#Review - The Quarrygate Gambit by Marshall Ryan Maresca

Series: The Streets of Maradaine # 4
Format: E-Book, 390 pages
Release Date: November 8th 2022
Publisher: DAW
Source: Publisher
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Mixing urban and high fantasy, the fourth Streets of Maradaine novel follows the crew of outlaws led by the Rynax brothers as they struggle to protect the city they love.

After having thwarted some of the forces responsible for ruining their lives, reformed thieves Asti and Verci Rynax and the rest of the Holver Alley Crew had mostly settled back into sedate lives as upright citizens of Maradaine.  But when they are suddenly arrested in mysterious circumstances, they find themselves in Quarrygate Prison, which tests the limits of their cunning and skill.  While Verci struggles to keep their friends alive and safe in the prison, Asti gets pulled into a mysterious scheme in the underbelly of the prison, teaming him up with some of the most dangerous people in Maradaine.  The cracks in Asti’s tenuous sanity get torn open as he is thrown into a cat-and-mouse game with one of the city’s most infamous killers.
 
Meanwhile back in their neighborhood, Verci’s wife Raych is desperate to help him and Asti and get them home. When her attempts to go through proper channels fail, she accepts a ludicrous deal from the local crime boss: Verci and Asti’s freedom in exchange for her pulling off a daring, nigh-impossible heist that would challenge even seasoned thieves. Raych doesn’t know how a simple baker like her could hope to succeed at such a task, but she will use every trick and wild idea she has to help her family.  None of the Rynaxes will rest until they are free from Quarrygate and together at home again, no matter the risk, no matter the cost. 

The Quarrygate Gambit is the fourth installment in author Marshall Ryan Maresca's The Streets of Maradaine series. After having thwarted some of the forces responsible for ruining their lives, reformed thieves Asti and Verci Rynax and the rest of the Holver Alley Crew had mostly settled back into sedate lives as upright citizens of Maradaine. But on the day they are ready to celebrate dual engagements of friends, they are suddenly arrested, and charged with numerous charges.

Someone, whether it be new enemies, or old, have plans for the Holver Alley Crew and it will take a miracle to survive. The Crew soon finds themselves in Quarrygate Prison, which tests the limits of their cunning and skill. While Verci struggles to keep their friends alive and safe in the prison, Asti gets pulled into a mysterious scheme in the underbelly of the prison, teaming him up with some of the most dangerous people in Maradaine, including a Colonel he once reported to in Druth Intelligence. 

The cracks in Asti’s tenuous sanity get torn open as he is thrown into a cat-and-mouse game with one of the city’s most infamous killers. Meanwhile, back in their neighborhood, Verci’s wife Raychelle is desperate to help him and Asti and get them home. She gets assistance from Helene, Lian (her sister), Jhoquil, Mila Kendish, who has been attending Maradaine university along with Kaiana Nell. When her attempts to go through proper channels fail, she accepts a ludicrous deal from the local crime boss Josie Holt. 

All she and her crew have to do is steal five priceless paintings, and they would find a way to save Verci, Asti, Almer, Pilson, and Vullun. Raych doesn’t know how a simple baker like her could hope to succeed at such a task, but she will use every trick and wild idea she has to help her family. None of the Rynaxes will rest until they are free from Quarrygate and together at home again, no matter the risk, no matter the cost. Even if it means taking on the entirety of the Maradaine Brotherhood and everyone else trying to ruin their lives.

If you have read this series, then you know all the enemies that the Holver Crew has faced from the beginning of the series. What's interesting about this story is that the author breaks the story into 4 different parts. Two of the parts are about Asti and Verci, while the other half of this story features just the women of this world.  As I was finishing this book, there was a ginormous cliffhanger ending. The author has said that yes, there will be another book in this series. 

If you follow this author on Twitter, you will note that the author has posted about what happens next. I won't bore you with repeating what was posted. I just wish the author best of luck, and can't wait to see what he does when it comes to writing the next installment.  

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#Review - The Mystical Murders of Yin Mara by Marshall Ryan Maresca #Fantasy

Series: Maradaine Sara Story # 1
Format: Kindle, 151 pages
Release Date: August 2, 2022
Publisher: Artemisia Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy

Phadre Golmin and Jiarna Kay are perfectly matched. Both astounding intellects, sharing a passion for academic pursuits and each other. Traveling from the University of Maradaine to Trenn College in Yin Mara, they are excited for the opportunity to study magical and mystical theory with the famed Professor Salarmin. So when they come across a dead body that defies all logic, they should leave it alone. 

But Phadre and Jiarna tasted adventure in Maradaine, so the discovery of similar victims, paired with their scientific curiosity, makes the situation far too intriguing to ignore. Knowing that they alone have the knowledge to unravel the mystery, Phadre and Jiarna are determined to resolve it, no matter the cost to their academic careers.

The Mystical Murders of Yin Mara, by author Marshall Ryan Maresca, takes place right after the events of the Imposters of Aventil which is Maradaine # 3 if you are keeping track. This story takes place outside of the world of Maradaine and apparently is the beginning of something new by called Maradaine Saga. 

 

Phadre Golmin and Jiarna Kay are the main characters for this story. Phadre is a mage, while Jiarna is a scientist.They have left Maradaine University behind to explore Trenn College in Yin Mara where they will become part of the faculty. The couple is excited for the opportunity to study magical and mystical theory with the famed Professor Salarmin. 

 

But before they can arrive, they stumble across a dead body that has been deconstructed after hearing a woman scream. Upon arrival in Yin Mara, the bodies continue to pile up. Phadre and Jiarna tasted adventure in Maradaine, so the discovery of similar victims, paired with their scientific curiosity, makes the situation far too intriguing to ignore.

 

Knowing that they alone have the knowledge to unravel the mystery, Phadre and Jiarna are determined to resolve it, no matter the cost to their academic careers. While the local authorities focus on Phadre as the person responsible, it will be up to Jiarna to save her partner, and to solve the mysteries of the murders and who is really responsible before they lose everything they've been working for.  

 

Besides Phadre and Jiarna, the author introduces an entirely new cast of characters who all stay at the Inchellian House under Professor Salarmin and are working on various individual projects while also teaching other mages practical magic. There is little world building in this story as you would expect from a new beginning. 

 

I do know that at the end of this story, the author claims the next adventure is to be called The Quarrygate Gambit. I am looking forward to reading it.

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#Review - The Assassins of Consequence by Marshall Ryan Maresca #Fantasy

Series: Thorn of Maradaine # 4
Format: EBook, 392 pages
Release Date: March 29, 2022
Publisher: DAW
Source: Publisher
Genre: Epic Fantasy

The autumn semester at the University of Maradaine is underway, and Veranix Calbert is doing his best to balance the new responsibilities of being a fourth-year magic student under the militant Altarn Initiatives, while still acting as The Thorn, the street vigilante deep in a personal war against the drug kingpin Willem Fenmere. With the help of his friends Kaiana, Delmin, and Mila, he’s been able to strike real blows against Fenmere’s empire.

But Veranix’s fight has earned him more enemies than just Fenmere, including the mad alchemist Cuse Jensett, the imposters Erno Don and Enzin Hence, and the Deadly Birds Magpie and Jackdaw. These five killers join forces to escape Quarrygate Prison and offer an alliance to Fenmere, bringing with them the perfect leverage to seal the deal: the Thorn’s identity.

Once Fenmere knows who Veranix is, he doesn’t just want to kill him, but to utterly shatter him. Calling on everyone in Maradaine holding a grudge against the Thorn, he unleashes a brutal hunt against Veranix. With old and new enemies all looking to claim the bounty on his head, stripped of the security of his secret identity, Veranix faces the most brutal fight of his all too-short life.

The Assassins of Consequence is the Fourth installment in author Marshall Ryan Maresca's Maradaine series. So, here's the deal, the author has begun Phase 2 of his Maradaine series. This is the first installment in that phase. The next book will return to The Streets of Maradaine with the featuring the Rynax brothers. Veranix Colbert, aka The Thorn, has made numerous enemies throughout this series trying to bring down Willem Fenmere, and stop the spread of a dangerous drug called effitte which has cost him his mother and father.

As the book begins, it is year 1215, and the autumn semester at the University of Maradaine is underway. Veranix is doing his best to balance the new responsibilities of being a fourth-year magic student under the militant Altarn Initiatives, while still acting as The Thorn, the street vigilante deep in a personal war against the drug kingpin Fenmere. With the help of his friends Kaiana Nell, Delmin Sarren, and Mila Kendish (who is a first year at Maradaine), he’s been able to strike real blows against Fenmere’s empire. But life is about to get extremely dangerous for Veranix and his friends.

Thanks to a breakout of Quarrygate Prison, some of the most dangerous individuals to have faced the Thorn (outside of Fenmere) include the mad alchemist Cuse Jensett, the imposters Erno Don and Enzin Hence, and the Deadly Birds Magpie and Jackdaw, are looking for revenge. These five killers join forces to offer an alliance to Fenmere, bringing with them the perfect leverage to seal the deal: the Thorn’s identity which only a handful of people including Kaiana, Delmin, Mila, Inspector Welling, who gets daily magic sessions with Veranix, knows the truth, and his cousin Colin.

Once Fenmere knows who Veranix is, he doesn’t just want to kill him, but to utterly shatter him. Calling on everyone in Maradaine holding a grudge against the Thorn, which is basically every single gang in Maradaine, he unleashes a brutal hunt against Veranix. With old and new enemies all looking to claim the bounty on his head, stripped of the security of his secret identity, Veranix faces the most brutal fight of his all too-short life. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Bendan and his squad, including Jace Welling, find themselves smack dab in the middle of a huge street war all looking for one person: The Thorn.

This book also introduces readers to a new player. Someone from Thorn's past has come back home after being gone for 4 years to reign down hurt on people who destroyed his family. While Veranix goes through literal hell in this book, this character could posse extreme problems for Veranix in future installments. It is nice to know that Corrie Welling was mentioned in this story. After her own story, An Untended Voyage, it's time for Corrie to come home. The author posted that the next title in this series is called The New King of Rose Street. 

Overall, this is a must read. It is highly entertaining, action packed, and suspenseful. Our hero and friends get tossed in the literal shredder, and it will take a miracle for them to all escape with their lives. I can't this enough, if you haven't started reading this author and his books yet, put it on your list of things to do this year. 

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#Review - An Unintended Voyage by Marshall Ryan Maresca #Fantasy

Series: Maradaine Sequence
Format: Paperback, 400 pages
Release Date: November 2, 2021
Publisher: Daw Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy 

Moving outside the city of Maradaine, this new novel follows a lone member of the Maradaine Constabulary as she navigates a new but just as dangerous city.

Sergeant Corrie Welling—the young constabulary officer from Maradaine—has been abducted and confined on a ship bound for distant shores, where her captors have nefarious plans for her. With fortune and ingenuity, Corrie escapes, but finds herself stuck in a sprawling metropolis on the other side of the world: The Mocassa.

The Mocassa is a test unlike anything Corrie has ever faced. She doesn’t speak the language, doesn’t know the culture, and is forbidden from leaving the city until she pays off a colossal debt. Even if she’s able to find decent work, it will take her years to settle her accounts and get home.

But Corrie Welling will not be cowed. She will work, fight, and hold her chin high. As a fringe faction of an apocalyptic faith spreads throughout the city, threatening the new friends she’s sworn to protect, she’ll continue to stand up for the values instilled in her as a member of the Maradaine Constabulary. Even if, as her darkest day approaches, she has to do it alone.

An Unintended Voyage, by author Marshall Ryan Maresca, is part of the Maradaine Sequence series of books. I saw this posted from the author. "Chronologically speaking, the story takes place after People of the City. It follows its own thread from A Parliament of Bodies and doesn't spoil events of the Fenmere Job. Essentially, this story is the prelude for Phase two of the Maradaine Sequence." Though set in the same world as the Maradaine novels, An Unintended Voyage takes place entirely outside of Maradaine.

Sergeant Corrie Welling, of the Maradaine Constabulary, was betrayed, kidnapped, and sent onboard a ship filled with children who will be sold as slaves once they reach their destination. 9 children have already died during the 27 days journey. However, before she reaches her destination of the Mahabassian Slave Market, the ship goes down in heavy seas, and only she and a girl named Eana survive. To make matters worse, they are rescued but occur a huge debt that must be paid off before they are released. 

Both Corrie, who takes her job as a Constabulary seriously, and Eana, must find work in order to pay off their debt. They also must learn a new language if they are going to survive. Luckily for Corrie, she finds a job as a bodyguard for a wealthy daughter who is attending university. Corrie also finds a friend an Ang, who has been studying the stars, and knows that there will be an eclipse, and a comet on the same day which brings out all the zealots looking to make trouble. 

One of the things you must get used to when reading about Corrie is her colorful language. For me, I don't give a horse's rear end how many vulgarities she comes up with. I care that she, like her brother and her family, have a real idea of what standing up for something they honestly believe in, and don't take any grief from anyone who steps on their toes. Corrie quickly learns the language. She quickly knows how to deal with her roommates, and she is a true big sister to Eana who comes into her own over the course of this story. 

The author does a pretty good job of rehashing events that got Corrie into the situation she finds herself in. What I need to know is whether or not she will be written off, or will the author continue to make Corrie sure that she ends up being reunited with her friends who likely believe she's dead. One of the things that makes me coming back to this series is the amazing characters and the worldbuilding. He really throws the entire sink into this story with magic, weird celestial events, indentured servitude, religious fanaticism, and young women attempting to make it in a world gone crazy.  

Chapter 1

GARTEN HAD DIED IN THE night, the ninth so far. Corrie Welling had kept count, added every death to the tally of sins that she would visit upon these bastards.

And those sins were plentiful.

She had been in the fetid, rotting hold of this ship for twenty-seven days, shackled to the wall with just enough freedom of movement to get her hands to her mouth when her captors gave her a cup of water or a bite of moldy biscuit. Water and food was twice a day, and even in this darkened hold, she could tell when the sun was out, filtering through the seams of the hatch above them.

Plus the heat of the daytime had turned ungodly.

The heat, the stench of them all sitting in their own filth, the creep of salty bilge water that was sometimes several inches deep-all of it was too damn much to bear.

The animals who had done this to her and the kids locked in the hold with her, they would pay dearly. Corrie would make sure.

The rest were all kids, and they all had been looking to her. Most of them were around eleven or twelve, some as old as fifteen. Corrie was by far the oldest. By her reckoning, her twentieth birthday passed the same day the ship had made an abrupt swing in direction.

“Southeast to northeast,” Garten had said that day. “We went around the Ihali Cape.”

Garten had been a good kid. Twelve years old, went to the public prepatory in Dentonhill. He had clearly been a good student, since he knew geography and had a good sense of direction this whole time they’d been in the hold.

He had known when the ship made anchorage in Yoleanne, taken on water and supplies, and then presumed they had kept going south along the Acserian coast, naming cities they might have reached the next time supplies were brought on. Agenza, Corren, Torphia, Hamandaghad.

That one he had been certain about, especially when Corrie had told the rest what she could hear when supplies were loaded. Their captors had shouted out to the supply boats in something other than Trade. They were now off the coast of Imachan.

“Imachan is actually a bunch of countries,” Garten had said weakly.

He had gotten sick the day before, unable to keep even water down. Corrie couldn’t get close to him, but Eana, shackled next to him, said he was hot with fever. Fever and vomiting had been how it had started for Relia. And Washle. And Nicelle, Samon, and Tirl. For each of them, once it started, death came fast and hard and cruel. Garten had been no different. Corrie had tried to keep him talking, asked him to tell her more about Imachan, tell her more about the stories he read in school, tell them all about his home and his mother and his family, anything.

But he had died in the night.

One more crime, one more sin, that she would hold these rutting bastards to account for.

“He was your fault, stick,” Penler said. Penler was one of the older ones, a real rutting pisser with too damn smart of a mouth for his own good. “He hadn’t been right since Morger knocked him to punish you.”

“That wasn’t her fault!” Eana said. “None of that is her fault.”

“None of what these bastards do to us is my fault,” Corrie said. “But I am sorry they hurt you to punish me. It’s because they know I can take it if they knock me.”

“So stop pushing them, stick!” Penler said.

“Stop yelling at her,” Eana said. “That’ll make them come again, and they’ll blame her, and they’ll hit one of us.”

“How do we know she’s not in it with them?” Penler said. “It was sticks who grabbed me in the first place. Same for Washle.”

“Same for me,” Corrie said. Of all the parts that hurt the most of this rutting sewage was the fact that she had been betrayed by fellow officers.

She was a sergeant in the Maradaine Constabulary. The Wellings had served for eight generations. Her many-times-great grandfather had helped found the Constabulary and the City Loyalty. Her father had died with his red and green on.

She was still wearing hers. Maybe the bastards who took her wanted to taunt her that much, put her in this hold with her uniform on, so these kids would know she was an officer in the Constabulary. Crush any sense of hope they might have. Show them that no one could save them.

“Listen,” she said quietly. “In a few minutes, Morger will be down here with our rations. None of us are going to give him any blasted trouble this time, give him any reason to stay down here more than he needs to. Not right now.”

“What about Garten?” Treskie asked. He was on Garten’s other side.

“Don’t draw attention to him,” Corrie said. The others all groaned and whined. “Listen to me. Listen!” She knew they didn’t want to hear this. They were as scared as anything, and she couldn’t rutting blame them. They were exhausted, they were sick, they knew they were being shipped to some horrific fate in some place only the saints and sinners knew. The next port might be where they were unloaded, and from there, who even knew what damned atrocity awaited them.

She was a damned officer in the Constabulary, and like her father, like her grandparents, like all three of her brothers and half her cousins, she had taken a damned oath to serve, to stand for the safety and protection of the citizens of Maradaine. The kids in this hold with her, no matter where they were in the world, were still citizens of Maradaine, and she still had her red and green on.

She would fulfill that oath or die trying.

“Listen,” she said calmly. “I know it’s horrible to be there next to him, to have to smell his rotting corpse-”

“No worse than any other smell down here,” Iastanne said.

“But we don’t want it to be Morger taking him out. It’s got to be Hockly, tonight. So hold on.”

She didn’t have the sharp mind of her brother Minox-or his magic, that would rutting come in handy-but she had paid attention, noting everything about the hold they were in. She had figured out everything that could be used as a weapon, memorized where it was. She could find it all in the dark if she had to. She learned the patterns of the ship’s crew. Morger brought them water and food in the mornings, Hockly in the evenings. Hockly, with bad knee and weak shoulder.

“Tonight?” Eana asked. Her raised eyebrow showed she understood what Corrie was driving at. She, more than any of the other kids, had been sharp and clever enough to see what Corrie had been doing all this time, and kept her mouth shut about it. Eana had a whip of a mind, Corrie saw that. Eana knew what the score was, and she clearly trusted Corrie to get it done.

It had taken twenty-seven days, slow and patient work, but Corrie had cracked the wood holding her manacles to the wall. She knew one good yank was all it would take to be free.

But she had to do that at the precise, ripe moment. She had to be ready to take the ship, free these kids, and make all the bastards on the ship pay for their crimes.

That moment was going to be tonight.

Corrie was a damned constable, even here and now, and she was ready to get to work.

Chapter 2

MORGER HAD COME AND GONE with the morning rations, not even noticing that Garten was dead. That was what Corrie had suspected. The man was fundamentally cruel, but lazy. Like most of the rotten crew on this evil ship, he had little interest in dealing with the prisoners in the hold any longer than he had to. Corrie didn’t know exactly what each of the crew did with their day, but she knew Morger wanted to get his work done quick and get back to it.

Rutting pig, he was.

The ship was full of them.

Corrie had used her ears for the past twenty-seven days, listening to the chatter of the crew as they wandered about on the deck above them. She kept track of voices, of names. She made sure she had them all.

There were twelve of them on the crew, all of them men. She was actually honestly shocked none of them had tried to roll her, or one of the other girls. Not that she was remotely interested in that, and if one of them tried she’d have bit their pisswhistle off. But it hadn’t come to that. Of those twelve, Morger and Hockly were the main ones to come down and deal with the prisoners. On rare occasions, there were the ones she called Knocknose and Badeye. She didn’t get their real names. Up on top, there was the Captain and the Chief, and then six more men she just called One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six. No need for more than that.

Focus your mental energies on the important details. That’s what Minox would tell her. Coming up with names for the other ones, faceless voices, was a waste of time and thought. No need to do that.

She knew she had little to go on about the eight she had never seen. The Captain was old, moved slow. The Chief had an accent, one she couldn’t place at all. He had a deep voice, that made her think he was tall and beefy.

Didn’t matter. Once she was free, had something in her hand she could fight with, she could whip any one of them. She was certain of that.

As long as she didn’t have to take them all at once.

The hold didn’t have the baking heat it usually had today. She wasn’t sure why, until she heard them talking up above her. Two and Six.

“Storm is coming fast.”

“We can get ahead of it.”

“Don’t think so.”

Storm.

Blazes, yes. That was rutting perfect.

Within an hour-still before the evening rations-the ship was pitching hard, and thunder rolled in the distance. One wave hit the ship, sending everyone in the hold careening toward the bulkhead, filthy bodies crashing on top of each other. Corrie’s stomach would have rebelled at that, had there been much of anything in there.

“Corrie!” Eana shouted. Because Corrie was lying in her lap. That knock had sent them flying, including tearing her manacles from the housing on the wall.

“Blazes,” Corrie muttered. She had wanted to come free when Hockly was down here, take him by surprise when he was dealing with Garner’s body. Now she was off the wall, and they’d see that as soon as they started down the hatch.

“Get ’em provisioned and batten that down!” the Chief shouted.

The hatch. Hockly was about to come down, and if she was spotted off the wall, he’d surely call for everyone to come down, beat her senseless again. Like when those two rutting traitors took her by surprise on the northside docks.

She still wondered what else happened that night. After they took her, shoved her on the ship, did they get Tricky? Was she dead? Somewhere else on this ship? Something worse?

Minox would be shattered. So would Mama. The whole family. They knew-they all knew-any ride out could be the last one, but it was one thing to know that as an idea, and another to face it.

Saints and sinners, they would surely blame Tricky. The lady didn’t deserve the hate the family would give her for that. And they would, saints knew. Not Minox, of course. But most of them already hated Tricky, even if she had saved Nyla, and this would lock that down.

Provided Tricky was still alive.

But if she was, all the more reason to fight her rutting way out of here and get back home.

She hadn’t ridden her last ride, and, by every saint, she wasn’t about to yet.

The hatch was opening.

Despite the rocking of the hold-the ship was really getting battered by storm and wind-she scrambled to her place on the wall, got her arms up. Hopefully Hockly-that sweaty dog-wouldn’t notice before it was too late.

“Chows up, cats!” he shouted as he came down the ladder.

“Don’t you-” Penler muttered.

“Hush your face,” Corrie hissed back.

“What’s the whisper here?” Hockly asked as he reached the ground.

Before anyone else could speak, Corrie said, “Garten died, that’s what.”

“Who’s Garten?” Hockly asked. “Blazes, I only remember your name, stick, since you keep it on your chest. Ha!” Not that Corrie had a choice about that-she couldn’t reach her brass name badge to get it off. She was pretty sure they only left it on her uniform coat-left her the entire uniform, for that matter-as a taunt. Such a funny jape they had a stick sergeant locked up down here with these kids.

“Him,” Eana said, knocking Garten’s dead form with her knee.

“Ugh, he’s looking ripe as a rutter,” Hockly said. “What got him?”

“The same fever that’s been running through all of us, idiot,” Corrie said.

“Hey, girl!” he snapped, “You give more of that mouth, I’ll crack someone’s jaw open.”

Corrie glowered. Let him think he had tamed her.

He turned to Garten’s body, taking the keys off his belt.

“Hurry it up, Hockly!” Four shouted from up top, his words punctuated with a crack of thunder.

“I gotta get this dead one out!”

“Rutting leave it!”

Corrie froze for a moment. She couldn’t see Four, couldn’t tell what he was seeing from up there, how close he was looking.

This might be the only moment she’d have, and if Four raised an alarm before she was ready, it’d all go to sewage.

But this was the moment. Hockly was bent over, back to her, hands occupied.

Saints watch over me, she whispered to herself. You too, Pop.

She darted from the wall, in one fell motion, leapt up and planted her boot hard on Hockly’s bad knee.

He would have cried out, but Eana-bless the wits on that girl-grabbed Garten’s arm and shoved it into his mouth, muzzling him. Corrie walloped him over the head with the chain of her manacles, and then again. He had a handstick and his belt that he tried to go for, but Corrie snapped at it, drawing it out and pulling it up under his weak shoulder. She slammed her foot onto that knee again while she drove him down, pushing his face into Garten’s body.

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#Review - The Velocity of Revolution by Marshall Ryan Maresca #Fantasy

Series: Unknown
Format: Paperback, 368 pages
Release Date: February 9, 2021
Publisher: DAW
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy / Dieselpunk

From the author of the Maradaine saga comes a new steampunk fantasy novel that explores a chaotic city on the verge of revolution.

Ziaparr: a city being rebuilt after years of mechanized and magical warfare, the capital of a ravaged nation on the verge of renewal and self-rule. But unrest foments as undercaste cycle gangs raid supply trucks, agitate the populace and vandalize the city. A revolution is brewing in the slums and shantytowns against the occupying government, led by a voice on the radio, connected through forbidden magic.

Wenthi Tungét, a talented cycle rider and a loyal officer in the city patrol, is assigned to infiltrate the cycle gangs. For his mission against the insurgents, Wenthi must use their magic, connecting his mind to Nália, a recently captured rebel, using her knowledge to find his way into the heart of the rebellion.

Wenthi’s skill on a cycle makes him valuable to the resistance cell he joins, but he discovers that the magic enhances with speed. Every ride intensifies his connection, drawing him closer to the gang he must betray, and strengthens Nália’s presence as she haunts his mind.

Wenthi is torn between justice and duty, and the wrong choice will light a spark in a city on the verge of combustion.

 

I am presuming that The Velocity of Revolution is the first installment in a new series and not a standalone because there is no way you can leave the book the way it ends, and not be expecting more. You really want to know what this book is about? Motorcycles, psychedelic mushrooms, and lots of orgies. Mostly motorcycles and mushrooms. The story is set in a (Mexican or more general Central-American inspired) place which has been colonized and where the (white) colonizers have built up a strict caste-system. The less indigenous blood you have and the whiter you are, the easier your life will be.

 

People with mostly indigenous heritage live in slums and struggle to survive, leaving them with not much energy to fight this status quo. Discovery of the world is told in two viewpoints. Nália, next to the bottom caste, a cycle rider and mechanic, who is involved in the revolution. Wenthi is a cycle cop who patrols and is next to the top caste with his mother and half-sister at the top. He's also polyamory. Never before has anyone managed to catch those thieves. Wenthi gets a chance to prove himself by going undercover to infiltrate the gangs and find the head of the rebels. 

 

Nália meets Wenthi when he catches her and arrests her after she robs a train. In order to infiltrate the gangs, a bizarre mushroom ties Wenthi's consciousness with Nália's consciousness so he can access her knowledge and abilities. This mushroom called myco also allows him to fully connect to the gang that he is infiltrating which leads to a variety of orgies. Slowly, he works his way from the bottom of society into the center of the gangs. The story develops as Wenthi learns through Nália about the revolution, its leaders, the true history is an emotional journey, as well as his own uniqueness. They each have their eyes opened to the truth of the current government and lives of the people.

 

So, my review may come off on the sarcastic side a bit, and that's only because I wasn't prepared for how different this story is from all of the rest of the books this author has written. I am not a huge fan of everyone having sex with everyone else. If that is your cup of herbal tea, you'll love this book. There is plenty of action in this story. I would have also enjoyed a bit more worldbuilding. I understand that this is a society that is being transformed into something supposedly better. But better from whom is the reason for the rebellion, and how Wenthi ends up growing as a character. If this does continue into another book, I do hope the author explains the reason for his choices and what part Wenthi's sister may play in the future. There's a whole entire story to tell about Wenthi and his sister who he protected when times were really bad. 

 

1

“The steel cruisers are out tonight, my friends. Boys and girls get something thrumming between your legs, and find communion with your spirits. Faster, faster, let the speed fill you, and chase down the night. Rattle some cages!”

The cool alto voice crackled through the tinny speakers of the transistor radio dangling over the kitchen stove. The message was just a brief interruption of the usual bullshit, and then with a burst of static, the prop broadcast kicked back in.

“—doing YOUR part for the war efforts, paying back the debt we owe-”

Nália Enapi tuned that out. Same old bullshit she heard every day, every sweep, without fail. The important thing was the interrupting signal.

“Was that for you?” Queña Povo asked. He and the cousins, about to sit down to their rationed portions of rice and beans, all looked to Nália. He lowered his voice. “Was that her?”

“Yeah,” Nália said, pushing her bowl to one of the cousins and getting up from the table. “Got to ride.”

“Don’t bring that back here,” Povo said. “We can’t risk it.”

“I know,” she said, grabbing her denim coat. “This is just on me.” She went out the door.

Of course Povo couldn’t risk it. He—not actually her uncle, nor were his kids her cousins, but they were family enough—was baniz caste. Trying to pass as jifoz caste like Nália. Living illegally in Outtown with forged identity cards. Castejumper. An offense that would get him a life sentence in the Alliance work camps. Nália wasn’t going to bring trouble on him or his kids.

And the trouble was out there. She had barely gone down the steps from the fasai—the room above the machine shop she shared with Povo and the cousins-and walked across the street to the phonebox when a pair of Civil Patrol came right up to her.

“You got cards, jifo?” one asked. Like most tories, he was rhique caste. Bootlickers working for the Alliance nucks, privileged due to having only a little native blood in their veins.

She produced her identification. Her cards were legitimate, but that didn’t stop these tories from squinting at them and holding them up to the sodium streetlight. “Where you off to at this sweep?”

“I got a call to make,” she said, pointing to the phonebox.

“Calling for myco?”

“Just calling a couple lovers for tonight,” she said. “Can I go?”

They scowled but handed her the cards back, waving her off. She hurried over to it, waiting for them to be out of earshot before dialing in her exchange. They had already found another jifoz to harass. As the call rang through, her eyes focused on the prop poster plastered on the wall next to the phonebox. Couldn’t round a circle in this part of town without seeing one of them. This one had three folks in coveralls building a warplane, with PAYING IT BACK painted along the bottom. Someone had scrawled “nix xisisa” across it. She knew only a few words of old Zapi, but she knew that. We have paid too much.

“Well?” the woman said when the call connected. Nália recognized the voice—Nic, the woman who had recruited her. Her only contact with the cell so far.

“The message came,” Nália said. “This is Nália.”

Nic sighed. “Did you already park your cycle?”

“In the alley as usual,” she said. The alley led behind the machine shop, and that was where she always kept her baby, so she could see it through the dirty window next to her cot.

“There’s the taco cart at the mouth of the alley. Get yourself a nice dinner, and your date tonight will meet you.”

Her date. As in her partner for the job she was about to do.

“And then?”

Nic had already disconnected.

Nália glanced about to check again for tories-they were gone for now-and made her way to the cart, sweet smells of pork and corn roasting wafting into her nose. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the rare treat of Ziaparr street tacos. Normally she wouldn’t dare the extravagance of even an ear of grilled corn. Not with the small amount of extra coin she earned on top of her ration chits.

If the job went well, she was promised coin to spare and a place in the cell. That money could help Povo and the cousins a lot. If it didn’t go well, she’d likely be tethered by the tories, so she might as well have one last decent meal.

“Two sweet pork,” she told the cart chef. “And an ear.”

“You want the raina on that ear?” he asked. He took a good look at her, and nodded. “Yeah, you want the raina.”

He was right, she wanted the spice. He could plainly see she was jifoz, like him. Not that any overcaste rhique or, spirits forgive, conceited llipe folk would be buying street tacos in the Miahez neighborhood, unless they were the posers trying to act authentic. But even they wouldn’t come dressed like she was, cycle cat style, in hard raw denim, stained with grease and oil from engine work.

“That’s nine and two,” the cart chef said as he handed her the corn.

“I got it.” A slick young man with smoky dark eyes came up and handed coins to the chef. “And a pair of tang chicken for me.”

“I don’t need some—” Nália started.

“You’re Nália, right?” he asked. “Enzu.”

Her partner for the job. “Where’s your cycle?” She greedily bit into the corn, slathered with spices and salt and lime, pure joy on her tongue.

“Down the alley, like I was told,” he said. “Yours the cold blue 960?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Style, girl,” he said with a disarming smile.

The radio dangling over the food cart, this one playing some old Intown brass, crackled out again, and the cool woman’s voice came back in. “Spirits and skulls on the dark ride, friends. The time is ripe.” Static again, and the music went back on like nothing had happened.

“That’s the signal,” Enzu whispered, nudging her on the arm.

“What is?” Nália asked as the cart chef wrapped up sweet spiced pork and onions into tortillas, slathering them with roasted tomatillo sauce.

“On the radio,” he hissed. “That’s Varazina. She’s calling to us.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Nália grabbed her tacos from the vendor and ran down the alley slope to the bottom of the step, where her Puegoiz 960 was leaning against the cracked concrete wall. The blue and chrome beauty could clock nearly one-fifty kilos per sweep, and that was with cornering the curves of the aqueducts. She figured on a straight run, she could hit three hundred. Nália had worked with the cousins to crank its engine power so it ran like a 1296. When Nália was sitting on her ’goiz, she was lightning on two wheels, she was fire and steel powering through Ziaparr streets.

Of course, she rarely built up much momentum before reaching a patrol checkpoint.

Pausing before getting on her cycle, she took a bite of her taco. Savory pork and spicy tomatillo created an explosion of alchemy on her tongue.

“Hold up,” Enzu said, catching up to her. “I like the hustle, zyiza, but there’s a reason for the tacos.”

“Because they’re delicious?” Nália asked through a mouthful.

“Yeah,” he said with a far too pretty smile. Back in the sodium light of the alley, Enzu looked like he might be a perfect example of jifoz beauty: dark eyes—that lit up with every one of his smiles—which complemented the tawny bronze of his skin. His black hair was slicked back, like how most of the jifozi cycleboys would do it, and his dark denim slacks and jacket hugged his thin frame. Nália was wearing the same thing, of course, but the curves of her hips strained the copper rivets holding the pants together. The cousin who had passed them on to her had been a skinny rail. “But that’s not all of it.”

He opened up a small leather pouch and sprinkled a bit of powder on her taco.

“We need to run on the myco?”

He nodded. “You’ve ridden on it before?”

“Yeah,” she said, hesitant to take a bite. Everyone she knew had tried the magic of the myco with some willing flesh. She wasn’t opposed to doing that with Enzu before the night was over, but his expression told her that wasn’t what he was thinking. “Oh, you mean on the cycle. No.”

“Be ready,” he said, sprinkling some on his own taco, and then biting into it. “When you get up to speed, that’s when it really kicks in.”

She finished the taco, disappointed that it now had a slightly bitter aftertaste. Getting on her cycle, she asked, “Where’s the run?”

“Just keep up,” he said, getting on his own Ungeke K’am. A Sehosian cycle, which seemed like treason to Nália. It was all compact and polished casing, no style or character. It was elegant, but it wasn’t beauty like hers. His looked like it had just rolled out of the factory, no personality. No love. That said, it had more power and speed than a regular ’goiz 960 ever would.

But Nália wasn’t riding a regular 960, and she sure as shit wasn’t a regular rider. She kicked the engine on, a glorious roar of petrol and steel that echoed through the alley. Putting on her helmet, she said, “You’re going to regret that one.”

“I better,” he said, kicking his cycle up. His purred like an angry cat, ready to pounce. Not bothering with a helmet, he was down the alley like a bullet.

Nália was not about to let herself get outridden by any fool on an Ungeke, and she cranked the throttle to rush after him. Out of the alley, she chased him around two curves, dodging cable cars and trucks round the circles through the Miahez neighborhood. She hit cruising gear as she caught his tail. He roared up Avenue Nodlion, weaving in between the idling autos that lined up for half a kilometer for their petrol ration from the fuel station at the circle. She was going to burn through a quint of her month’s supply on this raid tonight, so she needed it to keep her riding tight.

She needed this to pay off. For herself, for Povo and the cousins.

And, in some small way, for all their freedom.

Enzu signaled he was dropping right, which made no sense, since there was no turning circle coming up. Then he swerved off the road, through a bombed-out empty lot, and fell out of sight. She had no idea what crazy shit he was up to, but she was committed now. She followed right after, loose gravel in the lot flying behind her as she cranked her cycle into racing gear. If he can do ninety-six kilos across this lot, she’d do one-oh-eight.

The heat from the engine crept into her thighs as she crested over the bank at the edge of the lot, and the ground dropped out beneath her. She fought the urge to brake and pull back, and she saw Enzu hurtling down the dry aqueduct gully that divided Fomidez from Miahez. Under the bridges, under the checkpoints. And he was really racing, nearly one-twenty. She wasn’t going to be shown up. Not here, not tonight.

She landed hard, wind racing as the cycle threatened to skid out underneath her. She leaned left, pulling herself up and revving the throttle hard. One-eight kilos, gear shift. One-twenty. One-thirty-two. Passing gear. Closing the distance to Enzu.

Then he was there. On her bike with her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

And she was on his, holding on to him.

“What?” she shouted, almost losing her cycle as they went into the dark of the water tunnel.

“Keep with it,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep your velocity. That’s what powers the myco. Pulling us together.”

Then it was her on the Ungeke, him on the ’goiz. No, she looked over her shoulder to see herself on the ’goiz, charging through the water tunnel like a bullet from a gun. She was on the Ungeke, but she was Enzu. And Enzu was her. And she was also still holding on to him from the back of the cycle, and being held.

All while hammering around the curves of the aqueduct gully.

She had had a few rides of the myco, usually while bedding down some piece of pretty flesh who had done the same. Sex on the mushroom was a trip—every touch linked bodies, sensations reverberating, nerves firing together. Feeding off each other’s pleasure.

But nothing like this. That was a pale echo, a memory of touch compared to this.

“Too much!” she shouted. She let go of the throttle and let herself slow down to a stop. Still herself, still on the ’goiz. Enzu passed her, then slowed and turned around, stopping in front of her.

The intensity faded, but she could still feel him. His heart beating in his chest, his pulse racing, the rumble of his engine between his thighs.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re synced for now.”

“For…” She wasn’t sure which mouth she was talking out of at first. “For how long?”

“Hard to say,” he said, idling his cycle and getting off. “The speed, that’s what binds us. The faster you go, the stronger the bond. More intense, and you can feel each other even when physically apart. It lasts longer too, maybe all night? Maybe longer.”

“I don’t know if I like you that much,” Nália said. “Why are we doing the run this way?”

“So we can do everything we need to as one,” he said. “And even then, it’s going to be hard.” He moved closer, gingerly touching her hand. The sensation was electric, a circuit closing in her body as she felt every inch of him, become her. “Are you all right?”

“It’s…it’s…” She closed her eyes and let herself flow into it. Like when she rode her cycle. Revving the throttle, being one with the machine. Faster, faster, faster, filling her spirit with the thrill of speed.

Her eyes were closed, but she could still see. See herself, through his eyes.

She opened her eyes. “I’ve got a handle on it, I think.”

“Good,” he said. He looked up at the railbridge spanning over their head. “Because the job is going to come thundering through here, and we need to be ready. Ready to race?”

She smiled, and powered up her engine again. “Always.”

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#Review - People of the City by Marshall Ryan Maresca #Fantasy

Series: Maradaine Elite (#3)
Format: Paperback, 416 pages
Release Date: October 27, 2020
Publisher: DAW
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy

he third and final novel in the Maradaine Elite series blends fast-paced high fantasy and political intrigue, bringing together the threads of the interconnected Maradaine novels.

Corruption and conspiracy have infected the city of Maradaine, from the top levels of power to the very depths beneath the city. Dayne Heldrin and Jerinne Fendall, elite warriors of the Tarian Order, have no idea how close they truly are to the center of the city’s dark secrets. But when they learn that children are going missing, they know they must investigate further—no matter the cost.

They are soon joined by others, each with their own reasons for seeking the children. Veranix Calbert, the vigilante known as the Thorn, thinks his enemies are responsible for the missing children. Inspectors Minox Welling and Satrine Rainey fear the disappearing children are tied to corruption in the city Constabulary. Asti and Verci Rynax hope to protect the kids from their streets, one of whom barely escaped the kidnappers. And a mysterious young cloistress seeks to lead each of them deeper down into the depths of enigmas beneath the city, to the dark, unholy cult known as the Brotherhood, and the horrors that are growing within it.

The only hope Maradaine might have against the impending darkness is if these champions can work together to protect all the people of the city….
 

"This city is full of heroes, both in the light and the shadows. Every part of this city, every alley, and neighborhood, has a champion ready to rise up and do what's right." 

 

People of the City is the third and final installment in author Marshall Ryan Maresca's Maradaine Elite series. I've been known to repeat myself, but in this case, it's the truth. This is a series that needs more readers. It has everything a Fantasy lover needs: Magic, adventure, political machinations mixed with amazing characters, great worldbuilding, mystery, suspense, and intrigue. People of the City brings together the heroes of the authors (4) Maradaine series in an epic, Avengers-style conclusion to this arc in the Maradaine universe.

But the author also brings back an intriguing character named Sister Myriem who was first introduced in The Fenmere Job. The story line is something readers should pay attention to. This story arc began with The Thorn of Dentonhill where we were introduced to Veranix Calbert, magic student at the University of Maradaine. People of the City begins where The Fenmere Job left off. Poor Sister Myriem. She’s either a seer, or someone who fate decided that she should guide our heroes Dayne, Jerinne, Asti, Verci, Thorn, Satrine, and Minox against the evil cabals attempting to taking control of Maradaine. 

She carries a copy of Testaments of the Saints which makes you wonder if she’s being guided by a higher calling. Curiously, Myriem’s visions showed her that she needs to find the tall one with the shield (Dayne). Then she wants to ensure that her copy of Testaments is given to (Inspector) Rainey for guidance in the coming days. Myriem will eventually encounter every single member of the fabulous 7 which will slowly come together to investigate who has been stealing children, as well as the return of the Brotherhood, the Grand Ten, a monster named Gurond, and a man called Dragon.

-Dayne Heldrin is still liaison between the Tarian Order and the Marshals despite saving the day, time and time again. He knows that if nothing changes, he will likely be finished with the Order because he’s made lots of enemies who don’t want to see him succeed. It’s not how you treat a hero of the city. Of course, Dayne ends up in the middle of preventing an assassin from killing the King of Maradaine for the True Line. He's also sick of the killing and wants things to change.

Dayne gets a visit from a new Parliament member Mister Haberneck who calls Dayne the guy who gets things done. Kids are missing in Dentonhill, and he believes Dayne can help. Which leads to Fenmere, which leads to an encounter with Veranix, and Gurond, the Brotherhood of Nine, Ithaniel Senek, and Crenaxin, the Dragon who was first mentioned in Lady Henterman’s Wardrobe.

-Dayne's mentee, Jerinne Fendall has a whole lot of issues to deal with. Except for Dayne and Amaya, nobody is taking her seriously as an Initiate. She's always at the bottom of the list even though she, like, Dayne has stood for Justice for the downtrodden and saved the election from being destroyed. Jerinne has also become friends with Satrine's daughter Rian who has a secret that will blow the minds of many people if it were discovered. Jerinne is the only one outside of Satrine who knows the truth.

-Hemmit Eyairin, Lin Shartien, & Maresh Niol of the Veracity Press, gained fame when they uncovered the plot against the Parliament. Now that the press is fully funded by Lady Mirianne Henson, they can continue to call out the corruption against the People of Maradaine by Parliament, Druthal Intelligence, and the Grand Ten conspiracy. Mirianne, though, has something in store for Amaya, Dayne, Jerinne, and the Veracity Press. It's all part of her own machinations allegedly for the country.

-Amaya Tyrell, Adept of the Tarian Order, is on a mission. She knows something isn’t right with the Tarian Order's Grandmaster and she intends to uncover what he’s hiding. She also knows that Colonel Silla Altarn and her diabolical machinations will eventually force a face to face showdown, which spoiler, does happen. The original Grand Ten protected the integrity of the Line of Maradaine during Incursion. But what does this Grand Ten want? Will Amaya survive what happens next?  

-Veranix Calbert aka Thorn, is still attending University of Maradaine alongside his friend Delmin Sarren, groundskeeper Kaiana Nell, and new student Mila Kendish who was recently part of the Veranix brother gang. He’s still fighting Fenmere and his gangs trying to keep effitte off campus. Veranix finds that his school is changing and not for the better. Major Dresser of Druth Intelligence upends everything by expecting the magic students to train like soldiers and compete against each other for rank and privilege. Beware of the Altarn Initiatives. Veranix is already aware of the missing children across Maradaine, so his participation in taking down the cabal of enemies is easy to understand.  

-Inspector Second Class Minox Welling has been exiled to the Constabulary Archives because of his dangerous hand. He’s also an untrained and an uncircled mage. Secretly, Minox is going through the archives looking for hints at the corruption that has taken root in the Constabulary. His sister, Corrie Welling, is gone, taken by slavers. His cousin Nyla refuses to acknowledge Minox, and his family is splintered. His partnership with Satrine is over, for now. She's agreed to act as though she's mad at him until they can figure out what the hell is going on. There is a surge in missing children in Dentonhill and the fun begins when his reclusive cousin reveals some curious secrets.

-Inspector Satrine Rainey has a new partner in Inspector Kellman but is also secretly investigating Constabulary corruption and missing children. Unfortunately, her own mother, Berana Hace nee Carthas, is free from prison and creating her own form of chaos which means Rainey is now supporting a husband, two children, and her mother on her salary. Rainey is a character who is kind of shoved to the back a bit. She’s not one of the main antagonists against the Brotherhood or Gurond or the Dragon underground, but she’s there when it matters the most thanks to Sister Myriem. I am curious if we are going to get answers about Rainey’s connection with Asti, or if her own daughter is going to find out her origins. We shall see.  

-Verci Rynax of Rynax Gadeterium is once again worried that his brother Asti is into something that will get them both bloodied and in trouble. Interestingly, Thorn told Asti to listen to any news about missing children. He, like others will always revert to blaming Fenmere even if someone else is too blame. Verci probably has more to lose if bad things happen to him. After all, he’s married with a newborn and a business he’s trying to get off the ground which comes in handy when the real fight takes place above ground.   

-Asti Rynax is still having violent blackouts and muttering to empty air. If you've read any of these books, you know Asti was a former spy who was betrayed by Liora Rand, traded to the Poasians who tortured and broke him and put something in his head. He’s survived thanks to him putting his own blocks in his head and trying to ignore Liora which he can’t do forever. Then Tarvis, a street rat who was taken by Gurond, warns Asti about the giant who has been stealing children. Asti isn’t shy of running into trouble whenever it comes his way. Asti is a character who needs to be watched for the reasons stated above. As I said above, Asti and Satrine worked for the same person. I am wondering if they crossed paths in the past.

This story marks the ending of the Maradaine story arc but hopefully we shall see these characters again soon. I know the author has a new project called Velocity of the Revolution on the horizon, but I want this series to continue now that the cat is out of the back in regards to the Brotherhood, as well as the Grand Ten’s implosion which happened in the story. I have some minor issues that I would love to see solved. I want Corrie found. She’s not a main character, but she deserves to be reunited with her family, especially Minox.

I would love for Rian to discover the truth from her mother and see where the chips fall, especially since Jerinne knows the truth and has fallen in love with her. I want to know if Satrine and Asti will work together against Silla Altarn, Liora Rand, and the Brotherhood who apparently have their claws into everything. Can Satrine save Asti, or will he be lost forever? I’d love for Dayne to find peace in the times to come. He’s been through so much that really does deserve a happy ending. I’d love for Amaya to be given her own storyline since she’s basically in limbo after the events of this story. I’d also like to thank Marshal for putting the chronological note in the beginning of this book so that readers can see which books they should read and in what order. This book is not a standalone. Do not treat it as such. 

Chapter 1

“YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO be here.”

Jerinne Fendall felt the glare from the marshal at the palace gate even stronger than the hot autumn sun overhead. He tried to look down at her, but he wasn’t anywhere near tall enough, so he craned his neck in an attempt to intimidate.

“I don’t think you’re right about that,” Jerinne said. “I’ve been invited.”

“Nonsense,” the marshal said. “Pips on your collar clearly mark you as an Initiate, and only Tarians and Spathians of Master rank are invited to the Royal Authentication. That’s how it is.”

Jerinne reached into the coat of her dress uniform and pulled out the letter. “That might be how it is, but I was still invited.”

Another marshal came up behind him and gave him a disapproving knock on the shoulder. “Kasmar, open your damn eyes. Miss Fendall is a special guest. Don’t you recognize her?”

“Am I supposed to?” Kasmar asked.

“Don’t you read the newssheets?”

“Not much, no, sir.”

The other marshal-a chief by his rank insignia-shook his head. “Come along, Miss Fendall. I apologize for the inconvenience. Dayne’s already here.”

“My apologies, Chief,” Jerinne said as they walked onto the palace grounds. This was the first time she had ever even been near the Royal Palace, let alone on the grounds, and her heart was fluttering despite herself. “If we’ve met, it escapes my memory.”

“Perhaps briefly, but not formally,” he said. “Chief Donavan Samsell, but feel free to just call me Donavan.”

“Samsell, yes,” Jerinne said. He had been the one in charge of administrating the election a few months back. “I thought you were assigned to another city now.”

“I was in Marikar for about a month,” he said. “But after the latest atrocity and the scandal with Chief Quoyell, I was recalled to Maradaine.”

Scandal was selling it lightly. Quoyell had orchestrated mass murder on the Parliament floor, and was assassinated after his arrest. Needless to say, his tenure as head of security for the Parliament was disastrous.

“You’re head of Parliament security now?” she asked. “Or the Palace?”

“Well, the Palace marshals and the Parliament marshals need to work together on a day like today,” he said with a chuckle. “But-sorry, I thought Dayne might have told you.”

“I’ve not seen Dayne much for the past week or so,” Jerinne said. Both of them had taken a battering at the Kittrick Hotel, and Dayne seemed to be overwhelmed with duties at the Parliament since the atrocity incident. Jerinne thought it best to give him some space for a bit.

“Ah, of course. Well, you should know that Parliament security will no longer be handled solely by the King’s marshals. Instead it will be a joint operation of the marshals, the Tarians, and the Spathians.”

That explained why Dayne had been busy. As the liaison between the Orders and the marshals, his hands would be kept full setting up something like that.

“That’s why he’s here already.”

“Perfect aim on that,” Samsell said.

Jerinne followed him down the walkway, already crowded with people. Most of them were high-class swells-nobility, high-ranking officers in the military, members of Parliament-all of them in elaborate suits and exquisite dresses. Her own dress uniform, as crisply as it was pressed and as shiny the buttons, seemed shabby in comparison.

He led her around a hedge wall down a marble stairway, and her breath was almost taken away.

The royal courtyard was a splendor of colors in bloom. Jerinne had never learned anything about flowers, but now she was overwhelmed by the beauty and spectacle before her.

“You all right, Miss Fendall?” Samsell asked.

“It’s a lot to take in.” Amaya Tyrell, Adept of the Tarian order, was at her side. “I mean, I’ve never seen its equal.”

“That’s for certain,” Jerinne said.

“Miss Tyrell,” Samsell said, “I never had the opportunity to personally thank you for your role in defending the integrity of this election.”

“I appreciate your thanks,” Amaya said with a nod. “That’s pretty much why Jerinne and I are here. Though if you ask me, the entire third-year Initiate cohort should have been invited.”

Samsell gave a weak smile. “I was not consulted, on many things.”

“Not blaming you,” Amaya said. She hooked her arm around Jerinne’s. “Shall we, Initiate?”

“Of course, Madam Tyrell,” Jerinne said.

The sun was already high and unseasonably warm for the end of Oscan. Usually by now the trees would be resplendent with golds and reds, but many were still bright green.

“You’re slightly out of uniform,” Amaya said once they were away from Samsell and down the walkway, to the area where many of the guests were milling about with drinks and food, chattering away about whatever the gossip of the day was.

“I’m of the opinion that the dress uniform could use gloves,” Jerinne said, holding out her hand for Amaya to inspect. “I think they go quite nicely.”

“I don’t disagree,” Amaya said. “But the Grandmaster is here. He will also notice, and he will probably say something.”

“Oh no,” Jerinne said flatly. “Perhaps I’ll lose ranking among the third-years.”

“Don’t joke,” Amaya said. “You haven’t been ranked on the bottom in two months.”

While true, she had still been in the lower half. Jerinne’s time of being repeatedly ranked dead last ended shortly after mentors had been assigned. She had assumed it had been an orchestration to specifically deny her a formal mentor.

Dayne’s position as her mentor was, after all, unofficial and informal. Denied a proper mentorship with one of the Masters or Adepts, Madam Tyrell-

Amaya, she corrected herself.

Amaya wanted Jerinne and Dayne to work together, away from the rest of the Tarians at the chapterhouse. She had been vague about why, but Jerinne trusted her.

Jerinne spotted Dayne across the courtyard next to Lady Mirianne, looking slightly uncomfortable talking to several nobles. She noticed that Mirianne was not dressed like most of the noblewomen present, at least the older ones. No flowing dress with crinoline petticoats or whalebone corsets. Instead Lady Mirianne wore a deep blue suit jacket, tight-fit trousers, high boots, and a leather cap.

A glance at the crowd showed that many of the younger noblewomen, while not matching Lady Mirianne’s defiant style, wore the same cap.

“We seem to be out of the fashion,” she said to Amaya.

“Ah, the Marikar suncap,” Amaya said. “She did say she would make it the thing for ladies in Maradaine this season, didn’t she?”

Jerinne tried to make her way toward Dayne, but the crowd between them started to move together toward a raised platform. Jerinne didn’t see for what purpose at first, but then she noticed several people stepping up on the platform. Including a young man who was devastatingly handsome.

That was not a thing Jerinne had a habit of noticing in any man. That’s how pretty he was, that even she had to acknowledge it.

Then she saw the silver circlet he wore on his head, and realized who he was.

“Ladies and lords and gentlepersons of all persuasions,” Prince Escaraine said with a voice that washed over the crowd like it was carried by doves. “Thank you all for joining us on this glorious day. We are here, of course, to formally give the royal blessing to the newly elected members of Parliament, so they may start to do the good work of the crown and throne in the name of the king.”

The crowd gave a polite smattering of applause.

“Normally, this benediction before the ceremony is given by my sister, but unfortunately she was unable to return to Maradaine at this time.”

Jerinne noticed that a few of the noblewomen near her whispered to each other, usually with a throaty chuckle or a sigh of exasperation. Perhaps there was some gossip or poorly kept secret about Princess Carianna. Jerinne didn’t know it, nor did she feel a burning need to know it.

“Needless to say, I’m sure she would echo my sentiments on this day, as my cousin the king does, of how blessed we are in this country, that we have stood together for over two centuries, with a continuity of the throne, and continuity of the Parliament. That we have a civilized rule of law, governed by the people, presided over by the blessed line of Maradaine. This is what makes us Druthal, the great jewel in the crown of the world.”

More applause, now thunderous.

“And now, can we have the new and re-elected members of Parliament come forward.”

The men standing on the back of the platform-twenty-three of them-stepped forward. Jerinne only recognized one of them: Ret Issendel, the former bishop whom Dayne enjoyed arguing with. The rest were just a sea of pompous-looking men in suits.

Jerinne realized she was stuck in the middle of the crowd, no easy way to escape without making a scene. Yet another slog of political theater to endure. She glanced about to see where Dayne was. He, smartly, had placed himself at the back of the crowd. Of course, at his height, standing in front of anyone would be rude. Dayne was many things, but rude was not one of them.

“Now take a knee for his Royal Majesty, King Maradaine the Eighteenth.”

Jerinne presumed that was for the prospective members of Parliament, but then everyone in the crowd dropped to their knees as well. Jerinne quickly did the same, as Amaya half-pulled her down to the ground.

The king was so very normal, so average. Prince Escaraine stood on the stage like a presence, as if the light of the sun shone inside him. King Maradaine XVIII walked up in a half slouch, in somber gray clothing that matched his energy, violet mourning sash lazily draped over one shoulder. He just looked exhausted.

“Thank you, cousin,” he said quietly. He clapped his hand on the prince’s shoulder, and the prince reached up and squeezed the hand briefly. The king stepped away and went to the first new member of Parliament. “Do you pledge to serve this nation, to honor the Rights of Man, to be deliberate and wise as you serve the people, and honor the trust put into you with their just and true votes?”

“I do, in your name, and in the name of God and every saint,” the parliamentarian said. The king touched his thumb to the man’s forehead and moved on to the next. This ritual continued with each one, with quiet dignity and respectful efficiency. In just a few minutes, they were all pledged and blessed.

“Thank you, all,” the king said as he came to the center of the platform. The prince had taken a few steps back to yield the stage to his cousin. “I happily bless these good and true men to serve the office they have been elected to, this great Parliament to serve my throne and my people, to join the other good and true men who continue their diligent work of governing in my name.”

“Rise and hail,” Prince Escaraine called out. “Welcome these good and true men, and praise be the name of Maradaine the Eighteenth, may his reign be long and grand!”

“Hail!” the crowd called as everyone got to their feet. “Hail Maradaine the Eighteenth, King of Druthal!”

“Never!” a voice shouted from the back. “The True Line lives!”

With a piercing thwang, a crossbow bolt flew toward the stage, toward the king. Marshals-unobtrusively on the stage all this time-acted in a snap, grabbing the king and the prince and pulling them off the platform before anyone was hit by the shot.

Jerinne looked around, trying to spot the shooter. Not that she could do much: no shield or sword on her at the moment.

That didn’t stop Dayne. She saw him charging across the lawn, running ahead of the swarm of marshals toward the would-be assassin.

Dayne was well aware that the crossbow was aimed right at his heart.

“Friend,” he said, holding his hands out and open. “There’s no need to do this.”

Dayne had been able to get to the young man who had just taken a shot at the king before he could load another quarrel in his crossbow, but only just before.

“The True Line…” the young man said, his hand shaking. He didn’t look like an assassin at all. If anything, he looked like he barely knew how to hold the weapon. He looked more terrified than anyone.

“You’ve never taken a life,” Dayne said. “I can see that. I can see you believe in your cause, but it doesn’t have to make you a killer.”

“But the kingdom needs-”

“It needs you to put the crossbow down. No one needs to die today. No one needs to kill today.”

Dayne noticed the marshals out of the corner of his eye. All of them had their crossbows trained on the boy. “No one needs to, hear?”

“Get out of the way, Tarian!” one of the marshals said.

“We need a strong hand, a pure throne!” the young man shouted.

“This won’t do that,” Dayne said. “It will taint the throne with blood. It will taint you with blood.”

“No!” the young man said, though now his hand lowered a little with the trembling. “I don’t have a choice. I have to.”

“Why?” Dayne asked.

“I…” His voice cracked, like he was fighting to get the word out. “I…have…to.”

“You can’t,” Dayne said. “You fire, you won’t kill the king. Marshals have already pulled him away.” Dayne hadn’t seen that, but he assumed that would have been the first thing they did. “All you’ll do is hurt me. I don’t want you to do that. I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Please,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I have to. They said that…the True Line…”

Dayne took a step closer. “That doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is-”

That step panicked the young man, and the crossbow went back up at Dayne. But as soon as it did, no fewer than nine bolts fired into his body. Dayne tried to grab him, grab the crossbow away, but he dropped like a sack.

“Get a Yellowshield!” Dayne called out, looking to the marshals behind him, all of their crossbows expended.

The young man still held up his crossbow as he died, wheezing out one last “The True Line…” before he passed.

“Dayne.” A hand touched his shoulder. “The rest of you, back away, give him space.”

Dayne looked up to see Chief Donavan Samsell. “That didn’t need to happen.”

“I’m sorry, Dayne,” he said. “But it did as soon as he raised his weapon.” He guided Dayne away from the scene.

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