Today we are celebrating the release of
The Warrior Poet
by Sharon Lynn Fisher
Be sure to read the exciting conclusion of The Faery Rehistory trilogy!
The aroma of roasting lamb and rosemary filled the cottage, indicating my one other domestic hand was readying the evening meal. My suppers were simple, early, and generally solitary, and afterward, I spent most evenings in my study writing and nursing a glass of whiskey. I often lost track of the time and rose from my work long past the time good Christians were all abed, as my grandmother would have said.
The pleasant autumn walk had cleared my head and the excellent supper renewed my energy. Mrs. Marsh built up the fire in my study and I settled in an armchair to outline the next chapter of my memoir, which would begin my journey with Captain O’Malley on the highest point of Ben Bulben.
But it wasn’t to be. The fire was warm, the chair comfortable, and after the day’s excitement, the whiskey acted like a soporific. I soon lost the thread of my narrative.
The ticking sound in my head woke me. I sat up, blinking in the low light. My eyes fell on the last line I’d scribbled on my notebook.
The past will swallow her.
The ticking grew louder, and I trained my focus on the room—the fireplace, the desk, the typewriter—trying to hold onto my place in time, if only for a moment. But a shadowy veil fell over everything and I felt the floor go out from under me. My stomach dropped too, and then I was falling in starry darkness.
Pain shot through one knee as I landed on a hard floor. I closed my eyes against the spinning sensation, trying not to retch.
A violent disturbance—and horrible stench—made me open my eyes. There was a monstrous hole in the center of the room’s ceiling, like the gaping wound of some beast. It was sucking the air out of the room. I saw the American woman—she was trying to anchor herself on the back of a sofa as loose objects around her were swept up and into the hole.
She’s going to be next.
“Lady!” I shouted, but the eldritch roar of the thing drowned out all other sound. She hadn’t seen or heard me.
I launched to my feet, ignoring the pain in my bruised knee. The hot, sucking wind was whipping me too, and it got much stronger as I drew nearer the opening. The moment before I reached her, she let go of the sofa to block something that had flown at her face—a book. She grabbed it as her body lifted toward the ceiling.
Lunging, I caught her around the waist—but the force of the suction pulled me up with her.
For the love of God, let us get away from here!
The wind and noise cut off suddenly—the livid tissue overhead was replaced by the relative tranquility of the Gap. I tightened my arms around her, afraid of what would happen to her if we became separated—it was possible to drift forever in the Gap.
In her panic and confusion, she fought me, and I muttered a feeble, “I’m sorry.”
Our impact with the floor of my study broke us apart.
The lady rolled over and looked at me, her gray-green eyes wide with shock. She wrapped bare arms around bare legs, her whole body trembling. She was like a lost, half-wild creature—the state of her wrung my heart. But I dared not speak yet, even to comfort her, for fear of making things worse.
Her gaze moved around my study and she shook her head. “Not happening,” she said, despair in her voice.
She closed her eyes tightly, and the color of her complexion faded from sun-kissed fair to verging on pale green. I scrambled for the waste bin next to my desk and slid it toward her.
I watched in sympathy as she braced her hands against the bin—knuckles white—and emptied the contents of her stomach.
Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “I don’t think I imagined that.”
“No, lady,” I assured her. “You did not.”
About the Book:
They searched for each other in dreams. Then they traveled through time to save Ireland.
Portland book artist Neve Kelly is having weird visions—vivid daydreams of lovers on a battlefield that yank her out of reality. A couple weeks before Halloween, a confused, strangely dressed man appears in her living room. He drops a slip of paper that describes a dream much like her own before disappearing without a trace.
Will Yeats has had enough of heroics. With the peace between Ireland and its enemies restored, he plans to spend the next decade quietly writing his Irish fairy history. But suddenly he’s time-traveling again. He briefly visits the home of an intriguing stranger, who appears to be American. The next time he’s drawn there, he finds her being sucked through a ghastly hole in her ceiling.
Will saves Neve by carrying her back to 1888 Ireland, where he learns that not only is she from more than a century in the future, but from a parallel world where fairies and Tuatha De Danaan heroes are no more than myth. Their dreams of ancient lovers have brought them together … but why? Dark portents surround them—portents bearing the mark of the Morrigan’s meddling—and they soon discover it’s all part of a sinister scheme to seize the throne of Ireland. And the love story from their dreams has begun to manifest in the present moment.
Will’s friends—Irish Queen Isolde and her allies—are depending on Will and Neve to connect with the past in order to save Ireland. But can anything save them from the violent end that dreams have foreshadowed?
The Warrior Poet
Author: Sharon Lynn Fisher
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Release Date: October 12, 2021
Series: The Faery Rehistory trilogy, #3
Genre: Historical fantasy romance
About the Author:
Sharon Lynn Fisher writes smart, twisty, passionate tales—mash-ups of science fiction, fantasy, and slow-burn romance set in lush and atmospheric worlds. Her books have been praised and recommended by Booklist, Kirkus, Publisher’s Weekly, and RT Book Reviews. Sharon has published sci-fi romance with Tor Books and erotic fairy tales with Penguin Random House. Her historical fantasy trilogy The Faery Rehistory is being published by Blackstone Publishing. Book Riot included the first book in the series, The Absinthe Earl, in its 20 Must-Read Fantasy Romance Books. When she’s not writing, you’ll mostly find her wandering the woods looking for fairies.