new faces gathered at the nose of the ship.

She squinted for a better look. “Is that Moda?”

Sal could make out the leader of the group, a tall woman whose brown skin was all but covered in tattoos; a map of sharp lines and sequential dots which identified her as Foundry property. But Moda had taken power of those brands the day she murdered her enslavers and she used her new found freedom and the implants the Foundry had assimilated to her human body to hunt down bounties.

Continue reading “Light Tripper Chapter Two”

Introducing…. Light Tripper

Oh, hi there. How are you? Good, that’s good.


While the Ardentia series gets a face lift, I’d like you to meet my latest project, a Sci-Fi Space Opera called, Light Tripper.


I’ll be posting chapters on the blog before the edited version makes its way to ebook for purchase.

The Morpheus system sits on the edge of the galaxy, a refuge for smugglers, bounty hunters and infamous space pirates. It is a world built upon few rules; lawless, leaderless and unaffected by the growing influence of the Planetary Alliance, a benevolent military force who bring salvation and peace to a divided universe. But there are rumours. Whispers of vanishing colonies and children herded like cattle. Morpheus continues to turn a blind eye, but what will become of them if the P.A. decides to expand its dominion?

For now Sal Tripp will just focus on what she does best. Bagging the biggest bounties in the system, aided by powers she doesn’t understand. Sal is strong, fast and can manipulate energy, channeling it through weapons with destructive results. But fearful of what her fellow space scum might do to her if they ever found out, Sal keeps her ability a secret that she shares with the only person she trusts, her vice-ridden father, a former Planetary Alliance pilot who owes credits to every gangster in the galaxy. Together they navigate the stars in their derelict ship, Light Tripper.

That’s before a blown thruster puts them at the mercy of the system’s most ruthless crime boss and weaves their path with a hardened super soldier who puts a higher value on Sal’s life than she believes it deserves. Then a giant P.A. battle cruiser descends on Morpheus and suddenly their way of life is threatened.

But this is not a simple invasion. The P.A. want more than territory, more than resources. Sal is thrust into a rebellion and her painful nightmares might just turn out to be terrifying realities. She will need to harness her power, unravel the lies and unite a system of despicable scoundrels to fight for freedom.

I hope you enjoy and please leave any comments/critiques in the comments section!




Of all the cesspits in Morpheus, Enos Station was the nastiest.

Sal paced the cockpit like a cat in a cage. The ship had been docked in the Enos cargo bay for two hours. Morgan should have been back by now.

“Just need a word with an old buddy,” he’d said before he left. “Maybe a quick drink.”

After all these years, how was Sal still falling for the same goopa?

In and out without having to endure the sleaziest third-class space station in the outer systems? Such a feat would require Morgan to keep his word. Sal promised herself again this would be the last time she’d believe him.

She thumped her fist against the off-white ceiling panel above her. The holographic control board twitched and fizzled, static blaring. Another thump stabilized it. She tapped several of the green symbols, then waved the projection aside.

A panel to her left opened and the weapon rack slowly began to eject, the ear-splitting sound of scraping metal filling the cabin. Sal groaned gutturally, tapping her foot. A Nothrosian with six broken legs could move faster.

As soon as there was room, Sal squeezed her hand between the grates, grabbing the PEP revolver. She popped out the cartridge and cursed Morgan some more when she saw a red blinking light taunting her. He was always forgetting to charge the thing.

Sal had won her fair share of fist fights, but when it came to survival upon this million tonne hunk of rusted steel, she fancied her odds a touch more with her revolver in hand. She spit into her palm and rubbed her fingers together to create some friction.

Strikes of blue light broke through her skin, sparking and crackling in sporadic surges. It took all her strength to harness this fist-full of lightning and before she accidentally melted her face off, Sal gripped the cartridge and transferred the energy. Each of the eight chambers flicked green as it charged and by the end Sal was drained. It was always more exhausting generating energy cold, where she had juice to spare if she’d been chasing down a bounty or punching in a face beforehand. The aftermath was the same though. Shaping that energy made her damn hungry.

Sal was startled by banging and cursing that flooded from beneath the floor.

She wasn’t often caught off guard.

“Hey!” She stamped her foot. “Keep stuhm down there!”

What was going on beneath the floor was a problem that would be dealt with later.

Sal loaded the revolver and tucked it into the waistband of her skin-tight cargo pants, keeping it out of sight beneath her well-worn, red leather jacket. Sal twisted her dark, frizzy mess of hair into a knot, then yanked Morgan’s cap over the top. The thing stunk of smoke and cheap moonshine and was printed with a semi-naked Plokami female, her tentacles placed strategically to keep it classy.

Sal rolled her shoulders, sucked in a breath thick with dread, then stormed to the back of the ship and hit the airlock button. With the same finesse of the weapon rack, the airlock opened.

Immediately Sal was bombarded by the bustling din. The cargo bay was overrun with scabs – space transients and general shady types – all clumsily competing to refuel the ship or scrape the thruster scorch from the wing, anything for a few credits to spend at the bars or risk at the dice tables. Sal vigorously shooed them away. Like she had credits to spare.

Most were harmless, everyone had to eke out some sort of living, but it was the ones with the silver-stained fingertips that you needed to watch for. Dust didn’t wash off skin easy.

Sal had never partaken herself, she had enough trouble controlling the lightning in her veins without adding some powder concoction to the mix, but she had seen what it did to people. Most were calm, content to quietly enjoy their hallucinations, but others were just a bad trip away from clawing your face off. Those were the ones that Sal wouldn’t hesitate to unload her revolver into and no one was likely to say boo about it.

After all, this was Morpheus. There was no Planetary Alliance, no border control, no regulations and no standards. The only code around here was a moral one, and people with those were few and far between. That’s why Enos flourished. Its owners didn’t care about your principles or purpose in the galaxy, as long as you had credits to lose you were welcome and the station was not starved for punters. It offered services banned in most systems, including its infamous dice tables, where entire fortunes and bodily organs could be won or lost in a hand. Sal had heard tales of a captain losing not only his ship, but his entire crew. It didn’t surprise her though, Morgan had won their ship in a similar fashion.

Sal headed for the cargo bay exit, but had barely taken a step before being shoulder barged by another Enos arrival. There was drawn-out hiss as Sal was confronted by an eight foot, scaly-skinned Libraton.

“Watch where you’re going, human!” He flicked his forked tongue at her.

Instinctively, Sal reached for her revolver, but quickly reconsidered. Where there was one Libraton, there were another ten skulking around and this was a relatively small one. The others would likely be its larger siblings.

She bit her tongue, digging her hands into her jacket pockets and walking out of the cargo bay with her eyes set on the floor. She only glanced up to read the neon signs directing visitors to each entertainment hub.

The Dago Lounge was the largest bar on Enos and the best place to start her search. The most powerful bosses in the outer systems liked to congregate there and where there was underworld wealth, there were down-and-out space-bums on the hunt for a quick and easy way to score credits.

That was Morgan to a T, and Sal hoped she would find him under the first rock she kicked over rather than having to investigate some of the seedier joints. She was in no mood to drag him from the pleasure pits again.

She approached the heavy, sealed doors of the lounge and was abruptly halted by the doorman.

He was a pale skinned Eriog, not remarkably tall or well built, but by reputation incredibly strong. He was dressed sharply in a dark suit and wore a wide black visor over his eyes, a thin blue line darting back and forth across its shiny surface.

He put his hand on Sal’s shoulder.

She swiftly batted it away.

The Eriog replied by retrieving a sonic revolver from his jacket and pointing it directly at Sal’s head.

Sal frowned, raising her arms lazily in half-hearted surrender which the Eriog accepted, holstering his gun. He lifted the bill of Sal’s cap and leaned toward her dark, brown eyes. The blue line upon his visor began to zigzag and hum as it processed information.

“Human female.”

Sal nodded. “Yep.”

“No diseases or infections.”

Sal signed. “That’s good news.”

“Abnormality in genetic make-up. Explain?”

Sal was suddenly nervous. She didn’t let it show. “I don’t know, guy. I just work here.”

She waited for the Eriog’s response, again feeling an itch to grab her gun and see for herself just how strong he was, but fortunately he didn’t seem interested in further details. He continued to speak blankly in his monotone voice.

“No outstanding warrants or bounties. Not currently banned by Enos management. Entry approved.”

The large steel doors slid open, flooding the corridor with pounding bass music and blinding laser lights.

“Welcome to The Dago Lounge.”

Sal feigned a smile and dragged herself inside, the doors slamming shut behind her. It was hard to make out anything against the flashing strobe lights, faces there one moment then gone the next. Further disorientating were the holograms projected in the giant room. Sal looked down to find herself upon a pitch black sky, dressed with a million stars. The walls and ceiling were the same, no sign of the cold, hard steel that encased them, instead the patrons walked amongst the dazzling vastness of Morpheus. It was magnificent and the first thing Sal had found on Enos that she liked, but she’d always been in love with the stars. It was the jerks that populated them that were the problem.

Sal glided through the constellations, making her way to the bar. She pushed past a group of blue-skinned Quisons, avoiding their bushy tails that swished in time with the music.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, putting a glass down in front of her as she took a seat.

Sal was surprised to see the young man was human, all painted and glittered, decorated like a prop and wearing a tight shirt with alternating graphics. He was probably cute under all that eyeshadow and Sal was alarmingly aware of how long it had been since she’d had her itch scratched, not to mention that human men were hard to find. But he was just so… sparkly.

“Not much of a drinker,” she said.

“Maybe you’re after something else?” He leaned forward. “A taste of that silver supernova?”

Sal frowned. “Really? No foreplay? Just straight into the hard sell?”

The bartender raised his arms defensively. “I thought I felt a vibe and I was just trying to speed things up. I can normally pick ’em.”

“Anyone else given you a vibe tonight?” Sal asked. “Tattoos, grey stubble, stinks of moonshine and self-loathing?”

The bartender grinned. “Oh, you’re looking for Morgan, huh? He’s over there.”

He tipped his head to a darkened corner and Sal soon spied Morgan sitting at a table flanked by a cast of unseemly characters. Sal wasted no time forcing a path through the dance floor, earning profanities and hand gestures that transcended language barriers.

She arrived just as Morgan tossed up two glowing blue dice. Sal snatched them from the air.

“Time to go,” she snapped.

Opus was the only player at the table she recognised. Most Gordites looked alike, all loose-hanging skin and tusks, but Opus had a condition that left his face covered in disgusting, pus-filled cysts. Even so, he wasn’t the ugliest Gordite Sal had ever encountered. They were in general, not an attractive species, but they were clever and ruthless.

“Why, is that little Sal Tripp?” Opus bellowed, his sagging chin skin flapping as he spoke. “You were just a youngling last I saw you.”

“And you were less oozy,” Sal replied, gesturing to a freshly popped cyst on his forehead. Opus had a pretty Plokami woman at his side who quickly dabbed up his dripping goop with a cloth.

She narrowed her eyes. “Morgan,” she said firmly.

Morgan sat silent, his gaze was distant, seemingly waiting for the dice to land even though Sal had been holding them for a time now.

“Dad!” Sal yelled.

At last he stirred from his daze. His hair was shaggy, dark blonde and flecked with grey. He was tall, even sitting down and had strong arms covered in tattoos, mostly poorly drawn animals, but there were also words in languages that Sal didn’t understand and Morgan didn’t want to educate her on. He gave his glazed blue eyes a rub.

“Sal. What are you doing here? I told you to wait in the ship.”

“Ship,” Opus laughed loudly. “That’s no ship. It’s a scrap heap with thrusters.”

“I’ve been waiting,” Sal said. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I always meant to ask, Morgan,” Opus started. “Why is it that Sal has this delicious brown skin when you’re a dirty, pale sack of goopa?”

The players erupted with laughter.

Morgan’s face was overcome with bliss. “Sal’s mama was an island princess,” he sighed. “Some place with palm trees and water like blue glass for miles. Where was it again, Sal?”

Sal folded her arms impatiently. “You’re the one telling the story.”

“Ugh, I forget…I remember the hips though,” Morgan snorted. “And the rack.”

The players turned to Opus for translation.

“Oomas.” Opus grunted, simulating overly large breasts with his hands.

The players laughed again and Sal wasn’t interested in learning any more Gordite dialect.

“Well this has been great. Morgan. Let’s go.”

“Yes. Runaway, Captain Tripp, like a good little coward. I would expect nothing less of the Planetary Alliance.”

All attention now belonged to the Denian who had so far been silent at the end of the table, though his fierce one-eyed glare was reserved solely for Sid.

Morgan squinted to make out his face. “Do I know you, friend?”

“You do not and I have never been your friend.”

Sal could confirm that he was no acquaintance of the Tripps, there were only a handful of Denians in Morpheus to begin with. But he was certainly familiar with Morgan, enough to know that he was ex-Planetary Alliance.

It wasn’t a closely guarded secret. Most of Morgan’s tattoos were from when he served and everyone this side of the Koji Divide had been forced to endure a grand tale of adventure from the lips of the P.A’s finest fighter pilot. But it also wasn’t a past that Morgan sang from every corner of the system.

For every fond memory he shared there were a hundred he tried to kill with shine and dust. He was also mindful of those unhappy with the Planetary Alliance’s expanding influence throughout the galaxy; those who saw them as oppressors rather than saviours and didn’t much care that Morgan’s status was no longer current. It didn’t take a genius to see which club the Denian belonged to. His revulsion was palpable.

Opus grumbled. “That’s enough, Kar. Talk like that has no place here. Let the rest of the galaxy worry about the Planetary Alliance. They are no threat in Morpheus and neither is Morgan.”

Sal wasn’t surprised to hear Opus defending her father, for whatever the reason he was one of the few friends Sid had. She just didn’t expect him to say such things out loud within earshot of others.

Kar the Denian fell silent and Sal thought this as good a time as any to attempt a hasty exit.

“Well this was swell,” she chuckled with half a smile. “But we have to be going.”

Kar reacted immediately, pulling back his long coat to reveal a holstered gun. Sal noticed a small symbol embroidered on the left of his shirt. A solid black crescent moon within a blood-red sphere. Kar didn’t give her time to ask for its meaning.

“He’s not going anyway until we’re done talking. Until he looks me in the eye and admits what a filthy fashtapa he is.”

Morgan laughed. “I can’t even admit that to myself. What makes you think you’d get the honour… friend?”

Sal rolled her eyes. Morgan was smiling. This was going to get ugly.

From the shadows came two more Denians and they took position either side of Kar, their bony fingers grasping the same style of gun.

Sal looked to Opus but he was all done talking. There was no way he was going to take a bullet for Morgan.

She sighed. “I guess there’s only one way out of this then. Best just roll those dice, Sid.”

At first Morgan didn’t follow, but slowly a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He nodded knowingly and said, “Alright, baby.”

He threw the dice in the air and even Kar couldn’t help but watch them fly.

Sal moved quickly, roundhouse kicking the first Denian bodyguard across the face and sending him to the floor. As he fell she used him for leverage, propelling herself upward and straddling the second bodyguard’s shoulders. Sal drove her clenched fist hard into its eye and the Denian howled briefly before Sal tightened her thighs around its neck and flipped backwards, spinning the Denian over the top of her.

In the mean time, Morgan had pulled a large serrated blade from his waistband, a knife he called ‘The Deal Breaker’, and had skewered Kar’s gun hand to the table.

With his associates subdued, Sal grabbed her revolver and pushed it hard against Kar’s temple.

“Sorry, Kar,” Morgan said, gathering his worn jacket from the back of his chair. “My little girl wants to get going and you know how kids can be.”

Kar’s lips were trembling furiously, his mouth frothing like a rabid dog desperate to attack.

Sal reminded him with a shove that she had a fully charged energy gun pointed at his head.

“I’m going to rip you apart,” Kar muttered. “But you’ll still be alive when I start eating you.”

“Hey. What do you call a Denian with a broken nose and a missing hand?” Sal asked.

Before he could answer, Sal drove her elbow into Kar’s face, instantly breaking his nose. She then wrenched the Deal Breaker from his flesh and sliced his hand from his wrist in one strike.

Those at the table were aghast with horrified gasps and winces as Kar cried out in agony.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Sal groaned. “It’ll grow back.”

Morgan grabbed his knife and wiped Kar’s green blood on his trousers. “That is nasty, Sal.”

He took her by the hand and together they fled The Dago Lounge, barging into patrons who seemed more upset about their spilled drinks than the mutilated Denians giving chase from the dice table. Sal was surprised they recovered so quick. She moved her feet faster, her fingers laced tightly with Morgan’s, then she let out a yelp when someone snatched her other hand. At first she thought it was Kar and she braced herself for a likely ass-kicking. Instead she found herself face to face with another human; a tall man with the darkest eyes she had ever seen. His stare was piercing and meant only for her even though there were a million dazzling distractions. His mouth and jaw were obscured with a black scarf and he stood tall and broad, holding Sal’s hand hard against his chest.

Sal felt her knees wobble briefly. He was human, big and pleasantly shaped and wasn’t wearing a speck of glitter. He was practically perfect. It was a shame Sal didn’t have time to swap details. Judging by the commotion and ripple through the crowd, Kar was only a few feet away.

“Can I get that back?” Sal asked, nodding toward her hand.

“You have to come with me,” he said flatly.

“Oh. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, fella.”

Great, he was a crazy. Why did he have to talk and ruin it?

Sal attempted to yank herself free, but he didn’t relent an inch and all the while Morgan was tugging impatiently on her other hand.

“Sal. What’s the hold up?”

She puffed her cheeks. “Alright, you’ve had your fun, psycho. Now let go.”

The man said nothing and only clutched her tighter.

Sal had lost her patience. She wriggled her fingers free of Morgan and swiped her revolver from her belt. She pointed it between her would-be kidnapper’s eyes. “I can’t miss from here.”

His broad chest heaved a long disgruntled breath and he reluctantly released her.

Sal could see Kar now, charging through the crowd. She looked upon the stranger one last time and still his eyes were adhered to her as if she were the only person in the room. It was intrusive and intimidating and Sal didn’t like it. Before she could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he whipped back his coat and pulled out a plasma shotgun. It cocked with a whoosh and just when Sal thought he was going to blow an unsightly hole in her head, he spun on his heels and unloaded a round into one of Kar’s men instead. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Run then.”

Sal didn’t need to be told twice. Morgan had already found her hand again and was dragging her to the doors of the Dago Lounge.

Apparently amputations and shotgun fire were nothing unusual. The Eriog doorman waved farewell as they ran past and encouraged them to visit again.

The Light of Mytis – Chapter One

I’m excited to share with you the first chapter of my third book, The Light of Mytis.


I wish I could just give you the finished product, but I also wish that it rained chocolate fish. Life is full of disappointment.

Light of Mytis will be out in 2017 and until I have it up for pre-order, I will try and post as many chapters as possible without completely ruining it for everyone, especially me.

Don’t worry too much about typos and the such, this still needs to be sent to my editor who will fix up those nasty little beasties. Please enjoy and again, thank you for your love and understanding, Ardentia fans.




Castle Dubraycon

Kalavar Province

Kingsland Empire, Ardentia

When she was alone and cloaked in darkness, the Vessel, Menon, mourned the love she was denied. It was a pain all her own to be suffered in solitary silence, for it was the one thing that weakened her will and in order to reap her vengeance on the Celestials, such burdens needed to be gutted and flayed from her soul.

One other knew the depths of her pain and on nights such as this when her grief consumed her, Menon wept for the child they stole and the Dark Star would have those tears burn and scar as punishment for her frailty.

But Menon’s shadow magic could hide such things. Her true face, a deformed map of despair seared upon her skin, was kept shrouded by her ever-growing power. Pacing the mage tower she passed by a gilded mirror and in the corner of her eye caught a glimpse of the woman whose outward appearance was becoming just as grotesque as the corrupt dark within.

With a breath from her lips the hideous crone vanished, leaving a beautiful reflection once more. Menon had no doubts. The torment, the punishment, she deserved all of it, it made her stronger and her final reward would be worth every scar, every bleeding wound. She would share her anguish and a hundred times more with the Celestials. She would tear pounds of flesh and rip them limb from limb. They would suffer as she had. Then her pain would cease. Then she could rest.

But in order to obtain what she so desperately desired, Jahna Mornglow would have to die.

Menon’s tears had burnt especially deep tonight and it had taken her longer to weave her magic and conceal the marks left behind. When the spell was done she felt whole again, her face pristine. Menon traced the curves of her hips, her fingers gliding over her silken white mage robes. Suddenly a sharp pain pierced her abdomen. Menon winced, watching as a speck of crimson seeped through the fabric and quickly expanded, spilling into drips of blood that pooled at her feet.

There was no assailant lurking and this was the work of no blade. The wound came from within, from a price to be paid.

Morvax,” she whimpered.

Her servant was slain, but she had no time for anger. Another servant returned to her. Menon could feel his energy twisting through the sky and racing towards the mage tower. She was quick to take up her forest-green cloak and throw it over her shoulders, being sure to keep her wound well from sight.

Four spirals of smoke whipped through the tower windows and circled Menon before bursting into form. She looked over her kindred wielders of the elements; Jamus, Ringlefarn, Gallad and Pann, not an equal to her among them. Jamus belonged to her, she did not doubt his impassioned devotion, not for an instant. The boy would bleed for her if she asked and perhaps one day she might allow him, but not today. The others though, their tethers of loyalty were thin as spider’s silk. Ringlefarn’s ambition, Gallad’s virtue and Pann’s flippancy; traits too strong to break and wills too strong to bend. All had plans of their own, none of which included bowing to Menon and destroying those who gave them power, who elevated them above the pathetic rabble.

Their fates had not yet been decided, but time was running out and even Menon was unsure how long her mask would hold. But for as long as it did, the masquerade would continue.

Their silence concerned her. “It is done then?”

No, it is not,” Jamus snapped bitterly.

He took his place next to Menon and she had to refrain herself from wiping the dried blood from his face.

Ringlefarn ordered we retreat. The girl still lives.”

Menon glared furiously. “What!”

Ringlefarn showed no fear. “Tell me, Menon. What is the prize for one so divinely high to fall to such blasphemous lows?”

Menon clenched her jaw. “You were given an order by our Queen.”

Who was in turn given an order by you!” Ringlefarn boomed. “I have felt poison within these walls for some time. It has made us weak, it has made this kingdom weak. But not until I saw pure truth in that girl’s eyes did I realise the poison’s source. It is you Menon. It drips from you like liquid death.”

How dare you speak to the High Mage in such a way!” Jamus snared.

Just as Jamus had chosen his side, so did Pann and Gallad take steps away from Menon to stand at either side of Ringlefarn.

We have no High Mage,” Ringlefarn said tersely.

Menon slid her fingers inside her robe, discretely inspecting her wound. The blood was only enough to stain her fingertips, it was healing already. Good. She needed her strength. “You swore an oath to me. You follow where I lead.”

Ringlefarn shook his head. “Leadership is not a right, it is earned. We only follow if we have divine faith in our High Mage.” He eyed Menon with disgust. “That faith has dwindled to nothing more than a memory of a once honourable mage.”

A girl you have never met begs for mercy and suddenly I am the one being judged?” Menon snickered. “I thought you wiser than this, Ringlefarn.”

A girl with the eyes of a Dubraycon. A girl you swore to be a cold, calculated assassin was willing to accept her fate so long as her friends were set free. None of this makes sense, Menon and until it does we three will not extinguish her light on the Queens behalf… or yours.” Ringlefarn looked to Jamus. “It is clear the boy has chosen his side.”

Jamus thrust his hand forward, but where once he commanded an inferno, his exhausted powers could barely muster little more than a spark.

Ringlefarn laughed mockingly. “Your magic is all but spent, boy. It seems your mistress was too occupied making deals with the darkness to teach you how to wield it.”

Menon hissed, her eyes morphing into empty black sockets. “I will show you darkness.”

A thick, weaving rope of black smoke seeped from her palm. It lashed itself around Ringlefarn, lifted him from the ground and threw him against the wall.

Before Pann and Gallad could conjure a defence, Menon summoned two more lengths of smoke that entwined the mages and slammed them aside Ringlefarn.

Who do you think you are? You could have served at my side. Instead you will suffer the fate I intend to visit upon all those who defy me!”

The ropes tightened as Ringlefarn, Pann and Gallad struggled, strangling their limbs and crawling into their mouths to starve them of air.

You cannot kill us, Menon,” Ringlefarn gasped as the smoke flooded his throat. “That is beyond even the forces you have invoked.”

Death holds peace. I would never wish such a kindness upon the likes of you. Torment. That is my gift. That is what gives me pleasure.”

Slowly Menon’s smoke bled onto the walls and took form, coming alive as crooked shadows. They reached out with long, gnarled fingers and filled the air with inhuman wails.

The shadows grabbed at the mages, tore at their flesh, ripped skin from their bones.

Menon watched with morbid delight as the shadows began to consume them, dragging their bodies into the walls of the tower. Even with all their power, the mages could not escape. One by one they were absorbed, stripped of their flesh and blood and made shadows themselves. Ringlefarn fought hardest, struggling to call forth the winds of Methelos to aid him. But he too fell before Menon and she smiled as her shadows swallowed him entirely.

Jamus was shaking. “What has become of them?”

They are there of course. Shadows on the wall for now and forever.”

At second glance, Jamus could make them out clear as day. Ringlefarn, Pann and Gallad trapped, pounding their fists against the stone, screaming in silence.

Jamus lifted his hand curiously to Ringlefarn’s shadow.

Don’t do that, my sweet,” Menon warned. “He will kill you.”

With that Ringlefarn’s shadow lashed out with blackened talons and Jamus quickly withdrew, jumping just out of his reach.

Jamus gave a snide grin. “That will teach you for calling me boy.”

Menon nodded in agreement, pulling Jamus to her and straightening his marred robes. “Find comfort in the knowledge that they will never know freedom. That wall is their eternity.”

I failed you, Menon,” Jamus muttered. “I wanted to to please you.”

Menon gathered Jamus into her arms. She caressed his face, smearing the blood from her fingers across his cheek.

Could you have killed her? For me? Was she within your grasp?”

Jamus turned away, not feeling worthy to meet Menon’s eyes. “Yes. She was right there. I could have seared the flesh from her bones. But my power, it didn’t last. Why would Herathese not give me limitless flame?”

This is why the deities are the true enemy. They take from us in copious amounts yet grant us only scraps of their power. When Na’Toth is free he will rain vengeful penance upon them. It is us who will make them bleed.”

Jamus smiled contently, his body warm and soothed regardless of Menon’s frozen touch.

I fear we may have lost our opportunity to end all of this before it reaches Kalavar. We must now rely on mortal weaknesses to destroy her. Let us focus our attention on crowning Mydra,” Menon said.

Jamus pulled away. “But the potion, it fails to break her will.”

Menon smiled towards the shadows on the wall. “Luckily Gallad imparted knowledge to me that will be most useful in convincing the stubborn princess. Knowledge I will use right this second.”

Menon gripped Jamus’ hand and dragged him from the mage tower and through the dark corridors of the sleeping castle.

Jamus reached for the key in his pocket to open the doors of Mydra’s chambers, but instead Menon simply waved her hand and the doors flew open with such force that the wood cracked and fell off its hinges

Jamus stared in awe as Menon glided into the room a foot above the ground and stood at the end of Mydra’s bed.

Mydra bolted upright and scurried across the bed, being as far away from Menon as she could until she was clutching the bedhead.

Is this it then? Have you come to kill me?”

No, no, no. How many times must we go over this? Your death will serve me no good. I cannot have a corpse on the throne.”

Despite Menon’s words, Mydra looked no better than a corpse; sickly and sallow, the lustre long lost from her hair, her once bright eyes bloodshot and tinged with yellow. Her frame was skeletal and her nails snapped one by one as she clawed to cling tighter to the bedhead.

I will do nothing that you ask.” Mydra’s voice was little more than a series of desperate gasps. “You will gain more from a corpse than you will of me.”

Perhaps then my words were too hasty.” Menon slithered to Mydra’s bedside. She reached for Mydra’s face and the princess recoiled as soon as she felt the icy chill that accompanied the mage’s touch.

Menon traced the soft angle of Mydra’s chin, the curve of her throat, the delicate bow of her collar bone and allowed her fingers to linger over the gold chain around Mydra’s neck. With a snap she wrenched it loose, clenching the necklace and the blue stone it was leashed to firmly in her first.

A living, breathing princess is all I need and on the outside that is how you will appear, but inside there will be nothing, just an empty shell encasing a silenced mind. You will do only what I command. You will say only what I command.” Menon shook the necklace. “It is your sentiment that has earned you this fate. All the loving memories you have unwittingly fused into this trinket. Your love will be the downfall of your father’s kingdom.”

Mydra’s lip quivered. “Love conquers. It does not destroy.”

Love is weakness!” Menon screamed.

She threw her arms into the air, calling once more upon her menacing black smoke. The dark night came alive as lightning tore at the stars and the thunders roared as if the sky were falling from its pillars.

A heart and soul encased within,

of mind and body, of blood, bone and skin

whilst in my keep, our thoughts entwined

Will mind and body and breath be mine.”

Menon’s eyes rolled over black. “Dominate.”

Her tendrils of smoke rushed at Mydra, driving into her eyes, ears and mouth, seeping through every pore. The shadows consumed her, leaching at her life force, draining her will, seeking out anything good and alive and making it a dead, unfeeling thing.

Jamus did nothing but watch as the light left Mydra’s eyes. Eventually the thunder and lightning ceased and when Menon’s smoke receded, all that was left of Mydra was a vacant husk with a haunting, empty stare.

Menon staggered backwards. She had used much of her power, already she could feel that wound reopening. She outstretched her arms, writhing her fingers towards the shadowed corners of the room and absorbing the dark to replenish her strength.

She threw Mydra’s necklace to Jamus. “Put it around my neck.”

Jamus walked slowly, as if a heavy weight was pressed down upon him. He didn’t look at Mydra any more, he couldn’t, he even struggled to look at Menon.

He clipped the link of the necklace around her neck and turned his back on them both as soon as his task was done.

Menon tucked the blue stone into her robes. “Can you hear me, Princess?”

Mydra nodded.

You will be crowned soon. Do you know this?”

Mydra nodded again.

And as Queen, who do you serve, Mydra?”

Mydra uttered meaningless mumbles and murmurs, as if learning to speak for the first time.

Who do you serve?” Menon pushed.

I serve Menon’takrez Leed,” Mydra muttered.

Menon nodded her head approvingly. “Good, girl.”

Interview with J.L. Tomlinson

I was fortunate enough to be interviewed on Magda’s delicious blog. Enjoy!

Magic of books

j-l-tomlinsonWelcome back bookworms!

It’s time for another interview, this time with a fantastic J.L. Tomlinson – a fantasy writer with quite an imagination straight from New Zeland :). Her new book is about to come out – the third volume of Ardentia series. Stories of magic, friendship and a quest for the better future.

Check out her answers to some of my annoying questions 😉 and remember to visit the Stalker zone at the bottom!

Your book “The Empyrean Key” starts off with the trio of characters, can you tell us how they got together?

Jahna, Lilac and Silko were all born in Groden Cove which is a small beach village in the land of Ardentia, where the series takes place. Each of them was bullied or ostracised for different reasons; Jahna is half Narcean (a dark-skinned race of telepaths and prophets); Lilac has always been quite masculine and finds it…

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Cover Reveal – The Light of Mytis

Oh, hi there.

Whether you are an avid reader or just ended up here by accident, you have arrived on quite a fortuitous day!

I’m very excited to share with you the cover for the newest edition to the Ardentia series, The Light of Mytis, which is scheduled for release this December.







I’m very grateful to my cover designer who puts up with my constant nagging and pretty much works for Camembert and crackers.

To celebrate this stellar event, I am giving away a $20 amazon voucher!!! All you need to do is promise to love me forever and never leave…

or, just like me on various social media sites, whichever is easiest.

Click For Hot Gift Card Giveaway Goodness!!!


But there’s more!!!



What’s that, you haven’t gotten around to reading the first two books in the series, The Empyrean Key and Veil of the Corrupter, yet?

Well now’s your chance. For the next week BOTH books are 99c over at Amazon.

Go go gadget clickeeeeees

theempyreankey_revisitedepub                               veil-of-the-corrupter_ebook_smashwords2016

The Light of Mytis will be released in December with preorders available from next week. I am currently accepting inquiries about Advanced Copies, so go ahead and send me an email and we can have a chat.

Why I love to eat runny eggs and objectify Ben Foster

Let’s just get this out of the way. I am an egg-maniac. They are delicious in any of their magnificent forms. Boiled. Scrambled. Fried. Saladed. Omeletted. Bacon and Egg Pied. Alright, some of those aren’t words, but you get the drift.

Why am I talking about eggs you ask? Is it because just this morning I had runny boiled eggs and toast soldiers? Yes, probably, but also a resounding no! But mostly yes.

Eggs are a badass super food. Here’s why.

Yellow is a great colour. It was dominant in the X-Men TV series uniform and that show was hella badass. Bada-bada-ba-da-da


Chickens are descended from dinosaurs who were badass, especially this guy…

I’m a  Pachycephalosaurus. I’m gonna headbutt the crap out of you. Rawr.


Eggs are the favoured prop for great badass athletic competitions such as the dreaded egg throw or the treacherous egg and spoon race…

Move your ass kid, this isn’t a game!!!

But you know what’s not cool? Chickens in cages! Oh yeah, I’m about to get controversial on you. I’m a pro-free ranger. Let the chickens run, man. Let them peck in the dirt and and feel the sun on those gross red things on their necks.


I wouldn’t like sitting in a cage all day, and I sure wouldn’t lay any eggs, I can guarantee that. In conclusion, as I look at my massacred breakfast, I ❤ eggs and I hope you do too.

And so this brings us to the next issue of the day. The Warcraft movie.

Did I love it? No. I’m far too obsessed with the lore to pretend that story was accurate. However, if I knew nothing about Warcraft, I’d have to say it was a pretty great fantasy movie.

For starters. Durotan was WONDERFUL. He’s always been my all time favourite character and even though his depiction wasn’t accurate, I still squeed like crazy to see him on screen.


Khadgar was also great, I felt that Travis Fimmel was still just playing Ragnar from Vikings, but the best part, and some might find this odd… Did anyone else think that Medivh was ridiculously hot?

So, I’ve never considered the Guardian of Tirisfal an uber stud but dammmmmmmmnnnn. Ben Foster can sure work those feathers. Now, I know that I’m probably the only person who has this opinion, mostly because I google image  searched “Medivh Ben Foster no shirt making golem wowzers” and there were ZERO results. Or maybe I just need to refine my key words… who knows, I’m not a magician.

But did you guys see that? When Lothar shows up at Karazhan, and Medivh is on that scaffolding, moulding that golem with his mage hands, in his leather pants, and all shirtless and kind of pasty. Schwing…

Also one of the qualities I look for in a man is the ability to wield powerful magic, so that ticked a box.


So I just realised I have many more thoughts on the Warcraft movie. I shouldn’t have talked about eggs for so long… So I’ll continue my musings at a later date. I’m not going to commit to a day, because you all know I’m flakey.

Just subscribe to updates or something. Follow me on Twitter where I say fun things like “Anyone seen my keys?” or follow me on Facebook where I post pictures of terrifying sinkholes! (They will consume us one day)

Alright, love you, bye.

The curious disappearance of Jo and other mysteries

Tis been a while since my last blog post, I’ll give you that.

What have I been doing you may ask? Well I’ve been doing some writing, doing some reading, oh, AND I’VE BEEN GIVING BIRTH TO TWINS!!!!!


Funny story. My husband, who from this point forward will be known as The Bearded Beefcake…


or T.B.B for short, decided that our perfect (hahahahaha, right) little family unit could do with some new talent. So we wrote many letters to Santa because everyone knows that’s where babies come from and what did that sadistic son of whorish reindeer do? He put twins in me! That was double the babies required. Santa was obviously feeling very generous. I hope you kids put in requests for big ticket items last Christmas.

I actually had a feeling it might be twins. I just needed to think about peeing on my pregnancy test for that sucker to show positive and what I thought were cramps were in fact two aliens terraforming my womb.

What do they look like is the question I’m sure you’re asking. I’d love to show you a picture, they are cute, but I’m holding out for one of those big million dollar magazine spread deals, so I’ll give you an interpretation instead.


Aren’t they beautiful? This is a very accurate representation. Even though they’re identical, they are quite easy to tell apart.

Twin 1 is wearing the pink nappy and speaking french, while Twin 2 is the surly one in the pink nappy whose job it is to cry just as I’ve put my toast in the toaster. For you toast connoisseurs out there, you’ll know that cold toast pretty much tastes like, well, cold toasted bread. Sure, it’s still high in fibre I guess, but it is super low in yum.

Anyways, I’ve finally reached a point in my twin-wrangling where I can start getting back to the things I enjoy. Like writing, blogging and confusing door-to-door salespeople by standing at the window staring at them while they knock. They’re all like, “are you going to answer the door?” and I’m all like *blank stare* and then they slowly walk away.

That’ll show those smug clipboard carriers. They think they’re so cool in their puffer jackets. You know, I could get a picture of myself laminated and hang it around my neck on a lanyard if I wanted to. You’re not better than me, salespeople! I don’t want to change power companies!!!!!

Anyways. I’ll have more twin tales to come, as well as other exciting rants such as “Are my shoes shrinking?” and “You’re not allowed to park your car there. Why are you parking your car there?”

On the writing front, I’ve recently finished a YA space opera which was a lot of fun and got me back into writing after such a long break. Now time to hit Light of Mytis, Ardentia 3. I think people have waited long enough.

I’ll be releasing more details in the coming weeks, but for now, you can add Light of Mytis to your Goodreads TBR.

Chat more soon.



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