I spent the summer of last year writing nothing but MC Romance, so when NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) swung around, I decided to try my hand at something completely different. Rather than be constrained by customs, traditions and socities that required research, I decided to delve into the world of Fantasy, where I could make my own rules and where the world that I built would be limited only by the scope of my own imagination.
The idea for one book became ideas for four books. Lost in the Dawn is the first installment of the Erythleh Chronicles and will be released on 7th March 2015.
Here is the synopsis and a a Teaser for you…
Lost in the Dawn. Erythleh Chronicles: Book One
Welcome to Erythleh; a world of politics, love, hurt, heartache and war. This is a world where farmers live side-by-side with werewolves, where soldiers fight alongside a cavalry of gryphons, and where your worst enemy might be the person that you thought you could trust implicitly.
Jorrell and Serwren are in love, naively and completely in love; in the way that only teenagers can be. They have their future planned out, until fate and Serwren’s jealous brother conspire to keep them apart.
Despite years of separation, through all the mortal challenges that they face, their love barely falters. They grow and learn more about themselves and the world around them. When they are, finally, reunited, they realise that duty, responsibility and the fate of their nation may ultimately take precedence over their own desires.
Serwren lay on top of the covers of her bed, resting on her stomach with her hands folded under her cheek. She was not at all relaxed, despite the golden glow of the candles in the wrought iron stands and sconces. She thought that she might attempt to read again. However, she knew it was more likely that she would continue staring into space as she tried to think of a way to make sure that she didn’t end up married off to someone not of her choosing.
It was at that moment that the person of her choosing tapped at her window.
Serwren rolled quickly off the bed to open the latch. The marble floor was uncomfortably cold on the soles of her feet. There was a hibiscus plant twined around a trellis which almost covered the entirety of the wall that her window was set in. Its fist-sized scarlet flowers attracted iridescent hummingbirds and butterflies that became drunk and dozy on the abundance of nectar and often strayed close enough to touch. Jorrell had been climbing up the plant with impunity for years. Even so, it was the time of year when the plant was sleeping and had no leaves and its branches, lacking fresh sap, would be dry and brittle.
Serwren pushed the window open, the long gauzy drapes in pale colours, which softened the stark white walls of her room, caught the breeze, and swayed and shifted with a faint rustle. Jorrell, who had been waiting underneath the casement for the pane to swing outwards, pulled himself up and scrambled into the room. Serwren leaned out into the night to check that no one had seen her visitor, and then pulled the window shut.
“Good evening, madam,” Jorrell said as he brushed the remnants of dead leaves from his trousers and sleeves.
“Quite.” Serwren eyed the mess he was making on the floor. “I think a troll could make that climb more quietly.”
Jorrell only grinned at her. “It’s three stories from the ground. I doubt a troll could climb it at all.”
Serwren crossed her arms over her chest, but she was smiling, too. “You’ve been making that climb for ten years. You’d think you’d be able to make it with some stealth now.”
Jorrell’s tone hadn’t lost any amusement, but he made for the window again. “If all you’re going to do is snipe at me, Serry, I’ll just leave. I don’t see any sense in annoying my father more just so you can moan at me.”
Serwren sobered at that. “You’re not supposed to be here?”
Jorrell abandoned his path to the window and turned, he rested his weight back against the edge of her desk and folded his arms. “When am I ever supposed to be in your room?” he said a little condescendingly. “But no, I’m not supposed to have left my own room, let alone be inside yours.”
“Is that the extent of the sentence?” Serwren asked.
“No.” Jorrell seemed sad suddenly, and that concerned her. He pushed away from the desk and folded her into his arms, holding her against his chest. Serwren slipped her arms around his waist snuggled against his warm body. Opening the window had let in some of the cold night air, and her skin had pimpled in gooseflesh. “I have to go to the barracks tomorrow and clean up after the gryphons.”
“That doesn’t sound so very bad.” Serwren said into the smooth, soft leather of the jerkin he’d donned against the chill. She let her fingertips trace the intricate designs that had been tooled into the hide. “I have to go and apologise personally.”
“No one’s making you shovel gryphon shit?”
Serwren smiled. Jorrell was used to receiving the harsher punishments, despite her best efforts otherwise. “They never do. That isn’t how this goes.” Serwren’s smile disappeared when she felt Jorrell’s body fill with tension. “That’s not all, is it?”
“No.” She felt Jorrell press his lips to her hair. “Father’s sending me back with the En Dek.” Serwren made to pull away, horror struck, but Jorrell held her tightly. “I’m to stay for seven nights and pretty much do whatever they tell me to.”
“Seven nights?” She’d thought he was being sent away permanently. This was a wonderful reprieve, but it would still mark the longest time they had ever been apart.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”
“When do you leave?” Serwren pressed her face against Jorrell’s chest and tried to find the beat of his heart. She was determined that she would not cry.
“The day after tomorrow. And you? Is having to apologise the worst of it?” Jorrell mumbled into her hair.
Thinking about the things her father hadn’t said wasn’t helping Serwren win her battle against her tears. “I don’t think so, but Father hasn’t said anything more. Jorrell, he keeps talking about my future and he refuses to listen to me when I talk about the Forum. I think he’s going to try and find a husband for me.”
Jorrell’s arms tightened to the point that Serwren was struggling to draw breath, but she wouldn’t tell him to relax his hold. Instead, she breathed as deeply as she could, filling her senses with the aromas of lemon and rosemary, mingled with the scent that was simply, undeniably him, the scent that set her blood on fire. “You really think so? We better do something about that, then.”
“What?” Serwren wasn’t sure she understood his meaning. She was scared to hope that he meant what she thought he did.
“I’ll speak to your father when I get back from the Isle. I’ll ask him for your hand, for his blessing.”
“What if he says no?” Fear tipped her over the edge and she lost the battle with her tears. Serwren felt them roll silently over her cheeks.
“Let’s not worry about that now. We have to hope that he won’t. There’s no reason that he should.”
Serwren shivered, even wrapped as she was in the heat of Jorrell’s body. It was partly a reaction to her anxious state of mind, but it was also her belated realisation that she was practically naked apart from the diaphanous cotton gown that she was wearing.
“Hey, you’re trembling.” Jorrell relaxed his arms and brought one hand between them. He caught her chin in his fingers and tilted her face so that he could see it. He frowned at the evidence of her tears. “Don’t cry.” He wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. “We’ll find a way to be safe, we always do.”