Sorcery and Sandstorms, The Weaver’s War, writing

Sorcery and Sandstorms Release Day

It’s here! At last! Hooray!

This book has run the rollercoaster of emotions. There has been laughter. Tears. Rage. Love.

But it’s here now, for you to enjoy! If you want to pick up a digital copy, this is the place to go. For those who had hard copies already on order, you’ll be hearing from me soon. For those who might want a hard copy but haven’t ordered one yet, drop me a line over social media or by email.

Either way, Happy Release Day!

Oh, and if you haven’t yet made the leap, here’s a sneaky peek from Chapter One:

One.
Flare.

Flare stared at the kaleidoscope of colours swirling in the bottom of his glass. Red, gold, amber; all flickering with hidden rainbows as the fire sputtered in the hearth. Beautiful and… empty. Already? He tipped the glass upside down to make sure and it slipped through nerveless fingers, bounced off the arm of his favourite chair and smashed on the floor at his feet.

Shit.

Flare rubbed his face and blinked bleary eyes at the dimly lit room. There were other glasses… somewhere. Or maybe it was time to stop pretending to be civilized and just swig straight from the bottle. He tilted his head and stared into the fireplace, contemplating the idea. Yeah, straight from the bottle would do just fine, so long as he could get to it.

Flare rolled to his feet, maintaining an upright position with willpower alone. His latest batch of firewhiskey, no more than a day old, stood in neat glass bottles along the liquor cabinet. Measuring the distance, he took a cautious step. Two. Now three… Ooh. Why was the room tilting like that? Flare threw out a hand and managed to catch hold of the back of a stool, gripping with white knuckled fingers.

Maybe some breathing exercises would help. He just had to stand still for a minute, close his eyes, cycle air in through his nose and out through his mouth. Repeat. Feeling hopeful, Flare cracked an eyelid and peered blearily around him. Nope, the wallpaper was still crawling. Damn. Since when was it so bright in his sitting room, anyway? Hadn’t he turned off all the lights? Flare checked his hands in case he’d accidentally cast another drunken spell, but his fingers swam in and out of focus so quickly it was impossible to tell what they’d been doing while he was distracted. Still, the light was blue, and his fire magic was orange, which meant it had to be coming from somewhere else… and it was getting brighter. Careful not to disturb his fragile balance, Flare splayed one hand across the back of the stool and turned to look.

The room exploded.

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