A Life Update
A Book Update
A Sneak Peek
1. A Life Update
As you all know if you follow my other newsletter, I had tough holiday and tougher start to the year. We got Covid, and then my beloved dog Leia passed away. It was a cruel punchline to a tough, tough 12 months. But I am trying so very hard to be optimistic. I mean, surely things can only go up from here, right? 😅
And I guess one silver lining is that I have been using my writing as an escape from the grief and Covid symptoms. So while the personal life might be tough and the online life nonexistent, at least my creative life is full.
You’ve likely noticed I’ve not done a #ChooseWithSooz in a while. I’m so sorry for that. The holidays came, Leia got sick, then we got sick, and then Leia died. And I just…haven’t been able to bring myself to get on social media.
I will finish the tale one day! I just need a little break for now.
Thank you for your patience.
2. A Book Update
If you’ve not yet seen via your retailer, Witchlight has been bumped to 2025. March, to be exact.
I am sad about this, but I do understand the business reasons for why it had to happen. After a lot of discussions with my publisher, and after a lot of scrutiny at my future publication schedule, they decided it would be best to move Witchlight to 2025 so we can space my upcoming releases better.
Because in case you have forgotten, we also have The Executioners Three coming!
So basically, you will be getting three books from me in the space of one year: The Whispering Night in October 2024, Witchlight in March 2025, and The Executioners Three in August 2025.
It’s going to be awesome, and I’m really excited for this. Though I am also really sad you’ll have to wait. If it’s any consolation, the people who’ve read it so far seem to love it. 😌😅😂🥳
3. A Sneak Peek
Because I feel guilty being such a Debbie Downer in the first two sections, I’m throwing you all a happy bone! Here’s a the rest of the first chapter in Witchlight.
And now here’s part 2—and remember, this is not a final draft!
“Send Evrane in your stead,” Safi said as the hunting lodge came into view over the trees—or rather the dark moat around it and the red-uniformed soldiers along its ramparts. The rest of it, with its white stone facade, blended almost seamlessly into the snow and pale sky. Fire flickered in several windows, giving them the look of a hundred glittering eyes. “She can comfort the man more than you can. Her magic can at least soothe their pain.”
Iseult wagged her head and leaned forward to pat her gray mare’s neck. Cloud was her name, and her breath fogged. Iseult’s did too. “Maybe I can still find a solution.”
“You said that yesterday.” Safi’s tone was sharp, her Threads fluttering with impatience. “And you said it the day before too. Iz, you can’t help these people. You know what we have to do to help them.”
Yes, Iseult did know, and it was all she wanted to do: heal the final Well. Heal magic in the Witchlands. Only then could this cleaving end…
And only then could she and Safi finally step away from all of this chaos and rest.
It was a long way off, though—marching on the Well and healing it. Iseult felt sick every time she imagined just how long. Months might pass before Uncle Eron deemed their forces strong enough to march northeast to Poznin, where all these Cartorran forces—and countless Carawen monks too—would clash against the Raider King’s forces, all so that Iseult and Safi could do this thing they were, as Cahr Awen, destined to do.
And while Iseult waited for that moment to finally come, the slow cleaving would continue. “Why?” she said quietly, her voice barely rising over their horses breaths, pluming into the frozen day. “Why do we have to heal the Well?”
“Because…we’re the Cahr Awen, and…it’s what we do?” Safi said this as if answering a trick question.
Which was fair. “No,” Iseult said, head shaking. “I mean, why do we have to do it? Why, out of all the millions of people in the Witchlands, are we the Cahr Awen?”
Now Safi’s eyes narrowed. She leaned forward to stroke at her gelding, Dandelion’s, neck. He didn’t particularly notice or seem to want the affection, and it was clear Safi just wanted something to do with her hands. Her breaths also plumed. Around her, barren old growth branches drew sharp lines against the winter gray and forest evergreens that hugged the main road.
Her Threads were pensive, inward-thinking shades of green.
“I’m the one who usually ask those sort of questions,” Safi said eventually, and she gave Iseult a look that was halfway between worried for her friend and worried for herself. Her Threads fluttered with yellow too. “I don’t know why it’s us, Iz, any more than I know why the sky is blue—”
“Because sunlight gets scattered by things in the atmosphere.” Iseult rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you listen to any of our lessons?”
A pause. Then a deep glare. “Of course, I listened. I meant blue as in sad. Why is the sky so sad?”
“Because you keep disappointing it with your lies.”
Safi’s glare slid into a crinkling of her eyes, a crooking of her lips. Her Threads also brightened with raspberry pink joy, warm in a way that the winter around them never could be. “Gods below, Iseult det Midenzi, I have missed you.”
“And by the Moon Mother, Safiya fon Hasstrell, I have missed you too.” Iseult matched Safi’s grin as best she could, but it was a false thing on her lips—and Safi could clearly sense that because her own smile faltered.
“Don’t you…want to heal the Well?” Safi asked.
“Of course I do. But when I broke our Threadstones”—Iseult patted at her collarbone, where the old rubies used to rest—“I released all the Cahr Awen who came before us. Corlant had been binding their aethers for centuries. He would have done the same to us. But why? I keep going back to that question—why? Because we are the only ones who could kill him? If that were the only reason, then he would have just killed the Cahr Awens every time they were reborn. Instead, he claimed all those souls and kept them tucked away. It means something. I just...I don’t know what.”
“And I definitely don’t.” Safi waggled her eyebrows. It was meant to be silly. A movement to remind Iseult that she was the irresponsible one who never studied, never read. But it was a lie. The Safi who had become an empress was anything but irresponsible.
And the silliness on her face didn’t match the pain slowly filling her Threads.
The Cahr Awen souls, Iseult thought. They gave Safi headaches, bulging her Threads to clotted thickness and—Iseult assumed—pressing inside Safi’s skull. Safi had never complained though, never mentioned the pain Iseult could so vividly see. So Iseult hadn’t mentioned it either. Not yet at least.
It was one more person who needed the Well healed to make them whole and healthy again. One more reason Iseult wanted—really, truly wanted—to heal the Well. She just wish she knew more about the why’s behind it all.
When the bridge over the dark-watered moat to the lodge came into a view, hundreds of Threads coalesced too. Brightest of all were a set of crimson Threads belonging to Caden fitz Grieg. When he spotted Iseult and Safi, he kicked into a canter their way. His Threads pulsed like red storm clouds above him.
“How many times are you going to do this?” he demanded, once Safi was in earshot. “I realize you’ve no concern for your life, your Imperial Majesty, but have some concern for mine.”
“I didn’t ask to be empress, Captain.”
“And I didn’t ask to be your guard, but here we are.”
Iseult sighed. She had heard this argument so many times in the past month, she could recite it by heart. Next, Caden would say, If you leave—
“If you leave,” Caden barked, twisting his horse into step beside Safi, “you need a square of Hell-Bards around you. That is the rule.”
“And the rule is stupid. I can handle myself. Besides, I have Iseult with me.” What Safi didn’t add was what they all knew: And she can easily kill almost anyone.
Iseult was glad Safi didn’t say that part aloud. She already had enough constant reminders.
“Oh yes,” Caden said, taking on a calm, thoughtful tome. “The other half of the precious, irreplaceable Cahr Awen. How very wise for both of you to leave together and unprotected.”
Technically, Iseult thought, we are quite replaceable. It would just take a long time before their souls reincarnated and the new Cahr Awen were old enough to do what Iseult and Safi did now.
Eighteen more years of slow cleaving. Eighteen more years of empires at each others’ throats. Iseult’s eyes closed. Stasis, she reminded herself…only to then think, No. I don’t actually have to put up with this.
Ever since three thorough searches of the Solfatara had failed to turn up Caden’s Thread-family, Lev and Zander, the man had become a walking fire-pot. And he’d taken to expressing his frustration at anyone who slightly annoyed him…which was more often than not, Safi.
And to be fair, Safi did seem to push him intentionally. Often.
It didn’t help either that Caden’s Firewitchery had been culled from him by the Hell-Bard Loom was now returned. He and countless other Hell-Bards were suddenly brimming with powers they hadn’t felt or used in years.
She had better things to do—bigger things—wasting her time and energy while Safi and Caden rehashed the same argument they’d had last night…and yesterday morning…and the afternoon before that too…
She spurred Cloud into a canter, and as the horse’s hooves clattered into a three-beat rhythm on the road, she glanced back only once. But neither Safi nor Caden had noticed her departure. Threads that bound them had turned fiery with mutual frustration; there was little space in their beings for them to notice anything else.
Iseult couldn’t help but sigh a second time.
Thank you all for reading, for supporting, and for being patient as my family and I get through this sad start to our new year. I hope all of you are faring better!
💚 - Sooz
I know hardly anything about it and I’m still so excited for TE3!!!
Three Sooz books in the span of a year is excellent news for readers! I'm sorry things have been so tough for you lately. Sending hugs. 💗