🚨Safety Alert Australia

If you rely on a hidden phone for your safety, be aware that Australia’s new emergency warning system, AusAlert, can send alerts that override silent and “Do Not Disturb” settings.

If safe to do so, turn off any hidden device before the scheduled test and only switch it back on after the test period has ended.

—

Tamora Pierce

i will never get tired of images of jon giving in to the ladies

She watches, and she listens, and she talks it over with her father – not all of it, not the stuff about Sarai, but the racial politics. And he looks at her and sighs, because she’s twelve and he loves her and she shouldn’t have to think about these things, but he talks with her about it, because she’s half Raka and will inherit this world his ancestors built and deserves to know about it. And Mequen’s a moderate, a believer, someone who puts all of his faith in his friends and truly, genuinely believes that the current system can be fixed. He knows more than he lets on about the prophecy and about his family – he and Sarguani talked about it once, just once, in hushed voices, when they found out that her first child would be a daughter – but he desperately wants to believe – needs to believe – that there is a peaceful way.

But then Bronau attacks, and Mequen is killed by a man he considered nearly a brother, and Dove realizes that they cannot count on the system to protect them. She already knows that the crown actively despises the Raka; now she realizes that the crown cares only slightly more for the Luarin, for the nobility, for its own blood relations. She goes to find Ulasim the very next day.

The second book can stay basically the same. The Balitang family goes back to Rajmuat. Dove, a member of the Raka conspiracy in her own right by now, a young lady rather than a child, takes on a more active role against Ulasim’s wishes. She has the blood as much as her sister, and she will not be part of any regime that doesn’t talk to the people. Ulasim, who sees in her the same fire as he sees in Sarai, as he saw in Sarugani, backs down.

And so things escalate. Navigating the regent’s court, from Dove’s perspective, would be heartbreaking and fascinating and infuriating. Gone is the detached observational tone we get from Aly. Instead we watch as Dove swallows the insults and the condescension. We watch as Dove’s little brother befriends the young king, as Dove herself makes conversation with Taybur and slowly, unwillingly, comes to the heartwrenching realization that both boys are in terrible danger and that there is only so much she can do to protect them. Her influence only goes so far, and she knows enough of the rebellion, of its scope and its stakes, to know how much she would be asking of them if she asked for mercy. 

Sarai, proud, headstrong, passionate, chafing desperately under the expectations placed upon her by everyone, takes her life into her own hands and flees. Dove reads her farewell letter and sees in the eyes of every Raka in that room that, in their minds, all is ruined. She lifts her head and sticks out her chin and, the moment they return to Rajmuat, reminds them that Sarai was not Sarugani’s only daughter. They argue – she is too young, she is too serious, she does not know what a burden she will be taking up – but she stands her ground and, in the end, whether because they believe in her or because they have run out of options, the leaders of the rebellion accept her as their future queen.

The regents – guided by Kyprioth, who cares nothing for individual lives, who plays a game of chess on a cosmic scale and sees his chosen as pawns and barely notices anyone else – give the order to create a storm. The king’s ship is dashed to pieces by the waves. Dove watches Winna, watches Taybur, watches the Raka leaders, and does not know how to feel. She goes to the rebellion’s leaders later, after she has put Winna to bed, and looks at them, her face still wet with tears, her gown a mess from the long wait in the storm, and says that she will not start her reign with the blood of children. She cannot – will not – ask for a bloodless revolution. Her people have gone through too much and the Luarin hold their power too jealously. But this, the murder of children for no crime other than the blood flowing through their veins, cannot be a precedent, cannot be a roadmap for things to come. Someone says something about the God, and Dove glances up towards the ceiling and says, to both the Raka and to Kyprioth, that if the God has a problem with that he can deal with her directly.

(He does. He comes to see her that night, in all his glory, comes to meet the girl who will free him from his shackles. He takes her on a tour of the Isles, soars across emerald jungles and sparkling seas, and tells her that soon it will all be hers. She shakes her head and says that, no, soon it will be theirs, and he looks at her like he’s never seen her before before sweeping her up into a hug.)

Dove dances through the minefield that is the royal court, learns from Ulasim how to rule and from the regents how not to, studies history and economy and geography, talks to shopkeepers and sailors and beggars. She watches as the crown soldiers trample the poor, notes how they mow down Raka and Luarin alike, and weaves this into her conversations. With growing rapidity, Rajmuat comes to a boiling point.

-Kally’s story, obviously

-A story set in the time of Jason the conqueror (Jon’s grandfather), possibly about Lianne navigating the court and marrying Roald. I want to see how female agency works in a more traditionally feminine setting. We’ve seen how more atypical Tortallan women get their agency (knighthood, magic, etc), but I’d like to see how a convent-raised woman navigates her world (without going the ‘supporting a wannabe tyrant’ route of someone like Delia. Although, now that I mention it, Delia’s story would be fun too).

-A story from the perspective of a Stormwing. In keeping with the themes Tammy keeps returning to, I want the story of the first Stormwing to become a knight.

No, no, no, no I can’t do it. Kel is my lady, my light, my love–and I can’t imagine a world where the people on that war front would ever have allowed her death. So let’s tell this story–she was found guilty of treason. She was sentenced to death, kneeling on that Tortallan river mud, enemy territory a stone’s throw behind her, hundreds of abandoned souls saved by her stubborn hands. 

Dutiful misery was stark in the grip Wyldon used to pull her to her feet and tie her hands behind her. (He would not leave that job to a lesser man.) Rage poured off Raoul, simmering, trapped. The King’s Own protested–when they shut themselves up it was not at their commander’s order but at Kel’s quelling shake of her head.

Wyldon could protect Owen, who was his squire and his responsibility. The King’s Own had technically, roughly, been following orders. The rescued civilians were ushered toward safety with faintly awed hands. Kel, Merric, and Neal were ushered forward, too, by awed hands, but it was with their own hands bound behind them and it was not toward safety.

But the awe was there– these knights had done the impossible. They had gone into enemy territory, after monsters made of death and metal, and saved their people. They had done the impossible– they had put protecting homeless peasants above obeying their lord. Wyldon tied each of their hands behind their backs and they did not apologize. Neal raised his chin like he was challenging Wyldon to demand it of him.

But the Giantkiller fortress was flooded with children and civilians who had been written off as collateral damage. After days of hard travel, the children were no longer unnaturally clean and coiffed; they would always be scared. They would always be brave. They would not allow Kel to be the price paid for their lives.

A pretty young woman who had once stabbed a Scanran slaver to death found out where they were keeping Kel and her knights. Children threw tantrums to distract while the ex-convicts picked the locks on their doors. Tobe got the horses and kept them quiet. When they got to the main gates again, Neal ready to put them all to sleep, the guards turned around the same way they had days before and let them through.

Up in the commander’s quarters, Wyldon slept restlessly. He had told Keladry of Mindelan once that he believed the best thing that could be said of his tenure as training master was that she had been in his care. He still believed that to be true, but he had his orders. When they woke him, he would be stranded somewhere between rage and relief.

Only a handful of Haven civilians came out into the woods with Kel that night. Neal tsked about Giantkiller’s healers and worked on them all while Merric went though their stolen saddlepacks and took inventory. Fanche pulled bread, cheese, and knives out of her bulging skirts and passed them around.

Kel sat, staring at the space they would have put a fire if they had thought it was safe to light one. Neal bullied some bread into her and Merric asked, “What do we do now, Kel?”

She considered saying, “Why are you asking me?” but Kel had always been very bad at lying to herself. She looked up at the trees. Fir. Spruce. “There’s a war on,” Kel said. “No matter what they say back there, we still have a sworn duty. Or at least I do.” Her school friends were looking up at her like she held their allegiances in her callused palm. The Haven people were careful shadows, tired, certain. Tobe looked at her like he was never letting her out of his sight again. “I’m going to keep fighting.”

They took down their first Scanran raiding party the next day, finding them almost on accident. The first Haven dogs and cats skipped and sauntered into their makeshift camp the next night, curling up by the fire and dropping rabbits for the humans to clean for them.

Haven civilians and convicts began wandering in, grinning tightly, bringing stories of Giantkiller all up in arms. After the first week, once she’d figured out they might be there for good, Kel had started looking for clerks.

When Dom and most of his squad of the King’s Own walked into their camp without a single piece of official Crown livery on, Kel seized Dom by one rough, plain sleeve and dragged him to the side.

“You can’t be here,” she hissed. “Neal and Merric are as damned as I am. The refugees have nowhere safer to go, and I’m not going to keep them from a fight if they want it. But you– Raoul needs you, Dom.”

“Raoul needs us to win this war,” said Dom. “And neither of us could think of any better hands for my squad to be in than yours. If we’re going to win this, we can’t keep our best commanders in the dark.” He grinned. “Even if they’re grumpy giantesses of fugitives.”