Content Notes

The book has not yet been finished, so this is not a full or complete content note list. This is a content note, not a trigger warning list. Due to the nature of trauma and the individuality of it, I cannot provide a full and complete trigger warning list that would cater to every potential reader.

Selected Excerpts

Below are some of the excerpts that have been shared with my newsletter subscribers. They are still in draft status, and haven't been professionally edited yet. I hope they give you an idea of what you can expect!

The Creature's Desires

"I want out," it says. "Can you please let me out?" The giant creature stretches its feathered wings, flapping them, a gust of hot wind rushing past Sresca.

She still does not have a name for the creature. Part bird, part lion, part snake; all heat and flame. It's elegant and dignified, but there is always an edge in its voice. It can only make sounds that are a mix of hisses and chirps, but she can understand it, nonetheless. It stands on its small and thin hind legs, its long feathered and flamed tail swishing like a cat's. "I do not know how."

Truly, she does not. She is not even sure if it is real. She found this creature by accident. Wandering across the sprawling property of the Temple grounds, she stumbled into a cave carved into the mountain. Drawn further in by the promise of warmth from the sudden blizzard that had taken her by surprise, she found the source was this creature itself. It was in a constant state of being consumed by flames, yet she could touch it without pain. She did not notice it right away, but eventually it had pointed out the shackles around each of its six legs.

"You do, though." Two tones in its voice; one sugary sweet—reassuring and gentle, the other harsh and aggressive. "Do not lie to me, Ogneshka."

She does not know why this creature keeps calling her that name. She's told it so many times to call her Sresca. It is useless, it keeps calling her that. She's gotten used to it. But it still will not give her its own name.

The creature's shadow twitches before winding around her feet. Another thing that had unsettled her, but she's become accustomed to. Its shadow moves on its own, and when she is in its company, sometimes hers, does, too. She accepts these things because she knows that when she wakes up, it will all have been a dream. It feels real right now, it is real right now. But when she blinks the sleep from her eyes in however long is left until sunrise, it will all seem foreign and strange again.

But it will not truly matter, for it is just a dream.

"I am not lying," she says. "If I could free you, I would."

"One day, Ogneshka, you will. You and I shall be as one—two rays of light in the sky, raining down fire on the earth and taking revenge on those who wronged us, and those who stood by and let it happen."

She shivers. No one has ever wronged her. She's told the creature that many times. And she would not truly free it, she can understand that it might be angry at whoever shackled it, but it seems to want to consume the whole world in its quest for revenge. "I do not know how, though."

It hangs its overly large head, a thin tongue lashing out at the air. "You lie to me so often. You chained me here and yet deny it. You believe no one has wronged us, and yet I recall those days so clearly. Why, Ogneshka?"

She takes an unsteady step backward, hoping that dawn is close.

"Or perhaps you do not remember it. Not just lying to me, but to yourself."

"I have to go," she says, heart racing. There's nothing to remember. There's nothing at all for her to remember. This creature is not real, she could never have tricked such a creature into a cave, anyway, let alone bested it for long enough to bind it. There is nothing to remember. "I can't be late again." She turns on her heel and runs, not daring to look behind her, but somehow knowing that the flames consuming the creature roar higher.

The Duke's Designs

"Excuse me, High Priestess. I did not think that you still did such labor," a man says.

Sresca turns around, dropping her washcloth back in the bucket, rising to her feet, and wiping her hands on her apron. "I fear you have mistaken me for my sister," Sresca says.

The man is wearing the badge of the Order of the Silver Fox, and three red cords drape over his left shoulder. A noble. Or rather, a former noble. It's been fifteen years since the revolutionaries ousted the royal family and implemented a new government. But some of the nobility still gather here in the far eastern wilds of Tsvetokrasa, throwing balls for themselves, celebrating however many centuries of their noble house's existence, and treating the whole thing like a long vacation away from the capital and biding their time, waiting for the citizens to turn against the new government.

She's been at the Temple with her sister since she was five, shortly after the overthrow. And in all this time, she's never actually spoken with one of the deposed nobles. The man can't be much older than herself, late twenties at the eldest. No silver in his blond hair, no wrinkles on his clear, pale skin, no back hunched with age. If the monarchy were still around, Sresca is sure that he would be the prince-charming that all the commoner girls would wish to be noticed by.

"Ah, I see that I have. You do bear a striking resemblance to her. I had no clue she even had a sister, though. She's never mentioned you." He raises an eyebrow, and his lips curl into a smile that she is sure would win over hearts instantly.

Her cheeks burn. Of course, she would never mention me. I am the incompetent one. "I am not worth speaking about."

"Nonsense. You are much prettier than her."

"Oh, well. I am also much clumsier. And more forgetful, and less intelligent…" And why the heck am I saying all of this out loud?

"No need to lie to me. You are a skittish little mouse, aren't you?" He glances down at the marble floor, still wet from her cleaning. "Ah, I would approach you, but I fear I would undo all of your hard work." He gestures to his muddy boots.

Sresca holds a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh and tip-toes across the floor. "I am sure you are in a hurry. Allow me to escort you to the High Priestess' office, Sir…?"

"Hohenov. I am the newest duke of Novak. But you can call me Pyotr." He winks at her.

Suspicions confirmed, but she wonders if she should address him formally. Some of the temporarily embarrassed nobles still donate large amounts of money to the Temple—everyone wants to be on good terms with Dana, after all—and flattering them this way, from what she hears, can make their purse strings even looser. "It would be improper, I could not possibly do so, your Grace."

"Sresca, what is this commotion?" Her sister appears in the doorway.

"The Duke of Novak was lost, and I was about to offer him directions." She tries so hard to not stumble over her words.

"Pyotr?" The High Priestess tilts her head to the side, recognition flashing her eyes.

"Ah, you do remember me."

The way he says it sets Sresca's teeth on edge. Predatory, malicious, scheming. The way some of the younger acolytes speak during their breaks is the same way that some of the older priestesses speak after too much wine.

"I am sorry to hear of the loss of your father," her sister says. Sresca hears the slight hesitation in her sister's voice, but she doubts this new duke does.

"That is all you can say after being apart from each other for over a decade?" He takes a step toward her, arms open.

"Your Grace, I do not know what you mean. I met your father only twice. He spoke highly of you. I am sorry for your loss."

The duke shivers. "The ice of Sekristall truly does freeze the hearts of her inhabitants. Regardless, I had no idea you had such a lovely little sister."

"Your Grace. If you are here to discuss financial matters or to arrange for services for your father, I suggest we discuss this privately in my office and leave Sister Sresca to do her chores."

He chuckles, putting his hands in his pockets. "Very well. If that is how you would like to play this." He follows Yelena out of the sanctuary, and her sister lets the doors swing closed again behind them.

If you let me out, I can kill him.

Sresca collapses to the floor. The creature, her trapped creature, claws at her mind. "But I am awake. Aren't I?"

The Duke's Darkness

"But don't I deserve this, too?" It is only a trick of candles and midnight; that is the only reason her reflection is not her. Or maybe it is because she has not polished the mirror in weeks, maybe months. She has behaved badly; she hadn't minded her manners the way she should around the nobles—or those who claim they should be nobles. The crimson mark on the cheek of her reflection can't be hers, though.

"No, this is injustice." The creature--her creature—says. "I have seen this before, long ago. Daeina was her name. My first companion. And she called me Zephyr."

"Shall I call you that, too?" Sresca throws the quilt over the mirror and gets up from the vanity so quickly that the chair tumbles backward. She does not bother righting it, instead diving into the soft bed with too many pillows. She still cannot believe how luxurious it is at this manor. She has to make things right. She has to show him she still deserved her position here. She does not want to be sent back to the Temple of Dana.

"You can if you like. But Daeina..." Zephyr's booming voice does not clatter in her mind this time; it is just a soft echo, and with a hint of an accent that is almost Suan, an accent that was not there before. It almost sounds like the creature said Xana. "She was betrayed, like you were betrayed."

"What happened?"

"They were afraid of her. Of what she stood for. What she represented. I won't watch what happened to her happen to you."

Sresca touches her cheek again and burrows further into the blankets. "What will you do?"

"Teach you everything you need to know about dal'xana. You shall learn to wield the shadows themselves against your enemies."

The Duke's Teasing

"But you look so much like her, little sparrow," the duke says, running a finger down her cheek. "So does your sister."

He's not a duke, Zephyr whispers in her mind. Don't fall for it. Remember the mission.

"Like who?" She glances down the corridor, hoping a servant will round the corner and the duke will back off. The temple had been suffocating, but here in the duke's manor, she is trapped, back pressed against the wall.

"Your mother," he says, leaning forward, his other hand moving to her hip.

"How would you know her?" She pushes the flashes of memory away. The fires, the shouts, her sisters cold hand dragging her through the streets in the rain, squeezing past all the other residents fleeing the Storm. That's not what they called it then, but that's the name that has stuck in the last fifteen years. The Storm that changed Tsvetokrasa and altered history. The thunder of the revolutionary's march, the lightning that struck down the czar; the Storm.

"Everyone knew her. Your sister may have told you to keep it a secret, but it is painfully obvious who you really are." He shifts his weight, a slow grin spreading across his usually stoney face. 

She clenches her fist, ready to push him away. But that would just get her sent back to the Temple in disgrace. She has to win his trust. She has to behave as a proper priestess would to a patron.

"We are war orphans, nothing more than that. Our parents had the misfortune of being caught in the Storm that night." Faces float in her vision, hazy illusions superimposed over the duke's own. Faces of the dead who will never be buried. She blinks them away. This is not the time.

He's toying with you. Don't believe him. Don't trust him. Zephyr's voice is hot, and the phantom scent of smoke stings her nose.

"There is no need to play pretend with me, little sparrow." His lips almost graze hers, and his clear green eyes widen as he backs away again. "She never told you. Oh Dana, your sister never told you the truth."

What is he going on about, Zephyr? But her companion is unnervingly quiet. "What truth?"

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