I am happy to report that I finished the final draft of Bloodfire Legacy earlier this month. It is now in the capable hands of my editor, Josh Leavitt, and if all goes well, it should be out in ebook, print, and audio sometime in July.

In the meantime, I thought I would share the first three chapters here on my blog. While I used AI to write the rough draft, everything you will read has been totally rewritten to be in my own voice. This is not the AI draft; it is the final draft I sent to my editor. If you find any typos or errors, they are entirely my own, and will (hopefully) be caught before the book is published.

A Dagger in the Dark

Lord Arion

Lord Vaughn Arion hurried down the long, dark corridors of Castle Caravelia. The dim torchlight flickered behind him, casting a long shadow as he turned the next corner. His court magician’s robes rustled and swayed, but he made no effort to muffle his steps, even as he plunged into the shadows. Speed was of the essence now.

He ran his hand along the wall as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The wall stones were rough, unlike the smooth marble floors and towering granite pillars of the throne room. He passed a narrow window, little more than an arrow slit, and heard the distant rumble of thunder rolling over the city below. Outside, the wind began to howl.

Not since the Time of Troubles nearly a century ago had the kingdom faced so great a threat to its very existence. The wise understood that the Dark Brotherhood had not been totally rooted out of the lands beyond the Azure Sea, but if Lord Arion’s divinations were correct, the true threat lay much closer to home.

The king must know, he told himself, the thought lending wings to his feet. It was not a coincidence that he’d learned this just as the threat of war loomed over the kingdom. Tensions had long been mounting on Caravelia’s eastern frontier, but if the Valmarian Empire was truly in the thrall of the Brotherhood itself…

Lightning flashed as he rounded a corner, briefly illuminating the passageway. He stopped suddenly, his skin prickling. He was not alone.

“Who goes there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!”

Thunder rolled as a tall figure emerged from the inky blackness. Lord Arion recognized the gaunt face and piercing blue eyes of Dorian Blackwood, a minor lord in King Leander’s court. His midnight-blue robes whispered across the floor.

“Lord Arion,” Dorian greeted him, his thin lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I did not expect to encounter you here at this late hour.”

“I could say the same thing of you, Lord Blackwood,” Lord Arion replied. “What brings you to this part of the castle?” Though he occasionally saw Dorian in court, he knew little of the man. He now regretted that oversight.

Dorian chuckled mirthlessly. “The business of the court never sleeps, my lord.” He took a step closer, making Lord Arion step back. Something deep within him screamed of danger.

“Indeed,” Lord Arion replied carefully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Blackwood’s hand suddenly shot out. The gleam of a blade caught Lord Arion’s eye, and he jerked back just in time. The dagger slashed the fabric of his sleeve.

“What treachery is this?” Arion shouted.

“The kind that ends in your death,” Dorian answered.

With lightning speed, he lunged again—but this time, Lord Arion was ready. He thrust out a hand and uttered a word of power, unleashing a torrent of swirling energy as he dodged the would-be assassin’s blow.

Dorian stumbled back, his hands moving in a series of quick, sharp gestures. Inky tendrils of darkness coalesced around him. To Lord Arion’s utter astonishment, his magic parted harmlessly around Dorian, who stood untouched.

“You always were too predictable,” Dorian sneered. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t come prepared to face you?”

Arion’s mind reeled with the implications of what he had just seen. Only an acolyte of the Dark Brotherhood would dare to practice such forbidden magic in Caravelia.

“You—you’re a practitioner of the dark arts?”

“Oh, I’m so much more than that,” Dorian laughed. “But you’ll die before you learn the full truth of what I am.”

The two opponents circled each other warily, Arion’s wards pulsing as his opponent probed them. He drew a sharp breath, his mind racing. How could he have been so blind? Dorian had seemed nothing more than just another silver-tongued courtier—a favorite of the ladies and an obnoxious fixture at the king’s banquets. But this spoke of a far deeper treachery.

“Why, Dorian?” Arion demanded as lightning flashed outside. “What has driven you to betray your king?”

A sneer of contempt twisted Dorian’s lip. “Leander is no more fit to be king than you are fit to be his court magician.”

Thunder rolled as he launched his attack, unleashing a maelstrom of dark magic. Arion deflected it and countered with a powerful riposte, the clash of their energies illuminating the corridor with a burst of blinding light.

“Your power is formidable,” Arion growled through gritted teeth, “but your soul is corrupted. I cannot permit you to live.”

Dorian laughed. “You will never know the full extent of my powers.”

Before Arion could gather his energy, Blackwood surged forward, his dagger a blur of silver that sliced through Arion’s wards like feeble threads. A searing pain erupted in his chest as the dagger plunged deep into his heart.

Lord Arion stumbled to his knees, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. “How?” he gasped.

“Silver, my lord,” Blackwood answered coolly. He twisted the dagger and wrenched it free. “The bane of all magic—even yours.”

Lord Arion’s legs buckled, and he collapsed. Blood gushed from his wound as the edges of his vision began to haze over. He fought in vain to maintain consciousness against the looming darkness. Dorian crouched over him.

“Hush now,” he whispered, his voice a sibilant caress. “It will all be over soon.”

With the last of his strength, Arion tried desperately to rise and fight. But his limbs simply refused to obey. He watched as Dorian Blackwood carefully wiped the blood from his dagger before he melted back into the shadows.

“No!” Lord Arion groaned, thinking of the message he had failed to deliver. If only he hadn’t been so blind!

The world titled and spun all around him. The pain faded, and a numbing cold spread throughout his entire body. Then darkness claimed him, and Lord Arion knew no more.

Lord Arion

A strange, all-encompassing lightness filled Lord Arion’s being. He suddenly felt liberated from all the aches and pains that he had come to take for granted over the years. It almost felt invigorating at first. But then, he looked down at his lifeless body, eyes glazed and mouth still open in shock.

“No,” he muttered, his voice echoing strangely. “This… this can’t be real.”

He reached out, but his hand passed through the corpse without any physical sensation. Slowly, confusion gave way to awful certainty. He was dead. Murdered. His spirit had been violently sundered from his body. His life’s work, the kingdom, his family—

Lyra.

“Oh no,” he groaned, his heart sinking at the thought of his now-orphaned daughter. “Lyra—I can’t leave her. Not now—not like this!”

But the dim corridor was now tinged with an otherworldly glow, its edges blurred and its colors muted. He took a hesitant step forward, expecting to feel the stone beneath his feet, but felt no sensation at all.

He drew himself up and set his jaw, willing himself forward. Slowly, he glided down the hallway, tensing as he passed through the wall at the end of it. He came out into the corridor on the other side, near a tapestry and a suit of armor. The only sensation he felt though all of this was a slight tingle.

A pair of guards were walking toward him. Eagerly, he waved his hands.

“Hello?” he called out. “Can you hear me?”

But the sleepy guards were oblivious to his presence. As they passed him, Lord Arion reached out, his finger passing through the nearest man’s arm.

“Please,” he begged. But he was merely a shade. If the guard felt anything, he made no sign of it.

Lord Arion’s thoughts turned again to his daughter. What would become of her? Would his murderer try to take her life as well? The thought filled him with a fear that propelled him upward, into her bedchamber. Thankfully, she was safe.

“My darling girl,” he whispered as he gazed upon her sleeping form. She was only eleven years old—little more than a child. Her raven hair spread across the pillow, her features serene.

Lord Arion’s ghostly fingers hovered over her cheek. How he longed to hold her one last time! Next to this, all else seemed utterly trivial to him now. But of course, he could not—and in the morning, her heart would be shattered as she learned of her father’s awful fate.

“Oh, Lyra,” he moaned, wishing that he could brush away the tears that would surely come. “I’m sorry, my child. So sorry.”

Arion closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic to touch the very fabric of the world around him. This, at least, had not been denied him. He could still sense the ebb and flow of magic, the pulsing ley lines that crisscrossed land and sea. Yet without a corporeal body, he could not tap into that power.

One shimmering thread stood out above the others. His daughter’s own nascent abilities, the untapped potential that lay dormant with her. He opened his eyes to gaze upon her again.

“You have a gift,” he murmured, though he knew she could not hear him. “How will you use it, now that I am gone?”

In that moment, a soft, melodious voice filled the air.

“Vaughn.”

He looked up at once, searching for the source of the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Who’s there?” he called. “Show yourself!”

“Peace, noble spirit,” the angelic voice answered. “Your time in the mortal realm has come to an end, but your journey beyond the veil is only now beginning.”

A shimmering curtain of light appeared before him. As he watched, the gossamer curtain parted, revealing a realm of unimaginable beauty. Lush fields stretched to the horizon, dotted with ancient trees. The scene was bathed in a beautiful golden light that cast no shadows.

“Stars above,” he whispered, his voice barely louder than a breath. “Is this… the Immortal Realm?”

An overwhelming sense of peace washed over him, dulling the violence of his death. As his eyes adjusted, he began to see familiar faces. His grandparents, long since passed, smiled and beckoned at him to come. Childhood friends and comrades-in-arms appeared next—many of whom he had only recently mourned. They stood before him now, whole and radiant. And then…

“Elara,” he breathed, his eyes widening at the sight of his beloved wife. She stood radiantly before him, appearing exactly as she had on the day they had both been wed. Her emerald eyes looked so much like their daughter’s.

“My love,” Elara answered. “How I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” Arion said, longing to embrace her. “But Lyra—”

The angelic voice sounded again, gentle yet firm. “Your journey through the mortal realm is over, Vaughn. It is time to rest in eternal peace.”

Lord Arion hesitated, his heart torn as he met his wife’s gaze.

“I can’t,” he answered. “My daughter—our daughter—needs me. Without me, she’ll be alone.”

“She has to walk her own path,” the voice told him. “You cannot walk it for her.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes never leaving Elara’s. “But I can’t abandon our daughter.”

“You choose a difficult road,” the angelic voice warned. “As a ghost, you will have no effect upon the Mortal Realm. Your unseen presence may give her some small degree of comfort, but she will never know for certain that you are there.”

“I know,” he said, his voice ragged. “Forgive me, my love. Our reunion must wait a little longer.”

Elara nodded sadly. “I understand. Watch over her, my darling. Until we meet again.”

The angelic voice spoke again, its tone solemn. “Your love for your daughter is a testament to your noble spirit. For this, you shall have one gift. At a time of your choosing, you will be granted the power to part the veil and speak to her directly. Choose wisely, for you will only have one chance.”

“Thank you for this boon. I shall use it when Lyra needs me most.”

“Then go, Vaughn. Watch over your daughter, but remember that her choices must be her own.”

The curtain of light began to close, veiling the glory of the Immortal Realm. When the light had dissipated, Lord Arion found himself drifting in the air above his own lifeless body. His eyes lingered upon his mortal shell, now lying in a pool of blood.

“Oh, Lyra,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, my darling girl. I never meant to leave you like this.”