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moon-ruled-rising · 4 years

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as the rain hides the stars | xii

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xii: the mustang kids are out

The mustang kids are out,

rolling over hills and the roundabouts.

Black tar, tambourine,

playing for the girls in the back seat

-Zella Day, “Mustang Kids”

Of all the things Westeros had to offer, castles was at the top of that list. Most of the great families in the south abandoned their castles for stylish, sprawling palaces when Queen Jalaesa convinced King Daeron I to demolish the Red Keep. There were still a few that were inhabited, or turned into museums, but none were as impressive as the one she toured with the Queen of the North, Catelyn Stark neé Tully.

After Prince Jon and the King left them, Sansa and Catelyn offered their services to give Dany the official tour. The youngest Stark daughter, Arya, tagged along as well, though she kept a disinterested silence the whole time.

An intricate pathway of halls connected everywhere so one wouldn’t have to go outside in the winter to get from one place to another, although it was so nice outside that they walked through the courtyard to enjoy the fresh air. There were arches and vaulted ceilings everywhere, the same kind Dany imagined the Red Keep would have if it were still standing.

They’d shown her the kitchens and then the Godswood, making a point to stop by a red-leaved tree. A carved face with red eyes stared at them over a pool of dark water. A weirwood.

Dany had never seen one in real life. When the Andals came, all the way back in the 10th century, they brought their own religion, the Faith of the Seven. To them, the Weirwoods were symbols of the Old Gods, considered demons and forces of dark magic. It was no surprise they were chopped down throughout the Andal lands. But they never conquered the North.

“All promises and oaths are made before the heart tree here,” Catelyn stated.

Coronations and weddings, Dany knew. It wasn’t where she would have a ceremony but it wasn’t her decision to make.

Catelyn talked for a bit about the hot springs and the way they used the water to heat the castle in the winter. It was a system they’d never needed to fix, she claimed. The group continued on to the glass garden and passed by the crypts and the first keep, heading instead for a large building on the other side.

They stepped through a set of heavy, wooden doors and into what could only be the Great Hall. The ceiling was vaulted to support the heavy chandeliers but still low enough to keep the heat in. The stone walls accented by great arches, the shutters on the windows nestled inside were open to allow the air and light in.

“This is where all of our important feasts take place,” Catelyn explained, motioning toward the length of the hall.

Her eyes settled on the great hearth. The stonework was simple but impressive. Daenerys found the whole castle to be that way. It was so old and yet it continued to withstand harsh winters and winds and rains. She reached a hand out to feel the smooth stone surrounding a window.

“Feasts?” Dany didn’t know people still had those.

“Etiquette, as you know it, is seen as stuffy and Southern. We prefer to be loud and drink until we can’t stand. And the best part is no one cares,” Sansa laughed.

“Quiet evenings with whispers and low music and fine wines are not for North men,” Catelyn agreed.

“But, your majesty,” she addressed the queen, “You’re a Tully. Tully’s are Southern.”

As far as Dany knew, part of the air-tight treaty that required her marriage was that important families were not supposed to intermarry.

“When I met Ned I was studying in Barrowton, same as him. He was second in line for the throne and I was the first child of Hoster Tully, but I was more than happy to give up my Tully name to be his bride. We were already married when his father and brother died in a boating accident so there wasn’t much the Great Lords could do besides let us continue.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

“It’s not where we thought our lives would take us but it’s where we ended up. You must be exhausted, let’s find your room.”

Daenerys’ room was across the courtyard, near the old armory turned housing for the permanent court guests. Although it was certainly smaller than her apartments in both Braavos and King’s Landing, it was the closest to living in a fairytale as she would ever come.

The early evening light fell across the room from the arched window on the far side, highlighting the polished paneled walls. A four postered bed with a cream colored duvet took up a good portion of the room and hid most of the rug on the floor. Dany figured it to be a century old. Her luggage rested around the upholstered chairs near the fireplace, the mantle expertly hidden by the same wood paneling with an intricate design etched into it. There was even a dressing screen in the corner, the silk panels painted with faded pastoral scenes.

“It’s a beautiful room,” Dany complimented.

“I’ll leave the girls with you to help you settle. Arya, don’t cause trouble.”

Dany glanced at the youngest Stark, who rolled her eyes. The Queen departed and Dany sat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like I’ve been living out of my suitcase since I left Braavos,” she remarked.

It struck her how far away that four days felt. So much had happened. Dany felt like a shark, like if she didn’t stay busy she would drown in her emotions.

“What were you doing in Braavos?” Arya asked, breaking her silence.

“School. I lived there for six years until, well…”

“Is it true that there are men who still wear swords and fight in the streets?”

“A Braavo?” Dany stood to begin unpacking. “I’ve never met one, but I’m not usually on the docks that late at night anyway. I have seen street performers do it for tourists though.”

She got through her first set of dress clothes, Sansa being gracious enough to hang them up in the armoire in the corner.

“Are you really going to marry my brother?”

That’s the million dollar question isn't it? Dany asked herself.

“It looks like it.”

“But you don’t love him.”

“I hardly know him,” Dany sighed, “Though, I haven’t been trying very hard to fix that.”

“So why are you agreeing to this?”

“Arya,” Sansa warned, “Sorry, she’s really overprotective of Jon.”

“I’m not over protective. He’s like my best friend, and friends look out for each other.”

The last thing Dany wanted was an interrogation but it appeared Arya intended on bringing the heat.

“It’s fine. Your country needs help, my brother thinks I’m the best way to do that. And the Crown comes before your personal life, always.”

“He told me you’re a raging bitch.”

Dany’s hand tightened around the folded shirts she was holding. She did feel regretful about her and Jon’s first meeting. There were so many raw emotions bubbling inside her and without the proper time to process them, she reacted poorly.

“That tends to be the impression I make,” she responded, setting the shirts into a drawer.

“If I’m being honest, it’s so much easier for people to assume you’re going to be mean and cold to them than to deal with panderers and pretenders. And it hurts less when you’re criticized because you know that it’s not really you.”

Arya was young, sixteen. It was an age of life changing events. Dany was the same age when Viserys died and she lost her father soon after.

“You went to university for six years and now you’re going to get married to a man you don’t know?”

“When I decided to go to college, I knew that I would never have a normal people job. I could have renounced my titles and name but without ‘Targaryen’ behind Daenerys, I would have nothing. My brother would have me blacklisted I’m sure.”

“That sounds like a harsh punishment for doing what you want,” Sansa pointed out.

“Rhaegar and I have a complicated relationship. And our family values and reputation don’t make it easier. Besides, being a Targaryen is all I know, I couldn’t be something else if I tried.”

“Well, you’ll just have to learn how to be a Stark,” Sansa confirmed as she placed a pair of shoes at the bottom of the armoire.

“I think it’ll be rather hard for a dragon to pretend to be a wolf,” Dany scoffed.

“Not if the dragon has the right wolves to teach her,” Arya offered, a smirk on her face.

Dany gave her a soft smile in acceptance of her offer. They talked of other things, Dany taking the chance to get to know the other Stark sister better. She learned that Arya loved archery and knife throwing (and was well accomplished in both fields). She wanted to be a painter and computer programmer, actress and sailor, the list went on. And she and Bran had the best pranks in the whole family. It was then that Dany decided she would need to stay on Arya’s good side.

Arya and Sansa invited her to see their rooms, located near the Great Keep. Dany agreed and finally changed out of her dress clothes. She was glad she did as the air in the courtyard was colder now.

“The sun’s going down,” Arya noted after a while.

“Then we’d better get going if we want to be there by sunset,” Sansa stated

“Bran said that everyone else is heading to the garage.”

“Tell him we’re on our way.”

“On your way where?” Dany couldn’t help herself, she was intrigued.

Sansa looked at her younger sister, who looked hesitant. It was obvious they were going somewhere but Dany hadn’t seen anything besides nature and the deserted Wintertown.

“Sansa, no.”

“She’s going to live here, she might as well know what we do for fun,” Sansa egged.

Arya glanced at her phone again, which buzzed with a notification.

“Jon’s going to be pissed.”

“Jon has been in a mood since he was born.”

More buzzing from the young princess’ phone.

“Alright, fine, but only because I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

She followed the princesses to another building on the west side of the castle with several large garage doors, all of them open. Dany couldn’t hide her surprise to see several luxury cars lined up like toys inside of a cubby. They were older models, she noticed, but not so old that they looked outdated.

“What did you expect? Horses?” Arya demanded in a joking manner, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How backward do you think we are?” Sansa joined.

Dany opened her mouth to respond when a voice from inside the garage stopped her.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

Dany’s stomach sank as an unusual anxiousness came over her. Prince Jon was leaned against a sleek, all black Volantene sports car, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It was the most casual and relaxed she’d ever seen him look. Sweatpants, athletic sneakers, and a fitted tee. His dark curls pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t look at me. It was Sansa’s idea,” Arya threw her hands up in surrender.

“What were we supposed to do, leave her in her room all night? She’s a guest.”

Jon looked at Dany, she knew he saw how lost and out of place she looked. And she hated it.

“I don’t care, as long as she’s not in my car,” he decided.

“When did you start smoking again?” Sansa inquired as she walked past.

“In light of recent events, I’ve decided to pick up the habit.”

Without much more protest, they arranged themselves in the small fleet of cars. Dany rode with Sansa in her little red Myrish convertible, the top already down. Sansa stated that it was meant for racing but she loved it so much, she didn’t care. Talisa joined them, citing that she preferred Sansa’s driving over Robb’s.

They set out towards their destination on an old dirt road that hadn’t been maintained in years with Sansa definitely driving over the speed limit. Dany let the cool night air wash over her. She’d been in convertibles before, of course, but never going this fast. Her hair whipped around her and she could hardly see with the draft bombarding her eyes. It was unglamorous but Dany felt free. Like her troubles weren’t so close behind.

As she wrangled her hair back into the spare elastic she brought she posed a question to Sansa, “Where are we headed exactly?”

“It’s a surprise but I promise, you’re going to love it.”

She cast a glance at Talisa in the backseat, who only flashed her a sweet smile. The song from Sansa’s curated driving playlist switched and the woman’s eyes lit up, her sweet smile taking on a manic twist.

“Oo, this is my favorite song. Sansa, turn it up!”

Sansa reached down for the volume thobe and turned the already loud music higher. The thumping bass line and breathy vocals surrounding them like the background track in a movie. Talisa unbuckled her seat belt and stood up, the increased wind around her tearing at her hair and clothes as she screamed the lyrics into it.

“Dany, come dance with me,” Talisa called down.

She winced at the over-familiarity, then had to remind herself that Talisa wasn’t from royal blood. She was only trying to be nice. Dany wasn’t sure that moving around in a speeding car was a good idea, but then again, she rarely listened to reason.

She unbuckled herself and twisted around in her seat, accepting Talisa’s outstretched hand. As she did, she noted an anchor tattoo with a broken chain peeking out from under her stack of bracelets. Dany wished she could have such a visible tattoo.

She convinced herself that she would get one on her eighteenth birthday. She made an appointment with a high end tattoo artist in the New City, formulated an excuse for being out when she got it done, and even tried on every swimsuit she owned to find the right spot for the design to go. The valyrian word for dragon fire, dracarys, was inked into her hip and so far, she’d never been caught.

Dany shouted an apology to Sansa as she climbed between the front seats to stand at the back with Talisa. Her feet felt unstable on the cushioned seats but the young woman beside her kept her steady as they swayed like complete idiots against the forceful wind.

“I’ve been hearing all these things about you, creeping into all the things that I do. I’ve been hearing all these things about you, about you, about you!” Talisa sang before turning to blow a kiss to Robb in the car behind them.

Dany wished she could see through the dark tinted windshield. To see both the Princes’ reactions to their recklessness.

The destination in question was a flat tract of land not too far away from Winterfell. The green grass rose up around the road as it wound around a group of trees and disappeared into the distance.

Dany was still hung up on the luxury cars. She hadn’t expected the Starks to be holy as septons but even the Targaryen’s didn’t have such nice vehicles. Dany wasn’t even allowed to drive the town cars around King’s Landing and yet these well-behaved Royals were racing around the countryside.

Talisa set out a large blanket for the spectators. Dany settled next to her while Arya and Bran flipped a coin to decide who was going first.

“What do you think of the North so far?” Talisa asked.

“It’s surprised me, that’s for sure.” Dany chuckled as she combed her fingers through her wind tangled hair. “How long have you lived here?”

“I moved here from Volantis to study at Barrowton.”

“I’ve been to Volantis, it’s a beautiful city.”

“Beautiful to visit, terrible to live in,” Talisa commented.

“I know what you mean.”

“Is King’s Landing that bad?”

“Of course. If I wanted to smell garbage and horse shit every day, I would like in the palace stables,” Dany laughed as she tied off her braid.

“Bran’s going first against Robb,” Theon announced.

Talisa rolled her eyes, “Poor Bran, Robb never loses.”

“Never?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Never,” Theon answered, “It’s kind of annoying.”

“You’re just jealous because he always picks Jon as his co-pilot,” teased Talisa before turning her attention on Dany, “Sansa tells me you're engaged to our sweet prince.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Will you?”

“I’m not sure. I have to make the decision by the end of the month, and I broke up with my previous… whatever we were to be here. Something is keeping me from saying yes,” Dany admitted.

“Well, Jon acts like a lone wolf but he’s a huge softy.”

“Really?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah. I blame Cat for his being so sullen all the time,” Talisa lowered her voice.

“The Queen? But she acted so nice when she showed me around Winterfell today.”

“She’s been awful to Jon since I can remember. I heard she calls him ‘the constant reminder of my husband’s infidelity’. Imagine living with that woman taking her anger out on you for no reason. And I’ve seen her mad, it’s not fun.”

Dany looked over to where the two cars were waiting, Jon leaning through the window to talk to Bran. He ruffled his brother’s hair, a beaming smile on his face, before climbing back into Robb’s car.

“I had no idea,” she whispered.

She recalled the night they first met, when he said that he understood what it felt like to be whispered about and called names he didn’t deserve.

“How could you? It’s not something he willingly talks about,” Theon …

“I figured but still, it’s no way to live.”

The sound of revving engines drew their attention back to the dirt road. Sansa stood between the two cars with all the grace and dignity of a military commander. Instead of a sword, she held a small version of the Stark banners that hung on the walls of Winterfell.

As she dropped her arms, the banner fluttered with them. And they were off. As they disappeared from view in a cloud of dust. Talisa assured her that they would be back soon and that the races never took long.

And she was right. They were back before Dany knew it and, as predicted, Robb won. Arya and Bran argued about something as they approached.

“How about we let our guest have a turn?” Robb said with enough challenge in his voice that Dany considered his offer before anything else was said.

“You can go against Theon, that’s an easy win.”

Theon rolled his eyes, “Like hell. Just race with Robb and get it over with.”

“I’ll be your co-pilot,” Arya offered, “But only because I want to beat Robb.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a good driver,” Dany deflected, shaking her head lightly. Better to avoid an embarrassing scene.

“And you think any of us are?” Arya asked, her siblings joining in her laughter.

“The best way to learn to be a wolf, is to run with them,” Sansa whispered in her ear.

All eyes were on Dany as though this were her final judgement.

“Alright,” she looked Robb dead in the eyes, “You’re on.”

She used Sansa’s car, although she was still apprehensive about the fact that there was no top. Arya settled into the passenger seat and was utterly engrossed in something on her phone.

Dany had to admit she was nervous. In all her years, she’d never driven a car at such high speeds. I am the blood of the dragon, she reminded herself, Dragon’s fear nothing. She took a deep breath and tightened her hands on the wheel.

Sansa returned to her place in front of them, the same Stark banner in her hands. Dany kept her eyes fixed on the fabric, revving the engine hoping to give herself more confidence.

As soon as Sansa dropped her arms, Dany’s foot turned to lead. The little car managed to stay neck and neck with the far superior sports model.

“Hey co-pilot, do you have a strategy?” she called over the noise of the wind and engines.

“I have a secret weapon but winning requires you to get in front of them first,” Arya shouted back, looking to the right where her brothers were keeping steady.

Dany cursed under her breath before pressing her foot down. They only gained an inch on the other.

“On second thought, fall back!” Arya announced.

She bit back the protest and took her foot off the gas. As Robb sped past, Arya commanded that Dany hang a right.

“What, why?”

“Because I said so! Now do it!”

Dany was ashamed of the scream she let out as the car wheeled around the sharp bend but it dissolved into a fit of laughter as she reinforced her foot’s weight on the gas pedal. It gained her a strange look from the Stark girl next to her but they were soon laughing together.

“You’re absolutely crazy,” Dany shouted.

“I know!”

They lost their race but as Robb celebrated his latest victory, Dany found that she had yet another Stark ally. Maybe she wasn’t as alone in the Northern court as she thought.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #ao3 #jonerysfanfic #jonerysfanfiction #ao3 link

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libraryoferana · 5 years

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Author Name: Judith Starkston

*Please tell us about your publications.

I’m the author of three books of historical fantasy based on the Bronze Age Hittites—an empire of the ancient Near East nearly buried by the sands of time. My books take “a quarter turn to the fantastic,” to borrow Guy Gavriel Kay’s phrase, and give full expression to the magical religious beliefs of these historical people. My first book, Hand of Fire, is set in the Trojan War and told from a woman’s viewpoint, Briseis, Achilles’ captive. Currently, I’m writing a historical fantasy series based on a Hittite queen. The first book in that series Priestess of Ishana is available FREE Oct 2-6. The second book, Sorcery in Alpara, launches Oct 14.

What first prompted you to publish your work?

When I was researching my first book and figuring out the Trojans, I made a startling side discovery—a queen I’d never heard of who ruled for decades over an empire I’d barely heard of, despite my training and degrees as a classicist. It was the Hittite empire, of which, it turns out, Troy was a part. The queen was Puduhepa (whom I call Tesha in my fiction–the Hittite word for “dream” because she had visionary dreams). I’m particularly interested in the theme of women as leaders, so I was hooked. The Hittite empire could be called the forgotten empire, but fortunately, recent archaeology and the decipherment and translation of many thousands of clay tablets have filled in parts of the lost history. We now have many Hittite letters, prayers, judicial decrees, treaties, religious rites and a variety of other documents, but overall our knowledge still has huge gaps in it. I use shifted names in my series, such as Hitolia for the Hittite empire, to cue my readers to how much I have to fill in imaginatively from those fragmentary records. It also gives fair warning to the magic that I give free rein to, the rules of which derive from Hittite practices, but I do let the story go where a good story should and that means a lot of fantasy. It was that juicy primary source material, an extraordinary female ruler, and an intriguing ancient world that prompted me to write Priestess of Ishana and Sorcery in Alpara.

Are you a ‘pantser’ or a ‘plotter’?

I outline my novels in a couple different ways before I start writing, but those outlines are subject to change whenever the story and characters take me into new realms I hadn’t imagined at the start.

I use a couple approaches to outlining and organizing my manuscripts. One is very character/theme/pacing driven, Libbie Hawker’s book Take Your Pants Off. The other, very plot and pacing driven, is a storyboarding technique that means I’ve got each of my books laid out on a three-sided board like we used for our school science projects. It’s explained in Alexandra Sokoloff’s Screenwriting Tricks for Authors. You’ll notice in both the word “pacing.” I found as I learned the craft that pacing was both the hardest part to get right and the most essential. If readers aren’t compulsively drawn through my story, it doesn’t matter how beautiful my writing is and all the rest (though I work hard to get all that nailed). A good story is hard to put down—that’s something we all intuitively know. The corollary is that if a story is hard to get through, it isn’t very good!

What piece of advice do you wish you’d had when you started your publishing journey?

Write at least a little bit every day and give yourself permission to write “bad words.” What do I mean by that? Just write and don’t worry whether it’s crap or not. Later you can go back and edit or trash if need be. I find that it is often the days when I think I’m writing the worst that I discover on later read, I’ve written some of my best. And you can only fix words that are actually on the page.

If you could have dinner with any literary character who would you choose, and what would you eat.

I’ve never gotten over my fascination with Achilles in the Iliad. He’s maybe legendary rather than literary, but I’d like to sit down and listen to him (probably admire his physique also…). He’d probably want lamb roasted on spits spiced with garlic and cumin, and I love that also, so I’ll go with that. Some fresh flatbread right off the hot stones to go along with it!

What are your views on authors offering free books? Do you believe, as some do, that it demeans an author and his or her work?

I’m using this technique—offering free my first book in the series, Priestess of Ishana, from Oct 2-6. I’m doing it right before the second book comes out, so I’ll see buy through and get paid that way. I think it’s a viable marketing strategy. I don’t think reaching new readers is demeaning. It’s what you do as an author, and putting books into people’s hands seems like a good thing overall. If I was expected to give away books for free all the time, that would be silly. But accessing a lot of new readers I wouldn’t have any other way? That sounds smart to me. So do download a copy of Priestess of Ishana, and then if you really enjoy it, buy Sorcery in Alpara.

What are your views on authors commenting on reviews?

I spread the word when I get a particularly strong review, especially from someone I really respect. When someone writes a bad review, I see no reason to react one way or the other, certainly not comment on it. I let my fiction, my author notes, all the background material on my website speak for itself when someone has a wrongheaded idea in a review. Reality has a way of coming through over time, so I don’t sweat it. If someone points out a perceptive way to improve in a review, I go to work in my next book and make sure I fix that. I’m happy to learn from all sources.

How much research do you do for your work? What’s the wildest subject you’ve looked at?

I have gone deep into the research, both the book/reading part (years of that) and the travel. I’ve gone to the archaeological sites, landscapes, and museum collections in Turkey that are the source material for my world-building. I contact the dig directors and museum curators so that I can talk with them and learn first-hand from the people who really know. I spent a whole day at the site that we think was Tesha’s hometown that I call Lawaza, but was called Lawazantiya by the Hittites. It’s the archaeological site of Tatarli near the city of Adana in Turkey. The key reason they think it’s her hometown is that the dig mound (with Bronze Age ruins of the right kind) is surrounded by seven springs. The Hittite records from the capital of the empire describe this town as having seven springs. The dig director took me to each of the springs–one of them appears in a key scene in Priestess of Ishana and I could never have gotten the atmospherics of that scene right if I hadn’t been there. One of the wildest subjects I’ve run across is the Hittite magical rite to remove a curse that I use in Priestess of Ishana. It involves chickpeas. Who knew that the way to get the demons out was via garbanzo beans? The Hittites were obsessed with curses and they believed sorcerers caused all kinds of evil with them. If you had to remove a curse from someone, you baked a loaf of bread with chickpea paste in the middle (basically humus) so that when you touched the bread to the cursed body while saying the right spell, the paste would absorb the pollution. I couldn’t make up this stuff in a million years, but the Hittite culture hands it to me. I just have to write it into compelling page-turners.

If you could be any fantasy/mythical or legendary person/creature what would you be and why?

I’m having a lot of fun writing griffins into my series, so I’ll choose that mythical creature to be. It turned out, much to my surprise as I wrote, that griffins, or at least the ones in my books, have a very dry sense of humor. And they are wickedly good warriors and can soar into the heavens, and yet they have a big soft spot for their cubs who are allowed to climb all over the grownups, so I suspect hanging out as a griffin for a while could be very entertaining.

What is your writing space like?

I’m very lucky and have a big window in front of my workspace that looks out on my garden. I write on a lovely inlaid wooden writing table with a comfortable armchair. So I’m all set to keep my butt in that seat for a good stretch every day.

Is there a message in your books?

My fictional Tesha, based on the historic Queen Puduhepa, provides a worthy model for leadership—particularly the value of female leaders, which we’ve been thinking about lately, so this seems timely. She certainly wasn’t perfect, and some of her actions are hotly debated among historians as possibly self-serving or politically motivated rather than ethically driven. She gave me nuanced material to work into my hero’s character. But, despite that human complexity, or perhaps because of it, she had brilliant skills as queen in many areas: diplomatic, judicial, religious and familial. Most famously, she corralled Pharaoh Ramses II of Egypt into a lasting peace treaty. The surviving letters to Ramses reveal a subtle diplomat with a tough but gracious core that made her able to stand up to the arrogant Pharaoh without giving offense. She also took judicial positions that went against her own citizens when the truth wasn’t on their side. Fair justice wasn’t something she was willing to toss overboard when it was politically inconvenient. Her equal partnership with her husband was a much-admired model even in the patriarchal world of the ancient Near East. I’m enjoying working in these themes from a real woman into my historical fantasy series, one book at a time.

How important is writing to you?

I love the long hours at my desk spent lost in the world that I write and in the company of my characters. I enjoy it every day. It’s my fulltime occupation.

Links

Newsletter sign up (for a free short story and book deals): https://www.judithstarkston.com/sign-up-for-my-author-newsletter-for-books-news-special-offers-and-freebies/

Website https://www.judithstarkston.com/

Priestess of Ishana https://amzn.to/2DXpdXt

Sorcery in Alpara https://amzn.to/319vuIj

Hand of Fire https://amzn.to/2KOb6a0

Bio

Judith Starkston has spent too much time reading about and exploring the remains of the ancient worlds of the Greeks and Hittites. Early on she went so far as to get degrees in Classics from the University of California, Santa Cruz and Cornell. She loves myths and telling stories. This has gotten more and more out of hand. Her solution: to write historical fantasy set in the Bronze Age. Hand of Fire was a semi-finalist for the M.M. Bennett’s Award for Historical Fiction. Priestess of Ishana won the San Diego State University Conference Choice Award.

Dirty Dozen Author Interview – Judith Starkson #Histfic #Hittites #Meetanauthor Author Name: Judith Starkston *Please tell us about your publications. I’m the author of three books of historical fantasy based on the Bronze Age Hittites—an empire of the ancient Near East nearly buried by the sands of time.

#Ancient History #Author interviews #Dirty Dozen #historical fiction #Hittites #Meet an author

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