Title: Wicked Saints

Author: Emily A. Duncan

Publisher: Wednesday Books

Release Date: 2nd April 2019

Genre: YA Fantasy

Buy From Macmillan

A girl who can speak to gods must save her people without destroying herself.

A prince in danger must decide who to trust.

A boy with a monstrous secret waits in the wings. 

Together, they must assassinate the king and stop the war.

In a centuries-long war where beauty and brutality meet, their three paths entwine in a shadowy world of spilled blood and mysterious saints, where a forbidden romance threatens to tip the scales between dark and light. Wicked Saints is the thrilling start to Emily A. Duncan’s devastatingly Gothic Something Dark and Holy trilogy.

I’d like to say thank you to Wednesday Books for giving me a chance to review Wicked Saints in exchange for an honest review during this blog tour. Over the last…

Many thanks to Sonya for Week One Hundred and Sixty-Five of Three Line Tales, part of her awesome blog Only 100 Words!

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Tick, tock, unceasing,
Forward progress, standing still?
Another sunrise…

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Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for coming up with Three Line Tales.

You’ll find full guidelines on her TLT page, but here’s the tl;dr:

• Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt (& give them a title if possible).
• Link back to this post.
• Tag your post with 3LineTales (so everyone can find you in the Reader).
• Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
• NEW: If you want your post to be included in the round-up, you have until Sunday evening to publish it.
• Have fun.

Happy three-lining!

Stone cold deserted

Gone, once a place of worship

That was long ago

Safe sanctuary

Before … To many lost souls

Meeting together

One congregation

Finding, needing guidance

Appreciation

Unsubstantial ghosts

Spirits to some remain here

Incarcerated

© Susan Zutautas 2019

This was written for a challenge over at Willow Poetry calledWhat do you See?

If I hear one more word about Brexit I shall explode.

#1linerWeds.

clip-art photo

Pg. 1-2

personal photo

The sun is out.

Exeter is one of my favourite cities. It’s where I went to university; it’s where a lot of my friends still live; it’s a lovely place to go back to.

And – as I’ve been fortunate enough to be reminded this year – it’s always nice to be on the shortlist for a literary prize.

So I’m doubly pleased to have had A Spoke In The Wheel shortlisted for the 2018 Exeter Novel Prize. I’m very much looking forward to going down to Exeter for the awards ceremony. It’s a good excuse to revisit old haunts, catch up with some people I haven’t seen for ages, and, I’m sure, meet some new ones.

Incidentally, the price of the paperback edition of A Spoke In The Wheel at Amazon.co.uk continues to drop. At the time of posting it’s down at £4.55. I’ve no idea how long that will last…

 I’ve had this book sat in my NetGalley account for a while now and, as I’m trying to get better at sending my feedback, I decided it was finally time to read it. This was one of those books that sounded like a really interesting read. I don’t tend to read much fantasy these days and I tend to particularly avoid fantasy for younger readers. It’s the kind of genre that can be done so well but, on the flip side, just be turned into a horrible stereotype of things gone before. There is a fine line between creating a brilliant fantasy world and just shoving a load of random letters together to get a magical sounding city name. But, despite my misgivings, I’m always willing to give the genre a chance and this one sounded interesting.

The monks who gathered in front of the derelict chapel did so for a reason.

It was once again the first Tuesday of the month, and the day the apparition appeared above the chapel door.

For those remaining monks it was a reason for their devotion. Within society religion, as they knew it had all but disappeared and the landscape was littered with the remains of churches and monasteries from days when religion and those who practised it held a position of superiority.

Only the devout survived, clinging to a hope that belief and faith would hold them in good stead. Society ridiculed them, and they retired to the few liveable places left where they could pray in solitude.

But the apparition had given them hope. For a long time, they said nothing to anyone, keeping the phenomenon to themselves.

It was Brother Angus who stepped close to the chapel…

My aged travelling companion, Crisp, was fascinated by the level crossing gates. “Why the big red dot in the middle?” she mused.

“Maybe tomorrow the word STOP might be painted on,” I suggested.

“Odd,” she said as she stood and observed the red dot. “Funny place this England,” she continued, “they don’t do thinks like we do. Like where’s the flashing lights, what use is this little piddling lamp on top of the gates meant to achieve?”

Crisp was a woman of opinion on most topics and continuously compared what she saw to back home. Stepping back she raised her camera and proceeded to snap off a few photos which I was sure would be used upon arriving home when she gave her report on the trip to the local Country Women’s Association. I was sure they were enjoying her being on the other side of the world!

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