When I set out to write my first fantasy book, I did not think it was going to be a series. Five books later (three published and two in various stages of drafting), I can only guess how many more books will be written in the world I first imagined. There are days when I think it will be nine and others when it is ten. We will see. There are other places and other stories that I would like to explore, but I am committed to at least exploring three more books in the world of Almoriden.
I am very pleased how book four is taking shape. It is refreshing to come back to characters instead of inventing all new ones. It also provides an interesting way to read or reread the series. Chronologically, this book takes place second in the series. So, if you have only read The Prince of Gylion it is perfectly fine to jump right into this story. The goal is to write additional books for each of the three viewpoint characters.
Jaemis:
The Prince of Gylion - Book One
The Painted Ship - Book Four
TBD - Book Seven
Floridine:
The Artist of Oesterfeld - Book Two The Sapphire Gate - Book Five
TBD - Book Eight
Mikkjal:
The Merchant of Vaetskan - Book Three
TBD - Book Six
TBD - Book Nine
I do not have a solid date of when The Painted Ship will be finished, but I am about 72% finished working my way through the draft. After that, I run it by my alpha reader and make a few edits based on that feedback. I am hoping it will be ready to be published before November, when I plan on writing the first draft of Book Six.
As a special treat, here is an excerpt from "Chapter One" of the Painted Ship. Please remember that this is an uncorrected proof and copyrighted material. Please do not quote from this excerpt. If you have not read The Prince of Gylion, you can get your free copy here. Enjoy!
"Excerpt from Chapter One"
Selja kicked me out of the kitchen after I unsuccessfully juggled three of the eggs. I waited in the drawing room. The room had large bay windows with lattice glass that faced the bay. One of these was cracked open to let in the early summer breeze. A small collection of books occupied a row of shelves on the far wall. Most of these were Selja's notebooks that she had rewritten since we arrived in Almoriden. There was one exception. I reached for the small bound volume and untied the leather clasp that held it bound.
The paper smelled of lamp oil, and there were several stains from drips when late nights required hasty filling. The penmanship was like my own but messy. I stopped on a page that was mid-poem.
The wind that winds eastward
melodic in cold tones
once sang a song of fools
gambling for stone thrones.
If wind be silver paint
melodic in cold tones,
give me a painted ship
for toppling stone thrones.
The poem went on about bones and blood, but I had read it all before. The whole collection seemed a criticism of every choice I made. Restless were those first years as king, and the Mariner—that double of myself—wrote his lengthy poem while I slept. I translated about a quarter of the poems in the back of the book, and I decided to continue that work.
I closed my eyes and wondered if reading his words would wake him. I wrapped the book in an oilcloth Selja kept on the bookcase to protect books when she traveled. I slipped the bundled book of poems in the pocket of my cloak.
I walked to the fireplace and fingered the cold, iron handles of the tools that dangled from hooks embedded in the stone. A new painting hung over the mantle. The previous painting was a landscape of Blackwell—snow-crested mountain looming over a mirror lake. The new scene depicted a dark and turbulent sea. A distant ship navigated the swells. The ship was not unlike the Grogos.
I longed for the wind and water but saw oil and fabric—a painted ship on a painted ocean. Perhaps I had, as the Mariner accused, traded a ship for a throne. It was not as simple as the poem or painting depicted, but both no longer occupied the same space at the same time.
"I bought that painting at the Almoriden market," Selja said. She eased behind me and handed me a bowl with only two fried eggs but a hearty helping of grits.
"You are not supposed to go to market," I said.
"If you visited more often, I would not have to sneak out."
I took a large bite of food.
"Do you like the painting?" she asked.
"It saddens me in a pleasant way," I observed.
She nodded.
"That was how I knew I must have it."
"I want us to be happy."
"I can be patient," she said, "but you have to recognize when your work is finished. And when it is, we need to be on that ship."
I stared at the little vessel. Its sails were trimmed, but the angle at which it approached the serge was too shallow. The tribulations of the sea seemed real, but the ship was artifice.
"I promise that we will sail east before the year's end. The winds and waves are favorable in that season, and I will have the time to set right my father’s house."
She stared at me and then the painting.
"For some reason, I cannot picture us on a calm sea—even if we make it onto the water.”
“I can handle a turbulent crossing,” I said.
“I hope you are right."
She sat on the small couch and watched me eat. A servant knocked on the door and informed Selja that my horse was prepared.
The road to Almoriden was long, but I knew the path well. There would be time to think and plan. I now had a deadline and a lead.
"When will you come again?" Selja asked as I removed my brother’s sword from pegs on the wall.
"If not this next month, then the next."
"And if not that month, then the next," she said.
"I wish I had a better answer."
"Be gone then. I will pack my things and practice my sailing knots. It will be good to see Gylion again. I hope father is well."
"All intelligence suggests that he is. He will be happy to have you back."
I kissed her.
"Safe travels, stranger."
I kissed her again.
I need more!