“I warned it would be most unpleasant, my lady,” said Wyndeling, who yawned on the windowsill. Tess pulled her shenìl from her waist, pressed it against her stomach, and threw herself on the bed. She buried her face in a dense pillow.
“I don’t mean to complain,” Wyndeling said, “but I had not thought of acclimating to a human schedule when I made the oath. It seems I sleep much more often than I used to, and yet I feel twice as sleep deprived.”
Tess rolled over on her back and smirked. “If you like, I’ll take more naps during the day, and we can stay up together at night, talking about our feelings and our friendships, our hopes and our dreams. . . .”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. I’ll take sleep deprivation, thank you very much.” Wyndeling fluffed up her feathers in protest.
Tess chuckled weakly, placing her hands over her eyes.
“My lady, when do we leave for the cliffs? This hubbub is affecting my health. And the close air of this city is stunting my feather growth.”
“You may have to get used to those bald patches,” Tess said, her hands still clasped over her eyes.
“What on the continent do you mean by that?”
“I’ve been offered a position here in Redfoot. I know I said the dione would be safer if we were somewhere remote, but . . .”
“This but had better be very convincing.” Wyndeling hooted unsympathetically.
“But, if I am isolated, I won’t know when something is going amiss, will I? I’d be the last to know if there was a threat to Glademont. Plus, Tynaiv is being held here, and there’s no telling what mischief he’ll be up to, even in a cell.”
“I believe you know my opinion of that one,” Wyndeling said. “The farther you are from him, the better.”
Tess uncovered her eyes and went to the window. Looking at the bright winter stars, shining on the joyous feast, she felt a pang of loneliness.
“We can winter on the cliffs, Wyndeling. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t be carrying out my duty as the thane if I stayed there forever.”
The red owl sighed and blinked up at the stars with her large mesmerizing eyes. “I admit, it’s comforting to know that great oaf is watching us,” she said wistfully.
“Who? Osiris?”
“Didn’t you notice?” Wyndeling said. “There’s a new constellation. See it there? A bear by a tree.”
Wyndeling extended a wing upward, and Tess squinted at the sparkling navy blanket. “I don’t see it,” she said.
“He’s there,” said Tess’s bondfellow. “He’s watching.”
Acknowledgments
Some who graduate from a modern American college fall into what can only be described as a depressed stupor of the least sympathetic kind. This describes yours truly in the summer of 2009, and by October of that year it was clear I would have to find an occupation, or my parents might get ideas about kicking me off their deck chair. So, wanting to enjoy the best of the north Georgia autumn breezes, I took up a pencil and some loose-leaf paper and endeavored to write a fantasy novel . . . from the deck chair.
This fantasy novel contained sweet sentiments and did wonders for my emotional heart, but it was never worth reading until the following people got their nimble fingers on it.
First, my dear friend Adair and I met weekly over tea and snacks to discuss in great detail each character and scene. I believe a developmental editor would charge a house on Valley Road for the amount of time and energy Adair put into that evolving draft. The most valuable gift she gave me was that she loved the story it could be and strove to bring out the best in my writing.
When my own dashing prince, Hill, and I were married, I got up the courage to share my work in progress with him. Endless bolstering and rousing speeches followed and continue to this day. It was Hill who convinced me to leave behind my job as a full-time theology teacher to write books. It was Hill who helped me make the leap into indie publishing. And other than my Lord, it is Hill whom I wish to please most, and have always wished so, since I was seventeen.
Once I made public my desire to become an author, many, many loving souls graced these pages with their attention. My most committed beta readers, Caki and Aunt Marta, have never hesitated to read and acclaim my words. Paul made the manuscript’s first professional developmental edit. Rayna celebrated my small successes. Sweet Morgan read a huge stack of loose printer paper out of a box. Sarah and I discussed our fledgling books over coffee. Molly made me feel like a real-life writer. Jill and I became instant bosom friends at a writers’ conference. And so many cherished friends, old and new, have reached out to offer their support, even without yet knowing Tess and her story.
Next came the dream come true, which was to sign with a literary agent. Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Literary Agency championed this story and eventually encouraged me to publish it on my own. I am honored to be among the authors she represents. A special debt of gratitude I owe to Leah and Meg, who so kindly brought this novel to Julie’s attention.
I wish to recall the aforementioned parents, who claim to have loved the time I spent moping in their house from 2009 to 2010, who then gladly agreed to send me back to school for another degree, and who have shamelessly advertised me as a graceful saint, though we all know the reality to be otherwise. They, along with my siblings and their spouses, are perhaps the best members of the domestic church Atlanta has ever seen. Mom, Dad, Sylvia, Scott, Rachel (see exquisite illustrations throughout), Thomas, John, Caitlin—I love you.
Since becoming a bride, I have experienced the joy of a family doubled. And it seems Hill’s family has decided to catch up with my own by squeezing decades of support and encouragement into the last seven. Ginger, Big Hill, Hartley, and Chris—I love you, too.
Lastly, Girl Friday Productions must be zealously congratulated on the editing, designing, styling, and general execution of this book. I am particularly grateful to Devon, Tegan, and Georgie, all of whom have given me reason to hope that this book will bring joy to more than my family and friends. If you are a writer with a book worth reading, break that piggy bank and hand the coins to GFP. You will not be sorry.
About the Author
Photo © 2018 James Ting
Emily H. Jeffries is a theology teacher and speaker with bachelor’s degrees in drama and religious studies from the University of Virginia and a master’s in sacred theology from the Dominican House of Studies in Washington, DC, where most of her classmates were wizards—that is, friars. She loves wandering through forests and cathedrals, and her hidden magical abilities include performing improv comedy, evading cardiovascular activity, and singing all of Les Misérables from memory. She currently lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, baby daughter, Aussie-doodle, and herbs.
Thank you so much for reading my debut novel, Fyrian’s Fire. I hope Tess’s journey has inspired you to be faithful and courageous, even if no one sees your goodness but those who know you best. My own journey as a writer has just begun. I hope you’ll follow me on social media @emilyhjeffries. You can also go to my website at emilyhjeffries.com to sign up for writerly updates, and be the first to learn the scoop about the next book in The Fate of Glademont series, The Last Thane, coming in 2021. Much love and tah tah for now!
—Emily
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