Have you ever had one of those weeks where all you can do is stand back and say, “Wow…” like Owen Wilson does in every movie he’s ever in? I feel like there is a certain amount of shell shock going on with me (not, of course, to trivialize actual shell shock!) just because of the train wreck that has been going on with the podcast.

I lost an entire episode from an author, I missed an interview twice with the same author, and I discovered that one of the interviews I did stopped recording half way through. This podcast. How? I have no clue.

I had to air it anyway, though, because Jenelle was such a great guest (I literally had voice envy. That’s a thing, right?) I have no doubt, this podcast (a half hour today!) will leave wishing you could have heard the rest of it. I certainly hope you’ll pick up a copy of her new book and dive into the fantasy world she’s created! If not you, at least your kids. :)

The first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, illuminating the thin layer of frost covering the ground. Each blade of grass glistened in the nacreous light of dawn. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the warmth of its rays gradually melted the frost into crystal beads.

“Grayden! Wake up! Wake up! Today is Harvest Festival!”

Grayden groaned and threw an arm above his head, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling his blanket over his face. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he was certain it was earlier than he wanted it to be. A small but powerful force landed on his stomach.

“Oof,” he grunted.

The covers pulled away, and he squinted blearily into a pair of bright green eyes. He sighed. He would never get back to sleep now.

“What time is it, Seren?”

“The sun is up. Come on, Grayden! Today is the big celebration!”

“I know that, Seren,” Grayden groaned. “Do you know what is special about today?”

She sat back, looking thoughtful. “We celebrate the crops we’ve grown and the hard work that brought them to fru... fru...” Her brow wrinkled with deep concentration. “Fruit-shon. And this year we’re throwing a party for you and Wynn!” Her excitement could not be contained, and she bounced up and down on his stomach.

“And we also generally rest, Seren. That means we get to sleep in.”

“I slept in... well, a little. Ma said I couldn’t wake you till the sun was all the way up. I waited a whole hour.” Seren’s eyes widened dramatically. “The chronometer moves so slowly.”

Grayden couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, for that incredible feat of patience, I suppose I should thank you.”

Seren nodded, her brown curls bouncing around her small face. “You’re welcome.”

Now that Grayden had woken up more, he grew impish. “Know what else happens on Harvest Festival?”

“No.”

“Big brothers are allowed to tickle their annoying little sisters who wake them up too early!”

“No!” Seren shrieked as Grayden grinned and formed his hands into claws. He growled and tossed his covers off as Seren dove toward the edge of the bed. He caught her leg and started tickling the bottom of her foot, causing her to squirm and giggle. She kicked at him with her other foot, but her six-year-old strength was no match for him.

The door to Grayden’s bedroom swung open and Grayden paused, looking up at the cheerful face of his mother. He let go of Seren, who half-clambered, half-fell out of the bed. Their mother put her hands on her hips.

“Grayden is demonstrating one of the Festival traditions, I see,” she said.

“Mother!” Seren scrambled to the doorway. “You mean it’s true?”

“I’m afraid so,” their mother replied. “But only once during the day.” She winked at her son, and Grayden beamed back at her. “Come on, Seren, I need your help with the biscuits, and Grayden needs to get up and ready for his big day.”

Grayden felt a strange prickle of tangled emotions skitter through his mind at her words. Seren bounced out of the room and Dara smiled after the little girl, then looked over at Grayden. He saw many of his own emotions peering out at him through her eyes: pride, joy, fear, sorrow, and a little wistfulness.

“Your father’s out milking the cow. He thought you should get to sleep in, but he also mentioned a pile of wood that needs chopping.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Dara left and Grayden swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit the floorboards and he gasped at the cold. It seemed they had gotten the last of the cherry harvest in just in time. Apple-picking would begin soon. He pulled on his brown trousers and blue tunic, stuffing his feet into socks and pulling on his worn shoes. Then he went outside to the pump and splashed water on his face and hair. Toweling off with the rough cloth hanging by the pump, Grayden looked in the plate-glass window and examined his faint reflection. A tall boy stood looking back at him: square jaw, blue-gray eyes, sandy brown hair that gave his mother fits trying to keep it tidy it grew so fast, broad shoulders, and strong arms, deeply tanned skin from working long hours in the orchards. He wore clothes that had been patched several times in various places. He shrugged at the reflection. He would change his shirt for the festival, but there was no point in wearing his best clothes while he did his daily chores. Finished with washing up, he stepped inside the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?”

Dara smiled. “Not today. Just sit down and keep Seren company. Breakfast is ready.”

Grayden sat down at the table, his insides hopping about like the little frogs down at the pond. His mother brought over a plate of warm biscuits slathered with freshly churned butter and blackberry preserves. He helped get one for Seren before taking one himself. Dara brought over another platter of thickly sliced ham and hard-cooked eggs. Seren bounced in her seat while Grayden filled her plate.

“Can’t sit still?” Grayden teased his little sister.

Seren made a face at him, but she did stop wiggling as she focused on her plate. Grayden dug into his food with enthusiasm. There was nothing like his mother’s cooking. He would miss it. A lump formed in his throat, but he shook his head, swallowing past it. He would not focus on that today. Today was about celebrating. Blessedly, he was distracted from his thoughts by the door opening and his father striding in, a bucket of fresh, frothy milk in each hand. He set them both on the counter and ladled out tall glasses of the smooth liquid.

“Thought you could use fresh milk for breakfast,” he said, setting the glasses on the table and sitting down next to Grayden. “Sleep well, son?”

“Until Seren jumped on me.”

A rogue airship captain. An ambitious youth. A clash of powers beyond their imagination.

With scholarships to a prestigious military school, Grayden and Wynn are thirsty for adventure. But the night before they leave, they discover the mysterious Dalmir and his arcane orb in the forsaken tower outside of town. The old man, who seems to have a wealth of knowledge of what came before and yet so little of the now, insists on accompanying them as they travel to the academy.

Meanwhile, all pirate Captain Marik wants is to keep to the skies, take his due, and care for his crew. Then a straightforward pillaging mission on a ship of fresh academy students leads to betrayal from one of his own and an unlikely friendship forged by necessity.

Yet this new alliance stirs up ancient foes and a conflict too terrible to ignore. Despite Grayden’s inexperience and Marik’s skepticism, working together with Dalmir is their only option.

The fate of the world depends on it.

A clean gaslamp fantasy adventure filled with steadfast friendship, brotherhood, twisty politics, and epic airship battles.

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