The Broken Queen is out today! + Una & Varrie's story chapters 1-2 (Patreon)

It is the release day for The Broken Queen! I can't believe it. After so much rapid releasing of books, life got in the way for a couple of years when Dade's father died, and so I have been working on the Broken Queen for three years. It is also a very long book, and it took me a lot of work to figure it out.

But it's done! It's out! However it performs, it's a huge accomplishment. I'm hoping to get up a Youtube video tonight talking a little bit about my marketing plans and what's next.

Also, if you are a $5 tier member, our next SCHEDULED chat will be 7-9 Eastern (-4:00 GMT) on Tuesday the 28th. I'm hoping to do one on a weekend some month soon, but with my current schedule, Tuesday evenings are the best time to do a large time block. The initial discussion topic will be about drawing on Earthly cultures in world-building: how to research, what influences, what timelines, why so much Medieval England, who has done it well, etc. Last time we ended up spinning off into other interesting directions, which I always approve of!

And finally, I have been working here and there on Una and Varrie's book, which is just a very fun story to write. Una and Varrie both have so much personality and humor (at least to me!). It's a work in progress but here are the first two chapters which I'm offering to everyone just as a tease!

This is a follow-up book to DOLL GIRL MEETS DEAD GUY, but it also stands perfectly well on its own.

Since this is a new book, I also want to note that I am more than happy to hear your thoughts on works in progress. Obviously, if you enjoy it, I am always happy to hear about that, but even if you think something is NOT working, or you're confused about something, I am open to that too.

Chapter One

Una’s coworker had been missing for four months now.

Actually, he was not a coworker exactly. When he went to war, Una had taken his job. His glorious job, in this hallowed place of musty-smelling books and wooden shelves taller than her arm could reach (but no matter, because there was a ponderous but charming rolling staircase named “Trod” that could be pushed all about the store). At first, she wished he would never come back, so that she could keep this long-coveted job at Beldar’s Books.

Varrie, was after all, her rival. He had sailed into the bookstore when she was just a little too young to ask for a job. Not only had he filled the position, but she didn’t want to work with him either.

She had many reasons to find him extremely irritating:

1. He was too cheerful.

2. His clothes were too colorful. She had seen him wear a black coat lined in purple and a yellow scarf. A YELLOW. SCARF. It was nearly enough to damage her vision.

3. He was nice to her, even though she CLEARLY hated him, which indicated a level of obliviousness that was even more aggravating than his broader cheerfulness to everyone.

4. Most horrifying of all, before he went off to the front lines he had brought her a book, which made her start to wonder if he actually…liked her.

5. Most EXTREMELY horrifying of all, the book was actually very good and precisely to her taste.

However, four months was a long time to be missing. The war was over, and everyone else had come home, or at least their body had. With Varrie, there was nothing. No word. No remains. He simply disappeared from the battle and was never heard from again.

All the customers at the bookstore had been asking about him the entire time. There was a pencil portrait of him by the counter where they left little offerings. Una would be trying to sell them a new book and instead they would sigh and say something like, “You know, Varrie recommended me this book…Roses All ‘Round. The way the author wrote about his reincarnations was so interesting. I want another like that, but not My Death.”

“Maybe you would like The Plains of the Dead,” Una suggested.

“No, that one’s just a story.”

“Roses All ‘Round is just a story too!” Una said. “Mr. Arunsal didn’t really remember every detail of three incarnations. He said it was fiction based on dreams he had.”

“Well, it was more something about the writing style. It felt so real.”

“So, you’d like a story that feels very real?”

“No, I want something real. Just like Roses All ‘Round.”

“But—um. Well, maybe you’d like Journeys of a Bard? It’s a memoir with a spiritual aspect—“

“No, I’ve read that one.”

And then, all too often, it ended with the same refrain: “Varrie would have known. I’ll just pick up Dreadful Moon.”

And there it was. Una would write up the sale for Dreadful Moon, a book in the “tragic brides” genre that could not be farther in tone than Roses All ‘Round, and apologize for not being Varrie. The customer would just look at her woefully and leave with a book she had not recommended.

Oh, sure, sometimes she hit it just right, but one thing remained clear. Varrie knew every book in the shop. It often seemed like he’d read all of them. Her coworkers confirmed that Varrie read everything. Vi, Varrie’s cousin, said he was somewhat of a speed reader.

And so Una added that to her list as well.

6. He was a speed reader who could not possibly be properly absorbing what he read. Books should be read slowly and deliciously.

Still, if he didn’t read them well, he certainly recommended them with great skill, and Una had the unsettling feeling that all their customers, dour as they were on the exterior, missed Varrie’s warm smile and unflagging enthusiasm.

As far as anyone could now guess, that smile and enthusiasm was gone forever. But there was one chance for his family to find him. The Keeper of the Dead was coming to Laionesse.

Chapter Two

“They’re not going to even ask Lord Gara about Varrie!?” Una cried.

Vi shook her head, crossing her arms. “No. Aunt Calumna says that if he’s alive, he should make it back himself. She says he needs to pass a trial before he gets married and is appointed an heir to the business anyway.”

“That’s too brutal!” Una said.

“I almost thought you’d agree with Aunt Calumna. You always say Varrie is too soft and sunshine-y to be a Ven-Diri. And he is. I’m sure Auntie thinks that if he returns, he’ll finally have that polished out of him.”

“I could never agree with that,” Una said. “It’s one thing to think Varrie is too soft. It’s another thing for his mother to leave him for dead. Could you imagine my parents leaving me for dead? I’ve never met his mother; I had no idea she was so cold.”

“I don’t really enjoy her company,” Vi said. “But we don’t see them much. Only holidays, and there’s enough going on that I don’t have to talk to her or Uncle Varayel. Poor Varrie, he deserves it to some extent, but they really are terribly incompatible with their own son.”

Una nodded. Varrie did indeed deserve it—to some extent. He didn’t have to be so… Una hesitated in her thoughts. Oblivious to proper Ven-Diri behavior?

She wet her lips pensively. There were certainly some ways in which she herself liked to rebel, and it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was so bad about Varrie’s yellow scarves and ready smile versus her own overly passionate nature. Either way, the ideal was to be stoic, and Una had never managed that any more than Varrie could.

“We could ask Lord Gara ourselves,” Vi said, her expression cool, conveying a lack of real interest on the outside while perfectly indulging Una’s curious heart. “I have enough money for it. But I’ll have to slip it to you and send you and the other girls without me, because I don’t want the family to know I asked about poor Varrie.”

“It would be thrilling to meet Lord Gara up close,” Una said.

“I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities,” Vi said. “But you should go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind spending your money on that?”

“Well, I do feel bad for Varrie,” Vi said. “As long as he’s alive I don’t think he’s ever going to be what Aunt Calumna and Uncle Varayel want him to be, and if he ever was, it would mean something utterly broke him. That’s depressing. If I had a son I don’t think I’d want him to be lost, no matter what a ridiculous little sunflower he was.”

Una nodded, and was surprised at the utter relief that washed over her, leaving her downright flushed. She turned away from Vi to hide any reaction and went to the tea kettle. “All right. I’ll go. I’ll just ask Yurya to come with me whenever I can get her alone. Brindy can’t keep a secret. Would you like some tea?”

“Always,” Vi said. “Are the other girls coming?”

“Of course,” Una said. “I invited Sorla too. She’s been working too hard. But we won’t wait for them; I’ll just put another kettle on.”

Vi and Una gossiped over their spiced tea with milk and honey, and then the rest of the crew poured in almost at once. Brindy was already in the middle of loud conversation with the other two, stopping to lightly hug Vi and Una without shutting up. Yurya was quieter at first, but if the subject turned to one of her “hobsessions”—or so they called her truly obsessive hobbies—she could match Brindy. Yurya had cycled through many across her childhood, but in adulthood she settled into her doll collection—cataloguing them, following the latest makers and styles, and sewing intricate clothes for them.

Sorla was the Fanarlem girl who had married Una’s brother Dorr after he came back from the war. Fanarlem were often called dolls themselves because they were artificial people, made from magic. In the Kalanite lands, they were created as slaves. However, in a steady trickle, some of them had been making their way to freedom in the Miralem lands. Many of them were in a sorry state, and the Ven-Diri community had offered them charity, assistance, and a warm welcome for any Fanarlem who wanted to join the Ven-Diri religion and ways. 

Sorla had largely embraced the Ven-Diri herself, and she was extremely adorable and cheerful without being obnoxiously so. Una was utterly relieved that Dorr had found such a perfect wife. He’d been so depressed when he came back from the dead and the front lines, having lost friends and in many ways, his youth and vitality. He didn’t want to be brought back from the dead, and no one was quite the same after the experience. But Sorla’s lively presence had gone a long way to bringing him back to his old self.

“I brought leftover tarts,” Sorla said, offering up a basket.

“Ooh, cranberry!” Una said, peering under the cloth. “Smells like autumn. I want to eat one this second, but I guess I’ll make more tea first. We’ll do things properly.”

“Can we make cheese toasts?” Yurya asked, already heading into the kitchen.

“It is nearly autumn, and I’m so anxious for it that I had to dig out the dried cranberries from last year,” Sorla said. “We sold out, too, but I set the ugly ones aside for tonight. I love that sense of new beginnings in spring and fall…” She trailed off, but she was almost on her tip toes, clutching her hands expectantly.

“Did something thrilling happen today?” Una asked. “Ooh, did the prince stop by?”

“No…much more exciting than that. Dorr said I could tell you all. He’s excited too, but you know he’s not really one for announcements.”

Una almost dropped the basket. Her heart rose and sank at once. “What is it?”

“When we heard about all the Fanarlem orphans rescued at the border…” She paused. “Of course, I guess all Fanarlem are orphans, really. But not anymore! Because anyway, we’re going to adopt one. We’re making a little trip to the south to pick one up at the end of September.”

“Una! You’re going to be an aunt!” Brindy cried. “Do you have any good wine to uncork? That’s so exciting!” She danced over to Sorla and gave her a hug too.

“An aunt? I guess I am, then, and…are you sure my brother agreed to this?”

Sorla laughed and nodded. “We’ve certainly talked it over in great detail. We did intend to wait a little longer, but…there are so many children who need homes now, that it didn’t seem to make any sense putting it off.”

“How on earth will you choose?” Brindy asked.

“The rescue home sent me a list of them, but it is nearly impossible to decide based on a list,” Sorla said. “So we’ll just have to go and see who feels like ours.”

“What if ten of them feel like yours?”

“I don’t know; I certainly hope I can choose just one child,” Sorla said, chewing on a nail. “That’s a worry for both of us. We don’t have room for ten children and we both still plan to work and just bring them to work with us. So we really need to agree on one. Even two would be too much to keep track of at our jobs. We were wondering, Una, if you might want to go with us and help us decide if we’re really struggling with it.”

“Me? You want me to help decide!?”

Even Vi looked excited as Sorla nodded. “Obviously, if we both connect with a child right away, we won’t need your input, but if we don’t…”

“It’s good to think of these things,” Brindy said. “Last time we went to the farm to find a new guard hound, we couldn’t decide either.”

No one even bothered to acknowledge that. That should be very offensive to Fanarlem, but comparing any children to farm dogs was just so Brindy. 

“Of course I’ll go, as long as I can get off work,” Una said. “It would be an honor to welcome a new niece or nephew. Oh, Sorla, I am so happy for you both! I’ve been hoping you would adopt a baby and I was afraid Dorr would keep putting it off!”

“No, he’s as excited as I am, he just doesn’t like saying so.” Sorla glowed. “He’s already been talking about child-proofing the apothecary so he can have them in the shop in the morning when he’s mixing orders and I’m at the bakery.”

“At least Fanarlem babies can’t poison themselves,” Brindy said.

“Some things do work if we get them in our eyes, though,” Sorla said. “And there is a lot of glass to break. But it’ll be fine.”

“I can’t just make cheese toast now,” Yurya said. “That’s not celebratory, it’s too boring.”

“But I love cheese toast,” Sorla said. “It’s fine! That’s why we have the tarts.”

“I’ll make more tea as well, and use the special chuuda blend,” Una said. “And I never buy cheap cheese. So cheese toast is always special.”

Una dug out a bottle of wine while Yurya found a selection of cheese and started slicing a generous pile, racking up quite the future cheese bill for Una in order to replenish her ice box. But that was all right; it was certainly as exciting an occasion as one could imagine. There had not been a baby or small child in the family at all in several years, much less one that Una might have a hand in choosing.

The dinner conversation, naturally, was all speculation on how exactly one chose a baby from an orphanage. 

“You’ll have to leave all the rest behind,” Vi said starkly. “I imagine that will be hard. Una, you can’t even look at a litter of cats without crying. You’d better not come home with your own baby.”

“I do not want a baby,” Una said, although she could see herself being tempted. Fanarlem babies didn’t need to nurse or have their diapers changed, so it did seem like anyone could care for one and dress them up in adorable little clothes.

“Do you know the size?” Yurya said, because of course she would also be thinking of playing dress-up.

“All Fanarlem babies are the same size,” Sorla said. “I’ll ask for the measurements at the maker shop so I can make some clothes too.”

“Are they going to look…you know…terrible?” Brindy asked.

“Oh, Brin, be quiet,” Vi said.

“I don’t know,” Sorla said, her fingers fidgeting with a napkin as soon as Una dropped a pile of them on the table. “They would be intended for service, of course, and would not be well made. It depends on whether the group doing the rescues has the resources to get them new bodies. Dorr and I are both well aware that while Fanarlem babies don’t have as many physical needs as flesh and blood babies, they are usually damaged in soul. They’ll need a lot of love and attention.”

“You’ll be the perfect people to offer it,” Una said, and her heart was full thinking of her brother and Sorla caring for this tiny unknown person, who had been forced into life by the Daramons and intended for slavery, but would instead be showered with love.

However.

Seeing Dorr—unromantic Dorr—being married and happy and ready to grow a family? It only reminded Una that she didn’t even have a suitor. Neither did any of her friends. Nor were they likely to, at this point, because one third of the boys they knew had died or been utterly shattered by the war.  

Since Dorr and Sorla were the newlyweds, Una’s parents had declared that they could have the family home. Dorr had to pay for this apartment for Una in exchange for keeping the house.

No one exactly consulted Una about this plan, although it wasn’t like Una would argue it either. Of course the elder brother with the wife was going to get the house, and of course Una wouldn’t want to be in their way constantly. It was quite nice to have her own apartment where she could leave messes around without anyone tsking over her and keep all the skeletons of her past cats on the altar without anyone telling her that her great-great-grandfather’s memorial bones were supposed to go on that shelf.

But it was lonely. 

Una hated that loneliness bothered her so much. She had tried to overcome it, particularly that creeping loneliness of the dark nights. Dark nights were so romantic! She should have been in her element; she had always adored walking the Ven-Diri graveyard in the silvery moonlight, especially in the soft quiet of winter snow. She had always thought of herself as a solitary girl, passionate yet aloof. If Varrie was in love with her, who could blame him when she worked quite hard to style herself after the heroines in novels?

She was now the only one in her group of friends with her own place. Vi still lived with her wealthy family in a house so large that she had not just a bedroom but her own “quarters”, and Yurya and Brindy were already sharing a tiny, awkward place together.

Una’s apartment was perfectly snug and cozy, just the right size for a young, independent woman, which Una certainly fancied herself to be. When it was full of all of her friends making cheese toast and interrupting each other with their enthusiasm, it was perfect.

Once they left, that was another matter. 

They talked for hours, and ate every scrap of food, and played with Una’s cats. Vi did a dramatic reading of two poems she had written, one about a witch who is haunted by her trao’ma, the other half of her own soul whom she herself had murdered, and the other about a haunted, hollow man who crawls out of his own grave looking for the woman he loves, only to realize she had been buried beside him. Una did always enjoy Vi’s poems. Yurya and Sorla walked out together, discussing the clothes for the baby. Brindy was always half-drunk by the time the night was over, giggling and leaning into someone.

Una shut the door into the silence. It was two in the morning. The fire was crackling gently, and all the cats were asleep on the rug after chasing around their string and felted toys.

Una settled onto the rug with the cats. She had been sleeping there a little too often in the dim glow of the embers, waking up with a weird neck pain, because it felt safer somehow. 

I do wonder where Varrie is. Is he warm? Does he have a bed? Are his bones rotting away somewhere, uncared for?

Una sighed, and reached for the book he had given her before he left. She hated to admit that she was reading it for the third time, that it was exactly the sort of thing to mesmerize her. When he brought it to her, one of the lines had been underlined in pencil already, and perhaps it was that faint pencil that haunted her more than anything.

“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another…”