[Blog Tour] 'The Shadows of Versailles' (An Affair of the Poisons, Book One) By Cathie Dunn #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalMystery

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The Book:

The Shadows of Versailles
(An Affair of the Poisons Book One)
By Cathie Dunn

• Publication Date: November 20th, 2020
• Publisher: Ocelot Press
• Page Length: 251 (ebook) / 277 (pb)
• Genre: historical fiction / mystery

The Blurb:

Dazzled by Versailles. Broken by tragedy. Consumed by revenge.

When Fleur de La Fontaine attends the court of King Louis XIV for the first time, she is soon besotted with handsome courtier, Philippe de Mortain. She dreams of married life away from her uncaring mother, but Philippe keeps a secret from her.

Nine months later, after the boy she has given birth to in a convent is whisked away, she flees to Paris where she mends gowns in the brothel of Madame Claudette, a woman who helps ‘fallen’ girls back on their feet.

Jacques de Montagnac investigates a spate of abducted children when his path crosses Fleur’s. He searches for her son, but the trail leads to a dead end – and a dreadful realisation.

Her boy’s suspected fate too much to bear, Fleur decides to avenge him. She visits the famous midwife, La Voisin, but it’s not the woman’s skills in childbirth that Fleur seeks.

La Voisin dabbles in poisons.

Will Fleur see her plan through? Or can she save herself from a tragic fate?

Delve into The Shadows of Versailles and enter the sinister world of potions, poisoners and black masses during the Affairs of the Poisons, a real event that stunned the court of the Sun King!

• Buy Links: Universal Link ✔ Amazon UK ✔ Amazon US ✔ Amazon CA ✔ Amazon AU ✔

Shadows of Versailles - Front Cover

 'The Shadows of Versailles' - Excerpt:

(From Chapter Two:)
Châtelet, Paris

Jacques de Montagnac approached the gate of the Grand Châtelet. The stench of blood and carcasses from the streets lingered in the air, even though it was late evening. The lack of street lighting, recently introduced in the finer quarters of Paris, made walking through the streets around the headquarters of the new police force treacherous. He didn’t want to leave a trace on his worn leather boots of where he had been.

His hood drawn deep over his face, he looked around but found no proof of anyone following him. He slipped through the gateway that let into an inner courtyard. Cries and moans from prisoners locked up in the many oubliettes reached him. The poor devils. Jacques had seen the maze of small cells, and they weren’t a pretty sight. Many a man never left them alive.

Taking a deep breath, which he regretted instantly, he turned to the far side, towards the door to the offices of the Lieutenant General of the police, Gabriel Nicolas de La Reynie. This wasn’t Jacques’ first visit. In fact, he’d long lost count of the number of times he reported back to his superior. Ever since he’d joined La Reynie’s extensive spy network five years earlier.

He’d been so naïve! Aged nineteen, and with a confidence far exceeding his diminished funds, he’d presented himself to the Lieutenant General. Jacques grinned as he climbed the stairs two at a time. On La Reynie’s request, he’d had to prove himself by blending into the underworld of Paris. But he’d had to work hard for it.

“Good evening,” a fellow officer greeted him in passing. “He’s awaiting your company.”

Jacques nodded. Eventually, outside de la Reynie’s office, he pulled back his hood and straightened.

At his knock on the door, he heard the gruff voice of his superior. “Come in!”

Around him, the corridor was deserted. Still, it was worth to check. His life depended on secrecy. He slipped inside the office and lowered his head. “Lieutenant General.”

“Jacques, please sit.” La Reynie never wasted time with polite conversation so beloved by the nobility.

Jacques sat as bid and waited until his superior had placed a note into a file, then moved it to a shelf behind him.

“I’ve not seen you in over a week. Has something happened?”

The man’s sharp eyes met his. Nothing seemed to escape him.

“Yes, sir.” Jacques leaned forward, placing his elbows on his legs. “There is trouble brewing.”

La Reynie laughed. “There always is. Tell me something new!”

Jacques remained serious. “Some of the charlatans are getting devious. There has been a rise in abductions of infants.”

The Lieutenant General leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve learned about the disappearance of several babies. Continue.”

“They are alive when they’re taken, sir. Many women in the quartiers around the former Court of Miracles worry about this. I’ve spoken to six new mothers who were told their baby had been stillborn, yet they could hear a child’s whimper when the midwives took them away.”

“Is it one particular midwife, or do they work hand in hand?”

“Oh, most definitely more than one. I have no names as yet, but I’ll get them for you.”

“Thank you. Do you think it is intentional? They deceive the mothers, removing their children against their will?”

Jacques nodded. “Yes. The men in charge of the thieves and cutpurses brush off any questions about it. I believe they have a hand in it, or at least know who does.”

La Reynie stood and walked to the window overlooking the River Seine. “We have problems finding out the truth from that quartier. You’re one of the few men on the inside, and I'm aware of the danger you put yourself into every day is real.” He turned to face Jacques, his mouth in a thin line. “We lost Etienne two weeks ago. I have no idea what gave him away.”

Jacques nodded faintly. “Ah. I’d been wondering if something had happened to him.”

“His body floated in the Seine,” La Reynie said drily. “My men fished him out last Sunday morning. His throat was cut.”

Jacques hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir.” He hadn’t particularly liked Etienne, but the man had been a comforting presence in the den of cut-throats, thieves and scheming alchemists. It confirmed his suspicion that he must look over his shoulder all the time.

“Do you know what he was working on last?”

“Not in detail.” Jacques shook his head, meeting his superior’s gaze. “When I last spoke to him, he said he’d uncovered something linked to black masses. But he didn’t share his findings with me.”

“But you think the black masses are linked to the missing children?”

“It makes sense. But it has to be a fairly important person to demand such a risky sacrifice. I’d imagine a high price.”

“Like courtiers.”

Jacques nodded. “Yes.”

“But no names came up?”

“No. I’ve heard of several persons having visited herbalists, or whatever they like to call themselves, but they’re very secretive, often sending servants in their place. That reminds me, how goes the search for the Marquise de Brinvilliers? Rumour has it she is in the Spanish Netherlands.”

A sly smile played on La Reynie’s lips. “She might be. Or in England. We are on her trail, although she tries to trick us by moving around various nunneries.”

“The news should send some people in the quartiers scurrying into their dens,” Jacques mused.

“And that’s why you, Jacques, are best placed to discover who these rats are that are going into hiding.”

Jacques didn’t like the smug look on La Reynie’s face, his thin smile and challenging glance. Everything the Lieutenant General did served a purpose. He did not waste time. “What would you like me to do?”

“There is a specific priest Desgrez has been watching, but he might be aware of it. Abbé Guibourg. There is something about him, but we have no proof of wrongdoing so far. Here is the address.” La Reynie handed Jacques a note, and he slid it into his inner coat pocket. “Keep your ears open to any gossip!”

“I shall. And what about the stolen babies?”

“Yes, keep digging. I want to discover who organises those black masses – and who attends them. People would pay a lot of money for them.” De la Reynie returned to his seat and leaned forward, elbows on his large desk. “Who knows – these incidences are likely linked.”

“That’s what I think, sir. Is that all?”

“It is, for today. Report back to me by next Monday if you can.” The Lieutenant General gave him a sharp nod, then picked up a file on his right.

Jacques stood and took his leave. As he opened the door, La Reynie said, “And Jacques?”

He turned, pulling his hood up. “Sir?”

“Be careful!”

Cathie Dunn

Author Bio:

Cathie Dunn writes historical fiction, mystery, and romance.

Cathie has been writing for over twenty years. She studied Creative Writing, with a focus on novel writing, which she now teaches in the south of France. She loves researching for her novels, delving into history books, and visiting castles and historic sites.

Her stories have garnered awards and praise from reviewers and readers for their authentic description of the past.

Cathie is a member of the Historical Novel Society and the Alliance of Independent Authors.

After nearly two decades in Scotland, she now lives in the historic city of Carcassonne in the south of France with her husband, two cats and a rescue dog.

Connect with Cathie Dunn:

Website ✔ Twitter ✔ Facebook ✔ Instagram ✔ Pinterest ✔
BookBub ✔ Amazon Author Page ✔ Goodreads ✔

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[Blog Tour] 'Under the Light of the Italian Moon' By Jennifer Anton #HistoricalFiction #ItalyWWII

'Under the Light of the Italian Moon' - Tour Banner

The Book:

Under the Light of the Italian Moon

By Jennifer Anton

• Publication Date: 8th March 2021
• Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers
• Page Length: 394 Pages
• Genre: Historical Fiction/Biographical Fiction

The Blurb:

A promise keeps them apart until WW2 threatens to destroy their love forever

Fonzaso Italy, between two wars

Nina Argenta doesn’t want the traditional life of a rural Italian woman. The daughter of a strong-willed midwife, she is determined to define her own destiny. But when her brother emigrates to America, she promises her mother to never leave.

When childhood friend Pietro Pante briefly returns to their mountain town, passion between them ignites while Mussolini forces political tensions to rise. Just as their romance deepens, Pietro must leave again for work in the coal mines of America. Nina is torn between joining him and her commitment to Italy and her mother.

As Mussolini’s fascists throw the country into chaos and Hitler’s Nazis terrorise their town, each day becomes a struggle to survive greater atrocities. A future with Pietro seems impossible when they lose contact and Nina’s dreams of a life together are threatened by Nazi occupation and an enemy she must face alone…

A gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story and heartbreaking real events.

Spanning over two decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic, emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.

• Buy Links: Amazon ✔ Barnes & Noble​  ✔ Waterstones ✔ Bookshop.org (U.S. only) ✔ I am Books Boston ✔

'Under the Light of the Italian Moon' - Front Cover

'Under the Light of the Italian Moon'  - Excerpt:

November 1914 Nina Argenta stared at the altar, trying to concentrate on the Mass since there was no chance of escape. The warm fragrance of incense surrounded her, and the priest’s recitations combined with the candlelit sanctuary made it hard to keep herself awake. It was Sunday, and like every Sunday of her ten years on Earth, she sat dutifully, bored by the teachings of the ancient text that is the Roman Catholic Holy Bible.

Under the vaulted ceiling of the Chiesa della Natività di Maria, the Madonna statue at the side of the church watched her. Candlelight illuminated the blue veil and gentle expression of the Blessed Virgin casting a shine, like polish, on one side of her face and leaving the other in shadow. Nina shivered, tugging her sweater around her shoulders. The yarn, thick under her fingertips, made her feel secure. It had been a gift from her mother on Nina’s birthday two weeks before – the birthday they shared.

“We are born on the cusp of two moons, passionate and loyal. A gift for my gift,” her mother had said when she gave Nina the present, blue to match her light eyes. It covered the once-white dress she wore that had belonged to her older sister. She leaned against the solid wood of the pew and studied the colours in the paintings of Frigimelica and Forabosco hanging on the grand church walls. Garments of rich burgundies like dried blood, sparkling golds, skin on a flat canvas painted to project luminescence and curve. It was easy to distract yourself from Mass when surrounded by such intricacy.

The women of her family sat to her right: seven of them in the row behind the nuns, a place of honour. The Argenta women occupied the same pew every Sunday. Onorina, four years her senior, perfect and pious, kept her eyes closed and prayed with a sparkling rosary threaded through her clasped hands, oblivious to the three youngest sisters who fretted next to their mother. Her father and younger brother, Vante, sat in front with the other men. Men in front, women in back, separated by the nuns. Nina’s older brother, Antonio, had not joined them today. At breakfast, tension had hung between him and their mother, which she assumed was why he missed Mass. The priest would surely notice. Mamma would be disappointed. Nina knew how it felt to let her down.

The chapel veil sitting atop her head slipped as she looked up at the imposing crucifix that stabbed down above the altar. Adjusting the lace, she missed a prayer response, causing her mother to look over with a lifted eyebrow. Adelasia Dalla Santa Argenta was not a woman to make angry, especially not during Mass. Her wooden spoon would be waiting at home to beat your culo if you weren’t good. She had a reputation for sternness not only with her family but with the entire town.

As the only trained midwife in Fonzaso and the villages surrounding, she had delivered every child Nina knew and had earned the nickname, La Capitana, The Captain. It was said even the priest feared her.

Nina could see her father, Corrado Argenta, through the heads and habits as he shifted from side to side. His eyelids drooped in boredom, but he glanced back from time to time to check on his wife and mother, both of whom he feared as much as the children did. Nonna Argenta, small and severe in her black dress and head covering, was the only one besides Onorina entirely consumed by the Mass. Nonna looks just like a strega, thought Nina, missing only a broom to fly away on.

Nina let out a relieved sigh when it was time for Communion. At last! Mass would be over soon, and she couldn’t wait to be by the fireplace, reading her book after helping Mamma and Nonna prepare the polenta for supper. She walked up the marble aisle, inching forward behind the nuns, then knelt at the altar and held out her tongue, awaiting the body of Christ. Receiving the wafer, she gave the sign of the cross and stood to head back to her seat. The taste of creamy paper stuck to the roof of her mouth and she contemplated why God would want children to have sore knees and numb bottoms to get into Heaven.

Passing rows of men knelt to pray after Communion, she saw the large Pante family filling two benches in the front of the church. Pietro, one of her sister’s classmates, leaned unceremoniously in the pew, trying to help his tiny brother fix his shoelaces, tied together so he would trip. A messy redhead crouched in the seat behind them was the likely culprit of the prank. The Pante boy finished helping his brother, then sat back on the pew, catching Nina’s eye and giving her a quiet smile. She hesitated before returning it. The Madonna was still watching her. I should be praying after receiving the body of Christ. She returned to her seat, then knelt again, bruised knees on cold wood, to await the end of the Mass.

“Fratelli e sorelle, ” Don Segala proclaimed after he had completed the liturgy. “I would like to ask for a special prayer today. Another group is leaving tomorrow for America. They will travel to Genoa and take a long ship ride. Signori, please join me here on the altar.” The pews squeaked, echoing in the church as a group of five men and three boys walked to the front. To Nina’s surprise, the Pante boy was one of them. Was it possible such a young boy was going on that voyage? There was an earnestness in the way he stood next to the other men who were a head taller than he was; his face was sombre. He stuck out a proud, lifted chin, smooth, unlike the others. A patched brown jacket, cut too wide, hung on his slender physique. I wonder how many brothers have worn that jacket before him.

The priest called out each of the men’s names. “Lord, please bless these men and give them a safe journey to America. Allow them to prosper there and, if it is your will, bring them safely home to their families here in Fonzaso.”

The parishioners united in an “Amen”. As Pietro returned to his seat, he peered back towards the Argenta pew, gave a wry smile, and nodded. Nina tried to see if he was looking at her or her sister, but Onorina was quick to bow her head again. The Madonna was watching her, too.

Nina knew many men were leaving Fonzaso to find work abroad. She had overheard her father mentioning it to her mother – the emigranti – but she never imagined such young people going. It unsettled her, and her heart raced as questions filled her head. Pietro Pante, who lived with his family a few streets down, who went to school with her sister, was leaving for America.

America!

The furthest she had travelled was to Padua with her mother, and Bergamo once. How exciting! What will happen to him? What would it be like to sail on a ship, miles away, to a new country? To start life over far away from Fonzaso? The Mass ended and the parishioners rose in song. Nina lent her voice with fervour and when she looked again at the Blessed Virgin, it seemed the Madonna was smiling at her.

Jennifer Anton

Author Bio:

Jennifer Anton is an American/Italian dual citizen born in Joliet, Illinois and now lives between London and Lake Como, Italy. A proud advocate for women's rights and equality, she hopes to rescue women's stories from history, starting with her Italian family.

Connect with Jennifer Anton:

Website ✔ Twitter ✔ Facebook ✔ Instagram ✔ Pinterest ✔ Book Bub ✔

Amazon Author Page ✔ Goodreads ✔ Youtube ✔

'Under the Light of the Italian Moon' - Tour Schedule

[Audio Blog Tour] 'The Assassins' By Alan Bardos (Audiobook Narrated By Jack Bennett) #HistoricalFiction #Thriller

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The Book:

'The Assassins' 
By Alan Bardos
Audiobook narrated by Jack Bennett

• Series: Johnny Swift Thrillers
• Publication Date: (current edition) 15th February 2021
• Publisher: Sharpe Books
• Page Length: 376 Pages
• Genre: Historical Thriller

The Blurb:

1914.

Tensions are reaching boiling point in Europe and the threat of war is imminent.

Johnny Swift, a young and brash diplomatic clerk employed by the British embassy is sent to infiltrate the ‘Young Bosnians’, a group of idealistic conspirators planning to murder Franz Ferdinand. The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, in a bid to liberate their country from the monarchy’s grip.

Swift has been having an affair with his employer’s wife, Lady Elizabeth Smyth. Sir George Smyth dispatches the agent on the dangerous mission, believing that it will be the last he will see of his young rival.

The agent manages to infiltrate the Young Bosnian conspirators’ cell, helped by Lazlo Breitner, a Hungarian Civil Servant.

However, Swift soon realises that he may be in over his head. His gambling debts and taste for beautiful women prove the least of his problems as he struggles to survive on his wits in the increasingly complex - and perilous - world of politics and espionage.

Desperate to advance himself and with the lives of a royal couple unexpectedly in his hands, Swift tries to avert catastrophe.

'The Assassins' By Alan Bardos - Front Cover

Praise for 'Assassins':

‘A cracking read, highly recommended’ - Roger A Price

‘Written with polished panache, it kept me gripped from the first to last. Five stars from me!’ - A.A. Chaudhuri

‘Part historical fiction, part thriller and part love story, this is a compelling and entertaining read’ - Gary Haynes

Buy Links: Amazon UK ✔  Amazon US  ✔ 

• This book is available to read for free with #KindleUnlimited subscription.

Audiobook Excerpt:

Audiobook Buy Links: US Audible ✔ UK Audible ✔ US Amazon ✔ UK Amazon ✔

Alan Bardos

Author Bio:

Alan Bardos is a graduate of the MA in TV Script Writing at De Montfort University, he also has a degree in Politics and History from Brunel University. Writing historical fiction combines the first great love of his life, making up stories, with the second, researching historical events and characters. Alan currently lives in Oxfordshire with his wife… the other great love of his life.

Despite the amount of material that has been written about the twentieth century there is still a great deal of mystery and debate surrounding many of its events, which Alan explores in his historical fiction series using a certain amount of artistic license to fill in the gaps, while remaining historically accurate. The series will chronicle the first half of the twentieth century from the perspective of Johnny Swift, a disgraced and degenerate diplomat and soldier; starting with the pivotal event of the twentieth century, the Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, in ‘The Assassins’.

Connect with Alan Bardos:

• Instagram ✔ Facebook ✔ Twitter ✔ Goodreads ✔ BookBub ✔ Amazon Author Page ✔ 

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[Blog Tour] 'The Queen's Rival' By Anne O'Brien #HistoricalFiction #Medieval

 'The Queen's Rival' - Tour Banner

The Book:

The Queen's Rival
By Anne O'Brien

• Publication Date: 15th April 2021(paperback) September 2020 (Hardback and ebook)
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Page Length: 531 pages
• Genre: Historical Fiction

The Blurb:

England, 1459.

One family united by blood. Torn apart by war…

The Wars of the Roses storm through the country, and Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, plots to topple the weak-minded King Henry VI from the throne.

But when the Yorkists are defeated at the battle of Ludford Bridge, Cecily’s family flee and abandon her to face a marauding Lancastrian army on her own.

Stripped of her lands and imprisoned in Tonbridge Castle, the Duchess begins to spin a web of deceit. One that will eventually lead to treason, to the fall of King Henry VI, and to her eldest son being crowned King Edward IV.

Buy Links: 

Amazon UK ✔ Amazon US ✔ Amazon CA ✔  Amazon AU ✔ 

Barnes and Noble ✔ Waterstones ✔ Kobo ✔ Audio ✔ Blackwells ✔ WHSmith ✔ 

'The Queen's Rival' - Front Cover

'The Queen's Rival' - Excerpt:

Duchess Cecily takes the King to task in Reading Abbey, September 1464

Edward, King of England, stood before me.

‘Where is she?’

‘Who?’

‘Do not be obtuse, Edward.’

I could not address him as Ned. There was no maternal affection within me.

His eyes widened with just the hint of the temper that he rarely showed to me.

‘You refer to my wife, Madam.’

A little silence fell, broken only by a squawk from the popinjay that had been consigned to the corner of the room. I ignored the wine poured and presented to me. Rejected the delicacy of fried fig pastries he had ordered to sweeten my mood. There would be no sweetening here.

‘What have you done, Edward? What in God’s name have you done?’

Replacing the cup on the salver, my son stood foursquare before me. He had known that he would have to face this conversation with me. They said that he was charismatic in his treatment of women. There was no doubting it. His smile could have melted winter ice.

‘I have entered into a marriage. Was that not what you had been commanding me to do since the day that I became King?’

The truth of this stirred my anger to a new level of heat.

‘I am finding it difficult to choose my words. You have married a commoner, a woman of no connection, a woman already wed, with a family of her own, and so defiled. A Queen of England should be a spotless virgin, not a widow. I can barely believe the truth of it, that you should have embarked on so misguided a policy.’

‘I regret that you are so dismissive of my choice of wife.’ How smooth he was. How adult. I remembered that he was now two and twenty years old. ‘Not one word to wish us happy. I might have hoped for more.’

At least his smile had waned.

‘Happy is not a concept for a King when entering into matrimony,’ I replied. ‘Did you not think? Did you not stop and consider before you committed the deed? As King of England you had your choice of European women of high birth. Bona of Savoy would have been the perfect match. Your children would be magnificently connected to the best blood of England and France. Here was a chance to tie France into an alliance which would defeat the Lancastrians for ever. Since, without a reply, Edward picked up his own cup and drank, I continued.

‘Instead you have chosen a woman who will give you no advantage, and in so doing you have antagonised Warwick, humiliated King Louis, horrified your Council. And if that were not enough you have angered the bedrock of your Yorkist followers whose blood has been spilt in our cause on the battlefield. They think that you have betrayed them by this marriage. Surely I and your father raised you to see the value of making and keeping friends in political circles. You have destroyed so much goodwill. It will serve you badly if King Louis, feeling thwarted by your inexplicable volte-face, promptly gives his support to Queen Marguerite and furnishes her with French troops to win the throne back for her son. We could have a French army landing on our shores within months, and it will be entirely your own fault.’

Which at last prompted my son into some level of response.

‘You take no account of the reason why I asked that she would wed me. It is very clear to anyone who knows me well, and who knows the lady. I fell in love. I wed her because I did not wish to live without her.’

His features were alight with it. I would not be persuaded.

‘Love! It is an embarrassment.’

And there again was the flash of temper in his eyes as they held mine without any sense of regret.

‘I love her! Did I not appreciate the problems surrounding this marriage? I am neither ignorant or naive, but the moment I set eyes on Mistress Grey, my heart was hers, as hers was mine. I wed her because I wished to spend my life with her. I know that she will be an unimpeachable Queen.’

His confidence was disquieting. 'You say that you are not naive. This marriage was the opportunity to make that one single irrevocable alliance with a European power through the hand of a foreign Princess. Instead you have thrown it away on a family of little renown. Rivers, a man of meagre nobility. Jacquetta, it is true, the daughter of some distant branch of the family of Luxembourg, but it does not make amends for Woodville’s less than glorious birth.’

‘I care not.’

‘You should care. A King, particularly a new King with a kingdom to take in hand, should wed a virgin, a woman of pure reputation. It is not acceptable for you to wed a widow.’

My son’s face was wiped clean of any expression, but he was not lost for words.

‘It’s always an education to hear your views of my character, Madam.’ Edward, opening the door for me to depart, bowed with a perfect degree of respect, denied by his closing words.

‘I hope you will change your mind. In the interest of harmony in my household. If you will not, then I fear that you will be the loser.’

Before the door closed behind me, all I heard was the popinjay’s shriek, startled by some reaction from within the room. Edward laughed. The popinjay had more effect on him than I.

All was clear, like iron nails hammered into a coffin. Elizabeth Woodville would be Queen of England. I had been supplanted by a woman for whom I had no respect.

At some point I would have to meet her.

What a game that would be to play out. Queen versus King’s Mother.

Anne O'Brien

Author Bio:

Sunday Times Bestselling author Anne O’Brien was born in West Yorkshire. After gaining a BA Honours degree in History at Manchester University and a Master’s in Education at Hull, she lived in East Yorkshire for many years as a teacher of history.

Today she has sold over 700,000 copies of her books medieval history novels in the UK and internationally. She lives with her husband in an eighteenth-century timber-framed cottage in the depths of the Welsh Marches in Herefordshire. The area provides endless inspiration for her novels which breathe life into the forgotten women of medieval history.

Connect with Anne O’Brien:

Website ✔ Twitter ✔ Facebook ✔ LinkedIn ✔ Pinterest ✔ 

Amazon Author Page ✔ Goodreads ✔ News Letter sign up ✔ 

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[Blog Tour] 'Dawn Empress: A Novel of Imperial Rome' (The Theodosian Women, Book Two) By Faith L. Justice #HistoricalFiction

'Dawn Empress' - Tour Banner

The Book:

Dawn Empress: A Novel of Imperial Rome
(The Theodosian Women, Book Two)
By Faith L. Justice
Audiobook narrated by Kathleen Li

• Print/ebook Publication Date: 24th May 2020
• Audiobook Publication date: 19th February 2021
• Publisher: Raggedy Moon Books
• Page Length: 354 pages
• Audio Book Length: 12 hrs 41 min
• Genre: Biographical Historical Fiction

The Blurb:

As Rome reels under barbarian assaults, a young girl must step up.

After the Emperor’s unexpected death, ambitious men eye the Eastern Roman throne occupied by seven-year-old Theodosius II. His older sister Pulcheria faces a stark choice: she must find allies and take control of the Eastern court or doom the imperial children to a life of obscurity—or worse. Beloved by the people and respected by the Church, Pulcheria forges her own path to power. Can her piety and steely will protect her brother from military assassins, heretic bishops, scheming eunuchs and—most insidious of all—a beautiful, intelligent bride? Or will she lose all in the trying?

Dawn Empress tells the little-known and remarkable story of Pulcheria Augusta, 5th century Empress of Eastern Rome. Her accomplishments rival those of Elizabeth I and Catherine the Great as she sets the stage for the dawn of the Byzantine Empire. Don’t miss this “gripping tale” (Kirkus Reviews); a “deftly written and impressively entertaining historical novel” (Midwest Book Reviews). Historical Novel Reviews calls Dawn Empress an “outstanding novel…highly recommended” and awarded it the coveted Editor’s Choice.

Buy Links:

Print/eBook

• Amazon UK ✔ Amazon US ✔ Amazon CA ✔ Amazon AU ✔     
• Barnes & Noble ✔ Waterstones ✔ Kobo ✔ Apple Books ✔    
• Smashwords ✔ Books A Million ✔ Scribd ✔      

Audiobook

• Audible ✔ iTunes ✔ Nook Audiobook ✔ Google Play  ✔          
• Kobo Audio ✔ BingeBooks ✔ Chirp ✔ Scribd ✔  

Dawn Empress - eBook Cover

'Dawn Empress: A Novel of Imperial Rome' - Excerpt:

From Chapter 12

Imperial Palace, February 420

“Brother, you missed the morning audience and the day’s prayers.” Pulcheria’s gaze pinned Theo as he traversed the corridor to his private rooms. The boy emperor had grown into a man during the past five years. Riding, hunting, and sword practice honed his body and gave him an animal grace. He would never be a burly man, but her brother was handsome and healthy.

He turned; a blush crept up his neck to suffuse his face. “My apologies, Sister. Paulinus invited me to spend the day. We rode and dined at his father’s estate.” His eyes took on a wary cast. “I told the Master of Offices. Did he not inform you?”

“Of course.” Little or nothing happened in the palace that she did not know of. When she took over running the household after Antiochus’ retirement, she also took over his network of informants among the servants. As government absorbed her time, over the past couple of years she had turned more and more responsibility for running the palace over to Arcadia. Luckily, her younger sister showed an admirable talent for organizing, and took to the tasks willingly. Pulcheria did not want another eunuch meddling in her life.

She took her brother’s arm as they walked towards his rooms. At their posts, the ever-present guards stared straight ahead. Servants retreated to the walls to stand with downcast eyes as they passed. “I was disappointed you did not see fit to tell me yourself.” She let him squirm during the moments of silence that followed.

His mouth twisted into a sulk. “I never get to leave the palace. I’m emperor and have less freedom than any of my subjects. People attend me constantly. Court ritual and Church obligations mark my hours, night and day.”

“God did not make you emperor to constantly carouse and ignore His business on earth. You were chosen and must fulfill your obligations to empire and Church.” She patted his arm. “But I’m sure God did not intend you to have no recreation to lighten your burden. You are just shy of nineteen. Exercise and pleasant companionship are good for the soul, as well as the body. What did you and Paulinus speak of?”

“Not much. Hunting. Horses.” His voice trailed off.

Pulcheria gave him a sharp look. Theo’s boyhood companions were a constant thorn in her side. Her brother had a true and loyal heart. He lavished honors on the boys and their families. Placitus had taken an important position in Moesia and was thankfully gone from the palace, but Paulinus shadowed Theo still. She suspected Isidorus coached the boy to bend Theo to his will. She could almost feel Anthemius’ son lurking in the shadows. She needed to keep a closer eye on Paulinus.

They arrived at the brass-bound door marking Theo’s suite of private rooms. He dithered, obviously not wanting to invite her in.

She dropped his arm to confront him. “We have important news from Persia. May I come in?”

“What news?”

“Something not to be discussed in the corridors!” She pursed her lips in exasperation. What’s wrong with Theo?

“Fine. Come in.” He opened the door and bowed her in.

His rooms were austere, but not as monastic as her own. The walls of his personal audience chamber sported frescoes of nature and hunting scenes. Niches which normally held statuary contained fragrant pots of flowers grown indoors over the winter. The lavenders teased her with the scent of spring, still a month or two away. Pulcheria passed carved oak chairs sporting purple cushions with gold tassels but chose to sit on a bench devoid of padding.

Inside, Theo relaxed a bit, taking one of the chairs across from her. Pulcheria glanced at the servants. “Warm spiced wine for the emperor.”

Her action brought another frown to Theo’s face. “I am capable of directing my servants, Ria.”

“I know.” She waited until the servants left the room. “It was my way of getting us a little private time. The palace will soon be ringing with the news.”

“Are you going to tell me before the servants announce it?” His eyebrow rose in imitation of her own when exasperated.

“King Yazdgard executed a Christian bishop and several of his followers.”

“What?” Theo leapt to his feet and started pacing—echoing another of her habits. His cheeks turned red again, this time with the hot blood of anger. “How dare he execute Christians? We have a treaty!”

Pulcheria’s fears that the Hellenes led her brother to light-mindedness receded. She had been unaware she carried such a burden until it lifted like a weight from her shoulders. She should never have doubted her brother’s faith and dedication to the Church, having raised him in piety. His occasional small rebellion was a function of his youth and vigor, to be expected. I should find him a suitable wife soon, one without the burden of too many family connections. It is time he fulfilled his dynastic obligations and produced an heir.

“The bishop destroyed a state Zoroastrian fire-altar. He and his followers did not repent. I’m afraid Yazdgard had little choice but to execute them. However, we must be on our guard and object to any further persecution of our co-religionists.”

“I don’t understand.” Theo sat, a frown puckering his brow. “We’ve been at peace with Persia for years. Prefect Anthemius insured Christian freedom from persecution in exchange for granting the same rights to Persians in our lands.”

She reached across a low marble table to grab his hand. It was imperative Theo understand her next point. “Brother, it is time your people see their emperor not just as Protector of the Empire, but Protector of the Faith. We will meet with our generals tomorrow to plan our strategy. I hope to avoid further bloodshed, but if Yazdgard pursues Christians, we must respond. This will not be a normal skirmish about borders or trade. If it comes to it, this will be a holy war.”

“I understand, Ria.” He squeezed her hand, looking grim. “Now I must repair to bed. Only a few hours until midnight prayers.”

Faith L. Justice

Author Bio:

Faith L. Justice writes award-winning historical novels, short stories, and articles in Brooklyn, New York where she lives with her family and the requisite gaggle of cats. Her work has appeared in Salon.com, Writer’s Digest, The Copperfield Review, and many more publications. She is Chair of the New York City chapter of the Historical Novel Society, and Associate Editor for Space and Time Magazine. She co-founded a writer’s workshop many more years ago than she likes to admit. For fun, she digs in the dirt—her garden and various archaeological sites.

Connect With Faith L. Justice:

• Website ✔ Twitter ✔ Facebook ✔ LinkedIn ✔    
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[Blog Tour] 'Pied Piper' By Keith Stuart #HistoricalFiction #WW2

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The Book:

Pied Piper
By Keith Stuart

• Publication Date: 1st March 2021
• Publisher: LMP- Len Maynard Publishing
• Page Length: 176 Pages
• Genre: Historical Fiction / WWII

The Blurb:

In September 1939 the British Government launched Operation Pied Piper. To protect them from the perils of German bombing raids, in three days millions of city children were evacuated - separated from their parents.

This story tells of two families: one whose children leave London and the other which takes them in. We share the ups and downs of their lives, their dramas and tragedies, their stoicism and their optimism. But. unlike many other stories and images about this time, this one unfolds mainly through the eyes of Tom, the father whose children set off, to who knew where, with just a small case and gas mask to see them on their way

Buy Links: Amazon UK ✔ Amazon US ✔ Amazon CA ✔ Amazon AU✔

• This novel is free to read with #KindleUnlimited subscription.

'Pied Piper' - Front Cover

'Pied Piper' - Excerpt:

The next few minutes’ thoughts were drowned by the clatter of pots and cutlery and plates but there was an unusual absence of chatter. Alice and Micky always had something to say, correcting and contradicting each other about things they had been doing together and interrupting each other as they shared what they had done alone, each certain the other was being given too much time to tell. But that night they were subdued, quiet.

“Right, you two, hands washed quickly,” and I whisked Micky off his feet towards the sink, trying my darnedest to tickle his ribs and illicit a giggle. Instead, he twisted in my arms and threw his arms round my neck, pressing his warm little cheek against mine and whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to go, Daddy.” I wrapped him in my arms and clasped him so close I wanted him to melt into me so we couldn’t be parted.

“I know, Soldier, but it won’t be for long and you’re a lucky thing getting extra holiday in the country. Wish I was coming.” He could never know how much I meant that. “And you have to look after Alice, too, ’cause you know what she’s like, she won’t want to go either.”

Alice could not have heard the exchange, but she sensed the moment and came running from the sink and crashed into my legs, trying her best to join her hands round my waist and bury her face into my belly. I could feel her shoulders heaving with her sobs and, clutching my son in one arm, I reached down and clasped the back of her head and pressed her closer still. Without looking, my eyes were so tightly shut they hurt, I could see in my mind’s eye her soft, golden hair, tumbling in bubbling curls half-way down her back.

When I dared open my eyes, I found myself instinctively looking straight into Mary’s. She made no sound as tears slid down each side of her face.

“Right, you silly lot. This won’t do. We’ve got tea to eat and lots of getting ready for your adventure. You gotta choose the things you want to take, then everything’s got to be packed, Mummy’s got labels to write. And I…well I’ve got things to do, too.”

“What have you got to do, Daddy?” It was Alice who managed to join me in breaking the moment.

“Now that’s for me to know and you to find out. But you won’t be finding out till tomorrow.”

“Oh Daddy, that’s not fair. That’s teasing and you say we shouldn’t tease.” Micky had eased his cheek from mine and was looking straight at me.

“Yeah, but I’m a grown up and I’m allowed.”

As I lowered Micky to the floor again, I kissed the top of Alice’s head and inhaled as deeply as I could. I needed to lock in the smell of them both. We took our usual places at the table, Mary nearest the stove to fetch and carry, the children either side and opposite each other, and me at the end opposite Mary. It had never been decided that this is how it would be, it just happened. It was a bit like the colour of eyes, or the size of feet being handed down, inherited. It was just the way we did it and it felt right and comfortable. It was the shape of our perfect little family.

Tea was eaten more quietly than usual: the questions the children must have had I suspect could not be asked. They were too big, too difficult to voice because then they would become real issues instead of potential ones. Neither Mary nor I could guess their thoughts for certain and feared we might sow a seed of fear they might not have had if we were to explore the possibilities with them. So, we sat in a cloud of denial. Not lying to each other by saying but doing so by not.

Micky looked the most lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t right that such big things had to be considered by one so small. I daren’t even try to put myself in his place, wonder what I would have felt like at six years old, leaving my Mum and Dad to go off to who knew where, to live with who knew who, for who knew how long. One thought poked itself into my head but, as the possibility of never seeing my little ones again flitted across my thoughts, Micky spoke and a shutter seemingly came down and ‘what ifs’ returned to ‘what now?’

“Can I take Bunners?”

In all the magnitude of the situation, in a mountain of potential consequences, Micky’s troubled, almost tearful fear that he might be separated from his beloved, stuffed and threadbare rabbit broke the silence at last. And I laughed. It was so absurd, so incongruous and had I not laughed I would most certainly have cried.

Author Bio:

Keith Stuart (Wadsworth) taught English for 36 years in Hertfordshire schools, the county in which he was born and has lived most of his life. Married with two sons, sport, music and, especially when he retired after sixteen years as a headteacher, travel, have been his passions. Apart from his own reading, reading and guiding students in their writing; composing assemblies; writing reports, discussion and analysis papers, left him with a declared intention to write a book. Pied Piper is ‘it’. Starting life as a warm-up exercise at the Creative Writing Class he joined in Letchworth, it grew into this debut novel.

• Connect with Keith: Facebook ✔ Instagram ✔

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[Blog Tour] 'Two Fatherlands' (A Reschen Valley Novel Part 4) By Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger #HistoricalFiction #WW2

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The Book:

Two Fatherlands
(A Reschen Valley Novel Part 4)
By Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

• Publication Date: April 13, 2021
• Publisher: Inktreks/Lucyk-Berger
• Page Length: 636 Pages
• Genre: Historical Fiction (WW2)

The Blurb:

It's a dangerous time to be a dissident...

1938. Northern Italy. Since saving Angelo Grimani's life 18 years earlier, Katharina is grappling with how their lives have since been entwined. Construction on the Reschen Lake reservoir begins and the Reschen Valley community is torn apart into two fronts - those who want to stay no matter what comes, and those who hold out hope that Hitler will bring Tyrol back into the fold.

Back in Bolzano, Angelo finds one fascist politician who may have the power to help Katharina and her community, but there is a group of corrupt players eager to have a piece of him. When they realise that Angelo and Katharina are joining forces, they turn to a strategy of conquering and dividing to weaken both the community and Angelo's efforts.

Meanwhile, the daughter Angelo shares with Katharina - Annamarie - has fled to Austria to pursue her acting career but the past she is running away from lands her directly into the arms of a new adversary: the Nazis. She goes as far as Berlin, and as far as Goebbels, to pursue her dreams, only to realise that Germany is darker than any place she's been before.

Angelo puts aside his prejudices and seeks alliances with old enemies; Katharina finds ingenious ways to preserve what is left of her community, and Annamarie wrests herself from the black forces of Nazism with plans to return home. But when Hitler and Mussolini present the Tyroleans with “The Option”, the residents are forced to choose between Italian and German nationhood with no guarantee that they will be able to stay in Tyrol at all!

Out of the ruins of war, will they be able to find their way back to one another and pick up the pieces?

This blockbuster finale will keep readers glued to the pages. Early readers are calling it, "...engrossing", "...enlightening" and "...both a heartbreaking and uplifting end to this incredible series!"

Buy Links:

Universal Link ✔ Barnes and Noble ✔ Indigo  ✔ Kobo  ✔
iBooks ✔ Mondadori ✔ Angus & Robertson  ✔

'Two Fatherlands' - Cover

'Two Fatherlands' - Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Graun, April 1938

Katharina was fixing the wiring on the chicken coop when she heard the gunfire. From below the ridge, surprised shrieks, like panicked birds startled from the brush. A second shot. Silence.

By the time she came around to the front of the house, Manuel appeared at the top of the road, furiously pushing the bicycle pedals. Even from a distance, she saw the way her youngest son’s face was pulled tight with sorrow. Bernd and he had been racing up and down the farm road, cheering one another on as they took turns with the bicycle. It had been a scene of peace and unity, of a normalcy so distant these last months that it nearly made everything all right again. Surely, Katharina thought, that squealing had simply come from something Florian had not properly oiled. Manuel was probably distressed because he thought he might have broken the old contraption.

Before he reached the barnyard, Manuel jumped off and dropped the bicycle to the ground—exactly what his father had told him not to do—before throwing himself on Katharina.

“Mutti! They shot Hildi!”

“Who did?” But before Manuel could name the Italian police guards, Katharina was already running for the ridge.

Behind her, a tool clattered in the workshop, where Florian was mending the pushcart wheel, but she did not stop to see whether her husband was on her heels. She had to reach the carabinieri before they hurt anyone else.

At last sight, Katharina had seen Hildi’s black-and-white tail swinging wildly in circles as she had chased after Bernd on the bicycle. Hildi—God knew how much Bernd loved that dog—had kept up with him, but not because she’d been on a lead. Bernd must have removed it.

When she reached the scene, a policeman was fastening handcuffs onto Bernd. Her son’s head drooped over his heaving chest. Katharina rushed at the two policemen, intent on pulling her son out of their grips, but at the sight of the prostrate dog in the field, she pulled up short and covered her mouth.

“Sentite, è davvero necessario?” she demanded. Was this necessary?

Florian now pushed towards the carabinieri, hands up. “Vi prego, he’s upset about the dog.”

“Yes,” Katharina reasoned with the smaller policeman, “you’ve shot his dog. Naturally he’s upset.”

With a crushed expression, Bernd looked down at Hildi, then up at Katharina. He wrenched himself from the policemen’s hold. There were always two of them: one to read and one to write—that was the joke. By the way they gripped Katharina’s son again and shook him into stillness, however, these two made it clear they were not joking.

“He came after us,” the shorter one replied, indignant. “He’s not allowed to strike at the police.” To Bernd, he added, “You know that. This is not the first time you’ve crossed the line of the law.”

Katharina started again, as did Florian, the two of them talking over each other.

“Don’t you dare beg them,” Bernd growled in German. Behind those eyes—so much like his great-grandfather’s had been—anger flared dark blue.

The policemen swung Bernd to the road and marched him towards town.

Katharina rushed for her boy, but Florian pulled her back. She twisted out of her husband’s grip, his interference making it all the more urgent that she fight harder. She grabbed the first policeman by the arm and pleaded again for Bernd’s release.

“Please! Fine us. The dog should have been on a lead, I know. We’ll pay whatever you want. Just don’t take my son to Captain Basso.”

The man’s expression wavered. “Signora Steinhauser, my mother is a lioness too. I’ll tell you what I tell her: you cannot fix everything for your children. Bernd is old enough to take responsibility for his actions, for his life.”

Katharina glared at him.

“Take the dog,” the presumptuous policeman said. “Bury it. Then come to the station and pick up your son. But only after he has learned his lesson.”

Florian came to her side and muttered something, but she wasn’t listening. She watched the two carabinieri stride off with her son still defiant between them. Florian then marched back up the road and to the farm.

Katharina followed her husband, Manuel, at her side. Only a few weeks ago, the authorities had fetched Florian in the middle of the night. He’d undergone questioning—questioning that had chilled Katharina. Captain Basso had made it clear that the authorities had information about the family, information that Katharina and Florian had carefully kept from the boys. Florian said Basso had seemed disappointed, angry even, that Florian had not reacted more surprised or vehement about Basso’s knowledge. Katharina could easily imagine the police captain would break open the truth to Bernd.

By the time she reached the top of the road, Florian had disappeared into the workshop. He returned with his hat.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said.

“I’m coming with you.”

He put a hand against her shoulder before she could move into the house. “Stay here.” He indicated the ridge. “You and Manuel should bury Hildi. I’ll come back with Bernd.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You offered to pay a fine. I’m going to need the emergency money.”

It wasn’t just Hildi running around without a lead. Accosting a carabinieri was a serious matter. Bernd could be sent to prison, as far as to Bolzano, unless they could pay. Katharina knew Vincenzo Basso well enough to know they could never pay enough to keep him quiet. He’d had his reasons for testing Florian. Divide et impera. Divide and conquer. That was Basso’s tactic. His and the other Fascists’.

“I’ll get the tin.” Katharina went into the house.

Above the stove, tucked away in the alcove, was the container of matches and the extra lire they’d saved for a rainy day. Florian would also need Bernd’s papers. She took the tin into the sitting room with her and pulled open the drawer of the writing credenza, removed the envelope with all their documents, and found Bernd’s. Before she put the envelope back, she noticed the edge of a picture frame sticking out from between old letters and newspaper clippings. Puzzled, she reached for it and then remembered. She dropped her hand.

That frame was empty now. It had once held the photo of Annamarie dressed in her blue-gingham smock and a white blouse. Katharina recalled the beginning of her daughter’s smile, the reason for it. Manuel and Bernd had dashed out, dressed up in capes and silly hats, swinging wooden swords and trying to get their older sister to laugh over made-up rhymes. Beyond that moment—beyond that photo—Katharina remembered her daughter’s eyes yearning for something far away, remembered how that child loved to run, bounding through the fields, abandoning her chores. How many times had that girl scorched the milk? She remembered her daughter’s crushed expression, the shame on Annamarie’s face, the day she’d returned from Bolzano, hoping for forgiveness. Instead, it was Katharina who had begged to be forgiven, and denied it.

Annamarie. She was in Innsbruck, across the border now, leaving Katharina and Florian to wrestle with the past, with the lies that had compounded over the years and that Annamarie had learned about in the most heartbreaking revelation.

The frame was empty, the photo in Angelo Grimani’s possession. Katharina had pleaded with him to search for their daughter, to be more than a politician and to finally take responsibility. He’d returned empty handed, remorseful, and far too late.

She stuffed the envelope into the drawer and slammed it shut, angry now. At the carabinieri. At Bernd. At the dog. At Florian for refurbishing the cursed bicycle. At herself, most of all, for all that she had managed to undo in the last year.

Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger

Author Bio:

Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger is an American author living in Austria. Her focus is on historical fiction. She has been a managing editor for a magazine publishing house, has worked as an editor, and has won several awards for her travel narrative, flash fiction and short stories. She lives with her husband in a “Grizzly Adams” hut in the Alps, just as she’d always dreamt she would when she was a child.

Connect with Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger:

Website • Facebook • Twitter • Instagram • LinkedIn • 

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