Announcing Quill & Spark by Bannerwing Books

It's Finally Here!!!

Back in March, I headed the open call to submit a story to Bannerwing Books for inclusion to their maiden publication of Quill & Spark, literary magazine. I am proud to say that my submission was selected. And now, Quill & Spark is available for purchase.

And what is my submitted work, you ask? Que the drum roll, please. A cross-genre hopper: a dark fantasy thriller romance:

A Pretense of Court and Courtship, by Shelton Keys Dunning

But wait, there's more!

Amazing works of love and sacrifice, of broken hearts and potential couplings, await you in this inaugural issue.  Your heart will sing, cry, laugh, and sigh with these small tales and poems. But, as we all know, the best things come in small packages, and these literary gems will certainly not disappoint.

Go Get Yours Now!

Behold!

Quill & Spark available on Smashwords here.

Quill & Spark available for Kindle here

I will keep you updated with other formats as they become available. Stay tuned for great stories!

Autumn's Death (WoE #43)

Write at the Merge gives us the word pine and the following picture for inspiration.

Photo courtesy unsplash by way of Write On Edge

I have a renaissance faire to attend this weekend, in Escondido, California. With the recent weather and my thoughts colliding with another century, I wanted to return to my Anastasia and Arik, the Count of Monteschell. We last learned what a true beast Anastasia's brother is. The stakes of the game of power and royal favor are about to get more risky. This week's post, more than the seasons change.

I offer the following in response: The Death of Autumn's Reign

Trees pined for winter and dropped their scarlet and golden tears on the weathered gazebo deck, in requiem for its forgotten ash grove. Children played nearby under the scrutiny of the waning sun, oblivious to the end of autumn as if seduced by a piper clad in a pied cloak. Anastasia knew the moment autumn died; she felt the seasons shift in her bones. She drew her shawl closed and tasted snow on the eastern breeze.

A bad omen, withal. The season turned too early.

“M’Lady,” her footman said, leading her steed to her. “We should return.”

“We are waiting.”

He shook his head, “Twilight is approaching. His Grace will not come at this hour.”

Anastasia shivered. The footman was right, of course, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Something felt off. “We are waiting.”

“M’Lady, your teeth are chattering.”

Her breath rose in smoke-like tendrils. “We are still waiting.”

The children abandoned their games in a slow exodus from the field, the heartiest soul among them the last to leave. The footman bounced in his place. “M’Lady, this cold isn’t good for the horses. Will you not think of them?”

Ground-born thunder rolled through the meadow before the royal standards appeared through the tree line. “Damn,” she whispered as the King’s horsemen rose into view. One soon broke from the train, leading the others in formation and panic squeezed her heart as she realized the men had been sent for her. And her Arik rode among them. “Please, don’t leave me, Cullen.”

The footman was a beacon of fear. “Yes, m’lady.”

A nobleman dismounted and joined her count as he crossed the empty space between Anastasia and the circled soldiers. She dropped into a low curtsy, at their approach, uneasy at the display of force. Why was Arik riding with the King’s men and why were there so many of them?”

“My Lady Dumarche,” Arik extended a hand to help her rise. “I apologize for the show of force. I bring you grim news.”

Blood pumped in her ears. “I am your servant, Your Grace.”

“I am on King’s Business,” he continued. “His majesty has taken ill and your father has been arrested. Your brother is acting on behalf of your lands and requests that you return to your home at once.”

If her brother controlled her fortune, she could very well end up the next morning dead of poison, or worse, discarded in the old oubliette. She sucked in a stiff breath and stared against Arik’s hard gaze, seeking silent his guidance. “Your Grace, I beseech you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. There were too many witnesses to be informal. “As it is a long journey back to my father’s palace, and as the cold is unbearable, might I impose upon your custody and weather the night at Monteschell?”

Arik’s face relaxed, a spark of hope danced in his eyes. “That is a reasonable request. Come. Mount your horse. We will to my father’s stead.”

The Count's Return (WoE 37)

Write at the Merge gave us two photos of The Breakers estate in Newport, Rhode Island.

I decided to go the lap of luxury route, instead of focusing on the Breakers.

And I found it inspiring to the tune of 540 words. And I don't want to edit, so this week I'm cheating.

Sorry.

No, not really.

I'm returning to Anastasia and her Count Arik. First found here and next here, I'm showing you just how dark her world is.

Not the Breakers, but a castle in Ireland

I offer the following in response: Deception Challenge

Edwin smirked. “You believe he’s still interested? You did spurn him.”

Her brother’s proximity made her skin crawl. She hid her reaction by fussing with a floral arrangement. “I did not rebuke him in as much as I presented him a challenge.”

“Still, men do not like to be made the fool. He’s likely to…take…what he wants when next you meet.” His smirk became a badge of pure evil. “If next you meet.”

The fine hairs at the base of her skull rose. Personal experience laced her brother’s words. How many maids had he subdued? She willed her hand free of tremor. Any sign of weakness or fear would cause the tiger lurking in Edwin to pounce, and there were appearances to keep. “Edwin, you mistake my refusal for a child’s misstep. I am well aware of the stakes in this game. Give me a little credit. I am, after all, our father’s daughter.”

He stepped closer, his thigh brushing against her gown. His hot breath fell damp upon her cheek. “Even so, sweet sister, the rules of the game changes with the players.”

She met the acid in his stare. “You will keep your distance, honorable brother, and let this play without your interference. The end result will benefit us all.”

He laughed and kissed her neck. It was a malevolent gesture, not a tender one. As she recoiled, she knocked the vase of flowers off its pedestal. Porcelain shards of ancient tradition shattered across the state floor. Edwin gripped her shoulders and struck her chin, rendering her like the vase, to the mercy of gravity. “Clumsy fool. That will cost you dear I’m afraid.”

“I see the gossipmongers speak the truth of you, Little Lord Dumarche.” The Count of Monteschell, her Arik, stood in the grand doorway of the foyer flanked by the servant that gave him admittance to their estate.

 The wild hunger fled Edwin’s eyes. He straightened before turning to face his better. “That I run a tight ship, Arik?”

“I’ll enforce my rank here, if you don’t mind,” Arik was stone.

Anastasia rose in the thickening tension. Edwin rubbed his knuckles. “As you command, Your Grace,” he managed a shallow bow.

“You are dismissed, sir, for my business is with the Lady Dumarche.”

“Your Grace,” Edwin bowed again. Anastasia caught his cold stare as he swaggered up the stairs, an animal to lick his wounded pride in solitude.

“Thank you for your timely intervention, your Grace,” Anastasia touched her tender chin. “But I am more than capable of handling my brother.”

“Clearly.” Arik cocked his head. “I will keep this brief then. I sent you a ring. Why did you return it?”

She fluttered her lashes, “The game, your Grace. Appearances must be maintained.”

“The game?” He heaved a sigh. “I thought you different. Am I wrong?”

“No. I dislike deception.” She looked to the staircase, “But our world is a dangerous one, and I cannot afford to ignore the game.”

He held out the cabochon ring. “Then take this ring. Let there be no games between us.”

The green gem winked in the dim light. Anastasia forgot her pain.

Write On Edge: Chatoyant Challenge

Red Writing Hood this week is inspired by T.S. Elliot's cat-naming piece. We have 500 words to explore either the beauty of words or cats, or to be inspired by chatoyant, a gemology word that means like a cat's eye, referring to the specific type of shimmer in a band of reflected light in a gemstone... 

A couple months ago, I responded to another prompt inspired by Clue, and delightfully unconventional characters named Anastasia and Arik were born. I decided to add another chapter to her story. I thought of what her own family might be like for her to have such disdain for nobility.


I offer the following in response: The Count's Offering

Anastasia clutched her shawl at her shoulders, peering through the pane at the dreariness leaking from the sky. Rain kept the week gray and her diary dismal, with no end in sight.

“The count’s man stopped by,” her brother slithered into the room behind her, “and left this parcel for you.”

She turned, suspicion bubbling in her lungs. “Are you completing my lady’s tasks now Edwin? Surely deliveries are beneath your station. Mother would not approve.”

His sneer was even more condescending than normal. Edwin visited her bedchamber far too often, eagerly expressing criticism of her dress or demeanor. The waistcoat and tails he sported were the same as last night’s manner of dress, and the look in his eyes disturbed her when she realized he had conquered another unsuspecting handmaiden. “Mother does not approve of a great many things. Thankfully, Father isn’t bothered by my antics.”

“His mistress keeps him happy, then?” she quipped. Anastasia had no room in her heart for anything other than disdain towards her father. She never had reason to speak well of him.

Edwin shrugged, “She must. He hasn’t banished her yet.”

A grin born of the devil smeared across his face. She dreamed of reaching out for the candlestick and bashing his thick skull in. “So, you’ve a parcel for me? I suggest you leave it then and vacate my bedchamber before your stench permeates the furniture.”

He laughed: an irritating sound that drowned the distant thunder. He placed a smartly wrapped box on her table. “As you wish, my dear, sweet sister.”

She waited for him to leave before she left her window to investigate the parcel. It was wrapped in a rich emerald velvet and trimmed with a delicate lace. Anastasia removed the top, pulling a note from the box. The cursive was concise as if written by a hand unaccustomed to decorative loops and swirls, quite the contrast to the wrapping on the box.

Do me the honor and wear this ring, the note commanded. It was signed Arik, with an awkward space trailing below, as if his combined noble titles and stations were an afterthought.

The ring itself was magnificent in its simplicity. Light reflected off the smoky striations of the cabochon-cut gem, a chatoyant green to rival the velvet box. Her heart jumped as she slid the ring on her finger. The fit surprised her. It was perfect.

Her lady-in-waiting announced her arrival with a brief knock. “Oh, your ladyship, that jewel is pure beauty,” she breathed.

Anastasia nodded, sighing wistfully. “It’s a pity I have to return it, Lynnette.”

“Return it?” Lynnette’s eyes glinted with confusion.

“Yes. One must refuse the first gifts of a count if one expects to wed him. It’s best to appear cold and distant than eager and yielding; else he becomes bored and moves onto a different conquest.” The light shifted, causing the gemstone to wink at her. “Still, it’s a lovely ring.”

 

Write On Edge: Clue Challenge

Red Writing Hood this week's challenge gives us three words inspired by the popular Hasbro board game CLUE: Scarlet, Library, Candlestick. The word limit (including the three mandatory words) is 250.

I love this game. I suck at playing it. I never managed to develop a strategy that worked. Never winning has never curbed my appeal for the game. I happily roll the die and plop my plastic pieces in any nearby room and cheer the winner when a successful accusation is made.

The game was originally published in England, I believe, in/around 1947? (Don't quote me on that, my knowledge is rusty and I'm too lazy to research it this week). Several spinoffs exist, but the original is still my favorite.

When the movie starring some of my all-time favorite actors was released, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Quotes from the film wind their way into my daily speech often. I'm a geek that way.




I offer the following in response: The Deception Hour

Anastasia peeled the mask from her face, disgusted at the whole affair. Gaudy wealth dripped from every inch of the masquerade. Prancing puppets, she thought, retreating from the dancers to the library. Spying candlestick after garish candlestick wedged between leather-bound books, she scowled on principle.

“May I offer you a drink?”

She tilted her head towards the voice. “Thank you,” she accepted the small crystal-clad cordial from his silver tray. “A fine mess this is. Butlering for us must be dreadful.”

A sly smile surfaced to his mouth. “Dancing among you would be worse.”

She laughed, “Agreed. They are vultures, vampires seeking blood and bragging rights. And, according to my mother, the elite from which to choose a spouse.”

His smile grew toothier. “M'lady, isn’t it scandalous to discuss such matters with servants?”

She displayed her mask to him, “No one here is who she appears to be.”

“Have you yet seen the gardens?” he gestured towards the glass doors to the patio. “I understand the Scarlet Pearls are quite lovely to behold.”

She paused. Her mother would be furious, but the servant was the most promising companion of the evening. “Are you at liberty to escort me?”

“I am…for you.”

Anastasia welcomed the crisp air as they escaped to the outdoors. At the edge of a sculpted herb garden, she forced introductions. “Anastasia Dumarche.”

He kissed her hand. “Arik Lyon, Count of Monteschell, your humble servant.”

Her heart flitted like the hovering stars above. Her mother would be pleased.