A new direction for my books — a contemporary fantasy set in Iceland..;
It’s here! Falconsaga has been released to the wild. If you would support me by looking at it, downloading it on Kindle Unlimited, buying en ebook for yourself or as a gift, or — best of all — ordering a paperback copy, I would be very grateful. This book is a labor of love for me, combining my childhood fascination with Norse mythology, my deep appreciation for the country of Iceland, and my love of a good, slow-burn romance.
Here are some teaser images and a snippet from the chapter that introduces Altair, a human from Boston who is heading to Iceland. He has no idea what turns his life is about to take…
Trausti swept into the apartment then, tall and commanding. Dark blond hair gleamed, and his dark suit looked expensive and out of place in what was essentially a university student apartment. Altair tucked his hands into pockets rather than reaching for the hug he knew would not come from his uncle.
“Altair, my boy. I’m so excited for you to take this journey. Back to the land of our ancestors, yes?”
“I still can’t believe my grandmother came from Iceland,” Altair murmured, a bit resentful of his uncle’s Nordic height. “I don’t look anything like the pictures I’ve seen of people there.”
“That’s your mother’s blood showing through.” Trausti tousled Altair’s short hair, then stepped back. “I didn’t know her, of course, but her people are usually dark.”
“Her people?”
“She was Arabic, wasn’t she?”
“Well, her parents were,” Altair agreed. “Mom was born in the States.”
Trausti dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “As I said. I’m surprised your father was drawn to her. Perhaps it was the exotic features. Though, of course, Fálki left her, too. He simply lost interest at some point, I expect.”
Altair choked back the instinct to defend his mother. After all, it wasn’t Trausti’s fault that his brother Fálki had abandoned his wife and child.
Resentment suddenly flared bright in Altair. He pictured his father as he’d last seen him, when he was three years old. Or maybe he was remembering photos: His dad in his uniform as a pilot for a regional airline, short like Altair ended up, but with blond hair instead of the reddish-brown Altair had from his mother.
Altair remembered being carried in his mom’s arms that awful day, as they waved goodbye from a fence next to the airfield. Dad climbed into the cockpit, started the engine, and taxied away. That was the last time they saw him.
If Altair had known his father was leaving them and had no plans to return, would he have hugged him harder? Would Dad have stayed if Altair had been more interesting and less awkward? Would Altair have avoided the foster system after Mom died?
Trausti clapped his hands suddenly, the sound making Altair jump. He must have been standing there, wool-gathering, for quite a while.
“I’m sorry,” Altair said. “I think I dozed off or something.”
“Don’t sweat it, bro,” Jason said easily. “You’ve been stressing about this trip. It’s sure to have messed up your sleep. You ready to head out now?”
“One last thing before you go,” Trausti said.
He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and brought out a small, hard-bound book. It seemed to have a red cover…no, it was more beige, and sort of mottled.
Altair blinked again, and the book had a pink cover, with a floral design. He shook his head. He must really be exhausted, the way his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Trausti held out the book reverently. “This was my mother’s diary,” he said. “She wrote about growing up in Iceland, and then about her experiences when she emigrated to the United States. I’d like you to have this, my boy. It will keep you company when you feel isolated in Iceland and remind you that you are connected to the land.”
Altair reached for the book, but Trausti jerked it back. He leaned closer, dark eyes burning into Altair’s. “This is very precious to me. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“And you will keep it safe, won’t you?”
“Yes. Very safe.” His own voice seemed to come from a distance. All he could see were Trausti’s eyes, like obsidian.
“Best to keep it private. In fact, don’t think about it too much. Just take comfort in knowing you have a tangible connection to your homeland.”
Altair took the book in both of his hands, holding it gently, by the edges. A shudder passed through him at the touch. Opening his satchel, he tucked the book into one of its interior pockets, made sure it was secure, and buckled the bag’s clasp again.
The room swam for a moment, and Altair reached out a steadying hand. Willa took it.
“You’re fine, Altair,” she said bracingly. “Just low blood sugar. You didn’t eat enough lunch.”
“Right,” he said, a bit dazed. “I didn’t eat enough lunch. Um, sorry. What were we talking about?”
Jason chuckled. “About getting your ass to the airport in time to catch this flight. It’s going to change your life, man. Just watch!”
