Meet The Character:BESHAR

here's another excerpt from Ignited. This is chapter six and a character introduction for Beshar. He tends to be fan favorite. I hope you find him as interesting as I do:

Beshar, Tenth of the Thirteen, tried to stay indoors at night. His life in the arena was demanding however, and this wasn't the first time he had been summoned after hours, nor would it be his last. He was grateful his business there had been concluded within an hour, with any luck he would make it back to his chambers before the sun fully set. Though it was early in the evening, the pits had all been ignited and they cast shadows that flickered and danced on the clay buildings and homes that made up the city. The arena was close to the palace where he made his home, close enough that he'd felt he could walk, Everflame knew he could use the exercise. Now, he regretted his earlier desire to try his hand at fitness.

You should have brought more men. The three Samur that followed flanked behind him and to either side but even with the security of his Samur he felt naked and vulnerable. As a member of the Thirteen, assassins were a constant threat. He quickened his pace, gazing sharply from left to right, drinking in the sights around him. The city smelled horrid of course. The rank odor of the poor wafted up to him, attacking his sinuses and he pressed a perfumed handkerchief to his mouth to ward off the pungent smell. What was that? Sewage and rotting meat? He shuddered delicately. He was never walking to the arena again.

The palace rose up ahead of him. Emblazoned by the light of the Everflame, the glass monstrosity twinkled and glowed a brilliant orange against the sandy dunes surrounding it. When he got inside he would enjoy a nice steam and a bottle of wine, maybe two.

The palace had been his home for the last twenty years so Beshar did not notice its sparkling brilliance, or the fact that the fourteen majestic glass towers were awe inspiring in their size and architecture. Built decades ago, the palace was made by Torches who heated the surrounding sands into a fine sheet of glass and manipulated the malleable glass into tall twisted peaks. The architecture of the palace was beautiful and unmatched by anything in the world but Beshar saw none of that because to him, the palace was simply his home. To be more accurate, the Tenth Tower was his home, but the towers were all connected to make one fantastic unit.

A small group of people, upper-class by the look of the fine cotton of their robes, strolled toward the palace. A few took leisurely swigs of water along the way, most likely to flaunt their wealth to any who might observe. New money. Where were they going at such a late hour? The palace closed its gate every evening and no one, aside from the Thirteen, were granted entrance after sunset.

There were four of them, three men and a woman, and Beshar realized that though they were all wealthy to a degree, only one of them had a Quad in tow. The four guard men gave Beshar and his men a careful once over.

“I think it's scandalous.” The voice came from the women and Beshar walked closer, eager to overhear any gossip she might share. There was power in information.

“Where do you suppose he is? It's unlikely he'd tour the cities so late in the season.”

One of the men snorted. “He didn't leave for a tour without anyone noticing.”

“Then where has he been? He hasn't been seen for two days...”

The people turned down an alley and their voices faded with them. They were more than likely headed to the theater, it was the only source of entertainment this close to the palace, and for a moment Beshar toyed with the idea of following them. He dismissed the thought quickly, it was better not to stay out any later than he had to, besides, he had an excellent vintage waiting for him.

He continued on his trek to the palace, mulling over the conversation he'd overheard. It had been a pitiful excuse for gossip. He was aware, of course, that the First had been missing at court, he hadn't been seen in days. The rest of the imbeciles that made up the Thirteen might have accepted the explanation of the daughter of the First, but Beshar was a man of intellect and the facts remained that her story didn't add up. The daughter of the First claimed that her father's illness wasn't serious, but if that was the case then why hadn't he attended council meeting? A minor illness would not keep one from his duty of ruling an entire republic. And yet, if the sickness was serious enough to warrant an absence from council meetings, why then had the First not seen the palace surgeon? Beshar knew that he hadn't, he'd paid handsomely for that knowledge and had the man followed for good measure. The surgeon had not been summoned. The daughter of the First was up to something, and Beshar's mouth watered at the opportunities that arose from her deceit. What was she up to? He couldn't wait to find out.

He was almost to the palace, he had only to cross one alley and then he would arrive in front its gates. The gates, while also made of glass, were reinforced several times over; they were both beautiful and effective.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments in front of the alleyway. It was short and narrow, darkened by the height of the two buildings on either side of it. The courtyard pit did little to light the alley but Beshar was not afraid of the dark. The absence of torchlight only made things safer.

He strolled forward, ready to relax with his steam and his wine but he was stopped by a firm grip on his forearm.

He frowned down at the offending appendage before dragging his stare up to meet the imposing figure of Kenjiro. His head Samur shook his head slightly, indicating that there was a potential threat just ahead.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through Beshar. He was no fighter, when trouble arose he relied on his wit and and the power of his wealth to see him out of it. Once again, he wished he'd thought to bring more men. The darkened alley loomed before him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the worse.

“Who goes there?” He called out. He was surprised at the deep timber and authoritative ring to his tone.

A figure stepped forward, it was hard to distinguish features in the light of the distant fire pit but Beshar assumed it was the form of a woman based on the tiny size of the figure and the unctuous sway to the hips.

“Hello, Beshar.” The voice purred over his name as it stepped ever closer.

He was right, it was a woman. She was dressed entirely in black, loose black trousers and tunic, with her hair knotted at the nape of her neck and a black silk mask covering her features.

He dipped his upper half into the semblance of a bow but kept his gaze trained on her face, what he could see of it in any case.

She smiled beneath her mask.

“Such the gentlemen.”

“My lady. It appears you have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I am woefully unaware of the name of the beauty that stands before me.”

She chuckled, shaking her head at his flattery.

When she made no move to say anything else, Beshar sighed. “Would that I could stand here before your presence for the rest of my days but alas, a bottle of red calls my name.” He took a step forward, Kenjiro and his other two men kept pace.

She held out a halting hand and the four men stopped, waiting to hear her words. It galled Beshar to do so, but he would gain no information from simply cutting her down where she stood. Well, ordering his men to cut her down in any case, he eyed the dagger that gleamed from its sheath on her hip.

“You have been summoned.”

“I was,” Beshar nodded. “It was an invitation, I chose not to accept.”

“An invitation was polite. You will not like what happens next.” Her voice still purred but she fingered the dagger at her waist, stroking its silver handle.

“I'll take my chances.” He could afford to be brave with Kenjiro and the other two standing there.

The woman sucked her breath in sharply, there was a faint whistle as the air blew between her teeth.

“You are a fool.”

Beshar smiled, nodding his acceptance. “So I've been told before. But I think once you get to me know me you'll find that I'm actually quite smart.”

She snorted and turned back toward the alley. She walked several paces before she turned sharply on her heel. She frowned, shaking her head and clucking her tongue in a sound of disapproval.

“You're wrong you know. Only a fool would defy him. We'll be watching you.” She turned and disappeared into the darkened alley.

  Beshar watched her walk away, panting hard in an effort to stop the wild beating of his heart.

Outlining Your Novel

To outline or not outline?

Yes, that is a question. For some of my writer friends, the idea of writing a novel without an outline is terrifying. Melody G argues that without an outline, one risks the idea of writing an entire manuscript without a plot. She has a valid argument.

And yet, I wrote Ignited, an 88,000 word manuscript without so much of a character sketch. It was fun and freeing. I was nearly forty thousand words in before I decided on a villain. It was until I'd reached seventy thousand words that I discovered how I wanted the manuscript to end. Writing Ignited without an outline was a grand adventure. And I would do it again.

I have a full outline for Submerged (book two in my series) and in fact, I've outlined the subsequent books, even though I'm nowhere near ready to start writing them. In my opinion, it would be impossible to complete the series without an outline,(or extensive notes to keep all my characters straight)

George R.R, Martin once said that there are two type of writers: either the architect or the gardener. The architect meticulously plans their novel before writing it where as the gardener drops the seed of an idea and allows it to grow as it will. (I paraphrased his words but you get the idea)

I'm proud of how Ignited turned out. If I hadn't had the faith in myself to just write Jura's story, it might have turned out differently.

SO if you're reading this and you find that you're a writer who writes with outlines, I challenge you to toss away the blueprint. Try being a gardener, you never know what you might grow.

A Twitter Breakdown for Your Book Baby

As you know I've been searching for agent representation for Ignited and anyone who has gone through this process can you tell that it's hell. Honestly the most miserable thing I've ever done in my life. Melody G. my dear friend and fellow unpublished author had the brilliant idea of contacting one of our old professors to ask for tips. Her best piece of advice: Twitter.

I'm (for the most part) computer illiterate. SO when you want me to learn a new social media my defenses immediately go up. Why was this necessary I thought? Our old professor explained that the publishing world is evolving, and part of that evolution involves Twitter. SO I bit the bullet and joined. Hey, I've mastered Facebook, how hard could it be? Once you get used to the fact that you can only post 140 characters at a time and once you fully understand the power of hashtags (# for any people who have spent the last three years under a rock) I found that Twitter was everything she'd promised. Better even,

I present to you the top hashtags that have been helpful to me:
#askagent-- this one is awesome. Use it to ask questions to people in the publishing know. Ask a brief to-the-point question and just like magic someone (usually) responds
#amwriting--this one is nice because it flags you as a writer. Use this hashtag whenever you make a comment about your current WIP or just to get in contact with other writers. I'm pretty sure half my followers have come from my use of this hashtag. Along these lines you can also use #amediting or #amreading. Basically, use these to put yourself out there!
#pubtip-- use this whenever you've learned something insightful about the industry and would like to share OR type this in the search bar and watch your screen fill up with all sorts of helpful tips on the world of agents and publishers

There are endless hashtags. Aside from using those, and probably a bigger interest than building your platform from scratch, is that Twitter gives you the power to stalk agents. No, I don't mean in the creepy stand outside their house while breathing hard way (do NOT do that) but in the innocent hey, you there, I see what you're about. I think this is what our professor was trying to tell Melody and me.

NEARLY EVERY AGENT IS ON TWITTER.
I know. Crazy, right?

Simply type the word agent in that magic search bar on the top of your Twitter screen and start following. I suggest you follow everyone. Obviously you can't submit to everyone out there (submitting your hard-boiled crime novel with themes of erotica to a poor soul who only represents Middle Grade novels is a big no-no) but I can promise you that at one point or another the agent will post something helpful to you. Maybe it's a nice #pubtip, or maybe it's advice on how to craft your query letter, or how to submit. Maybe even tips on the writing process itself. The possibilities are endless.And best of all..."stalking"a gents MAY just lead you to your dream agent.

It was on Twitter that I found my dream agent. He had a funny profile pic so I knew he had a sense of humor and he claimed to be the one true king of Westeros so I knew he was well-read. I put myself out there. I told him I wanted to have his book baby. He responded with a face palm but I knew that I had entertained him for the moment and this gave me the courage to submit. I queried, and three weeks later I received the letter every girl (every girl, right?) dreams of getting. The agent asked for a sample of my work. So no, we haven't signed a contract and while my work gets reviewed I can do nothing but wait with bated breath but I'm not worried. Maybe he and I will have that book baby together but if he doesn't there are still dozens of agents out there that I can submit too. And thanks to Twitter, I can get in contact with every one.

Query Letter

For those who don't know: a query is a short, concise, oh so professional letter that introduces you and your book to potential agents. It's basically mandatory to write one if you have any intention on publishing your MS with any of the big houses (there are few exceptions). I have a query that I'm shopping around now for Ignited but so far its produced limited success. I hope that's because it just hasn't fallen into the right hands. But who knows? There is always room for improvement! If you come across this post and think you have any pointers that you would like to share I'm sure myself and my readers would love to read them. Here is my current query for Ignited:

In a world where water is currency and the manipulation of fire is a rare and dangerous skill, a young woman must discover the price she is willing to pay to save her father, and possibly her country.

Ignited, an 88,000 word Young Adult novel, is a fast-paced fantasy thriller that will fit in with other popular novels in its genre, such as Mistborn and Cinder. Set in the Sand Sea, Ignited is a departure from the typical elements of magic and culture found in standard European fantasies.

Jura, the only child of the First and most powerful of the Thirteen ruling houses in The Republic of the Sand Sea, has long eschewed the intrigue and backstabbing of the political machine her father runs. When her father is incapacitated, seventeen year old Jura must take up his mantle and keep her family safe from the power grasping members of the Thirteen.

Jura would rather spend her time holed up in her room reading books but when the safety of her family home is threatened, she must battle with her wits and deal with dark political secrets. While juggling death threats and societal affairs, Jura struggles to come to terms with her new identity as interim ruler of the Republic.

Succumbing to the pressure of court, Jura unwittingly sentences Tylak, a former slave, to his death. Drawn by the secrets and beauty found in his eyes, Jura decides to test the limits of her political power and frees Tylak from prison in hopes that he might lead her to a cure for her father's entrapment and her own salvation. It's only a matter of time before Jura discovers the truth: her father's affliction and Tylak's strange abilities are the first warning signs of a greater catastrophe for The Republic.

Filled with dragons, gladiators, magic and mystery, Ignited follows a host of characters through trouble and turmoil. Each of these characters struggles to find their place in a dark world that grows more dangerous with each passing day, where fire dancers and wild beasts clash in an arena, and slaves are captured from their homes and sold in underground markets. Beneath the watchful eyes of the Thirteen, Jura finds herself facing a bigger threat than she ever imagined.

I am an avid YA fiction reader and hold a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Florida.

Thank you very much for your time and for considering Ignited.

Edit, Revise, Repeat

We are finally moved in! I can't stress how much I missed my internet service, I've truly forgotten how I lived fifteen years ago. I have't been wasting my time dear readers, I've been writing! I'm still sloshing my way through the first draft of Felix's story, things have become exciting with him so I expect to finish the first draft of his story before the end of the year. And I started a new project with a friend (well two technically but one is barely more than a few hundred words in so I won't count it yet). It's MC is named Tristan but my passion in the story is with his sassy sidekick Rory. More on that story as it develops...

The real excitement is with Ignited. I've edited, I've listened to criticism from colleagues, I've revised and edited some more. I added four entire chapters because a dear friend insisted that I was cheating my readers out of some QT with my characters. I am SO PROUD of my finished work. My future editor might still have some words to say about it, and that's fine but I feel very accomplished. The novel has most definitely come a long way from where it started. The word count is now up to 88,000 words, which I think is thrilling and just a bit insane (who would have thought I'd have that in me?!) and I am so excited for the next step!

Meet the Character: JURA

Her robes were on backwards. Jura wondered if anyone would notice, the gold and purple stitching on the formal black court robe was only slightly different in the front than the back. She didn't have time to sneak away and change before the council session started. Dwarfed by the massive walls towering around her, she inhaled sharply, letting her breath slowly leak out between clenched teeth. Had the justice dome always been so tall? She lifted her thick maiden's braid as a trail of sweat escaped from the nape of her neck to drip down the stiff collar of her robe. She sidled to a pillar on the least populated side of the dome, and pressed her back against the cool marble.

The members of the Thirteen milled the concave room, flitting in and out of conversation and tossing distrustful glances at one another. No one else was wearing the traditional court robes and Jura suddenly remembered that they were only used on voting day or when foreign diplomats were present. She bit her bottom lip and her blood rushed into her cheeks. Wearing them now proved her inexperience, wearing them backwards showed she was an idiot. Her spectacles slid down the bridge of her nose and she sighed as she shoved them back up. Why had she even worn the damn things? The glasses, not the robes. Although they were both giving her trouble. She scanned the room and noticed that almost all of the Thirteen had arrived, the council meeting would start in a matter of minutes.

If the council didn't accept her, her house would lose everything.

Kader, Eighth of the Thirteen, was making his rounds with refreshments. The members of the Thirteen took turns serving one another, and Jura was grateful that she didn't have to add the duties of serving girl to her growing list of anxiety. Kader stopped in front of her to offer water from his silver serving tray. She reached for a glass and was about to bring it to her lips when she became aware of the Eighth's beady black eyes following her movement. She paused, her hand faltering in mid air. Water was the standard beverage during council meetings. Not only was pure water a nod to the Thirteen's stature, it was also the most difficult liquid to poison without detection.

Jura rolled the glass in a slow circle, watchful for any residue that might have stuck to the clear glass as it tilted. Was he watching to see if she would drink it or just curious because she didn't belong? She raised her eyebrows and forced the corner of her lips to tilt upward. Kader inclined his head politely before turning to offer water to another council member. She deliberately set the glass down on the floor beside her. She wouldn't drink from it, just in case.

Denir, Fifth of the Thirteen wore a low cut golden gown that clung to her figure. She flirted prettily with Jabir, the Seventh, a tall narrow man in neutral shades of gray with dark curly hair and a devilish gleam in his eye. He leered down at the Fifth. Jura seemed to remember that he was married but she couldn't say for sure. She struggled to place a name for a few of the others but couldn't remember any except that of Ahmar, the Third, and father of her closest friend. He was in deep conversation with a man who seemed impossibly wide for his short stature. The fat man's jowls quivered as he spoke and he leaned back from the Third nervously, his hand hovered just above his sheathed dagger. No one, aside from Kader, had even acknowledged her presence. If she had acted when she first had the thought she might have been able to sneak away before--

"Daughter of the First, good evening. I almost didn't see you there, skulking away in the corner as it were.” Velder, Second of the Thirteen lifted a hand in greeting as he walked toward her.

“Making a new fashion statement, I see?" He raised his eyebrows.

Jura muffled a groan. Of course he noticed her fashion faux pas. She grimaced and bobbed a quick curtsy, "Councilman Velder. How good to see you.”

"Indeed. And how very odd it is to see you. Where is the First? It's nearly time to start the session.” The councilman's long, tapered fingers stroked his thin gray mustache.

This was the moment she'd been dreading. Council meetings were closed to all except the voting members of the Thirteen families, she knew that. Jura was not the voting member, her father was, had been for the last twenty years, and now they were stuck with her.

"Yes. I mean, no. That is, the First is...indisposed." Not for the first time, Jura resented the fact that she belonged to the first house of the Thirteen.

Velder frowned at her. "Is that so? His presence is needed to preside over the council meeting."

"I understand," she mumbled. Father hated when she mumbled. Her fingers flew up to her throat, as if scratching at her tender skin would send the words pouring out. She just had to spit something out, anything.

Anything but the truth.

"Councilman Velder the First is--"

"Absent for the second day in a row.” Velder's eyes narrowed. “The people of the Republic can not rule themselves. The First--"

"The First is indisposed." It came out as a shout and she lowered her eyes, frowning at her shoes. People would stare.

"He is unwell," she said softer. Her tongue darted out to moisten lips gone impossibly dry. She wished she'd drank Kader's offered water, even poison was better than this.

"I will judge in his stead." There, the words were strangled, but she'd said it.

Velder hid his chuckle beneath a gloved hand. "With all due respect the Thirteen would never approve."

“The Thirteen? Or you?” Velder had never liked her. He didn't seem to like anyone. Jura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Her hands were shaking, so she squeezed them into fists by her sides. She was seventeen years old, hardly a child. She could do this, she had to do this. More than anything she wished she was back in her rooms, buried in her books and far away from the vultures of the court. But things were different now, had been for the last three days. There was no turning back.

He would never forgive her if she caused their house to lose Rank.

She pushed her dangling spectacles up the length of her nose and glared at the councilman. At least she thought she was glaring, it felt like she was squinting up at him, and she hoped she appeared stern. She felt ridiculous.

“I am the only heir to house of the First.” He didn't respond and she took the opportunity to raise her voice and address the room. She flinched when her voice came out as a high pitched squeak. “It is my duty to serve as First interim if my father is incapable. His sickness--” She frowned, correcting herself, “his minor illness has forced me to step forward and fulfill my duty as his heir. Who will oppose this law?”

“Not I,” chimed out Fatima. Jura rewarded her with her best smile. Fatima currently held low Rank, she was from the House of the Eleventh or Twelfth. Jura could never keep the Rankings of the lower houses straight, they were never stagnant. The councilwoman probably thought her quick approval would secure her Rank when the next vote occurred.

“I second it,” Ahmar, the Third, boomed. Father of Amira, Jura's closest friend, and her best bet at gaining quick acceptance from the Thirteen. The giant of a man tossed a curious smile in her direction.

Jura hid her sigh of relief behind her grin. His approval was all she needed, the others would all follow.

Velder stepped back, bowing low. His face was apologetic, but his tone dripped with sarcasm as he straightened and said, “of course I, as a humble servant to the laws of our great Republic, would not have a place to question it. I will naturally accept your ruling. It's such a shame his Greatness is too ill to issue the proclamation himself..." he trailed off, raising a bushy brow.

She let out a sigh and squared her shoulders, glaring up at Velder. This time she was sure it was a glare. Good, if she didn't appear tough the vultures would peck at her. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered her secret.

"The council has spoken.” Thank the Everflame. She shot another smile in the direction of Fatima and Ahmar.

“Consider this matter closed and call the council meeting to order." She brushed past him and hurried up to the dais before he called her bluff.

She tried to keep her pace normal, the result was an awkward cross between a jog and a shuffle, as she made her way across the dome to her father's chair. She stumbled into the seat.

It was the duty of the Second to call out the beginning of the session and Velder did so as she straightened in the imposing glass throne meant for her father. Like most of the palace, the massive throne was made entirely out of glass. This late in the day, the setting sun shone through the crystal clear domed ceiling, casting out prisms of pale pink and dusty orange that shone down on her and created a natural spotlight. Jura clasped the seat of the throne, squirming against the rigid glass. She focused on the beauty of the curved glass room that sparkled in the glow of the departing sun and tried to ignore the fact that all eyes were on her. They probably all saw her as a little girl playing dress up. Well, she had more important things to think about. For instance, how was she to lead a meeting that she had never attended?

As acting head of council, she was granted three votes. The house in the number two Rank held two votes, and the rest held one. The First also had final say on any crimes worthy of a death sentence and in all matters of war. Though they held weekly meetings, the council only voted on the rankings of the council members once a month. Today was not a voting day. At least something was going her way.

The Thirteen seated themselves along the long stone row of benches ahead of her and the first citizen was called for judgment. After a few minor issues were judged, Jura began to relax. The session was going smoothly and there were only two citizens left to place judgment.

The first was a complaint between two merchants. One merchant argued that the other was poaching on his district by setting up a stand not far from his own and selling wares duplicate to his own. The other merchant argued that his product differed. Jura granted the second merchant a stake of property in a neighboring city but placated him by giving him more property than he'd had before. Easy. Velder called in the final citizen.

"This is Tylak,"Velder sneered. "Citizen of Ish." His voice dripped with condemnation. 

Tylak was a slave name and yet he had citizen status. Interesting. It was rare for a slave to gain enough wages to purchase his freedom and even rarer for a slave to be granted such freedom from his owner. Jura leaned forward.

"Tylak is charged with thievery," Velder paused, meeting her eye. "The council suggests execution."

Jura squeezed her father's chair so tightly she feared the glass would break off in her hand. It was true that execution was the maximum punishment, but it was seldom carried out. Especially not for a crime as petty as thievery.

"I see," she whispered.

Velder smiled.

She cleared her throat. "What did the accused steal?"

"Fire. From an empire torch no less."

Impossible.

"Is this true?" Jura looked down at the young man, his appearance was unkempt, but he appeared strong rather than haggard. His dark hair was greasy and hung in lank locks over his face.

The man shrugged.

Velder's eyes burned into her. She looked up at him. "What proof stands against the accused?"

"He was seen outside the palace gates carrying a torch and he is no Fire Dancer. Where else would he have acquired it? He has stolen Fire from the palace and as such has stolen from the Republic. This is unnatural magic at work, this man is clearly dangerous. To not mandate an immediate execution would make the Republic seem weak."

Jura understood his implication. The Second was testing her. Pompous, manipulating worm. If she did not order this man's execution she would appear weak and she would lose any footing she'd gained today. But how could such a man, how could anyone besides a fire dancer, have accomplished such a thing?

"Tylak, was it? Tell us how you accomplished such a feat. Answer me truthfully and you will be spared." She ignored Velder's glare.

The young man lifted his face up to her and she resisted the urge to gasp. The man had gray eyes that cut into his chiseled features and smoldered with hate. He was beautiful. He was terrifying. Jura swallowed against the massive lump in her throat.

"I didn't steal anything. But kill me, I don't care." He spat at her feet.

Velder backhanded the man and he fell to his knees, head bowed. He said nothing else. "Greatness, his insolence must be punished."

Jura could not take her eyes off the man. Could she really sentence this man to his death? Did she even have a choice?

She nodded. "See that it is done." The prisoner was escorted from their judgment hall. Jura watched him leave.

“Was that all?” She couldn't wait to get out of there.

Velder nodded.

Jura stood up, wishing nothing more than to run to her chambers and tear off the insufferable robes. “Velder, call the session to a close”.

She hurried from the auditorium and was jerked to a stop so quickly her glasses flew from her nose.

“Flames,” She mumbled, stooping down to pick them up. She pulled her arm from the stubborn grasp of her friend Amira.

If the circumstances were different she would have been happy to see the friendly face. Amira could have befriended any one in the court and for some reason she'd chosen Jura. While Amira had a busy social calender, Jura preferred to spend her time alone, and spent much of her free time gardening or reading in her room. Amira was opinionated, tall, and beautiful, a direct contrast to Jura's tiny quiet frame.

“I thought I saw you enter the judgment halls,” her friend squealed. It was a trait that bothered Jura in most people but on her best friend it was endearing. “Tell me everything! And how did—wait, are your robes on backwards?”

Stalling for time, Jura adjusted the delicate frames of her spectacles and once again perched them on her nose, only to have them slide down the bridge and dangle precariously. She should have left them in her room.

“What's going on?” Amira pressed.

Immediately, Jura wanted to tell her. Amira had just returned from a tour with her father. It was the first time the Third had opted to take his daughter instead of his younger son and the girls had yet to catch up after a summer apart.

She wanted to fall into Amira's arms and cry to her that she had just killed a man. That she didn't want the position she was thrown into, that she was worried for her father.

But she couldn't tell her anything.

“My father is ill,” she said slowly, working out what information was safe to share. “It was my duty to attend council in his stead.”

Amira's eyes widened. “I can't believe you did that,” she was squealing again. “Well, tell me everything. How was it, what happened? Your father must be on his deathbed to allow you to attend the session.”

“Nothing serious, I'm sure he'll be back in no time at all. He'll definitely be back by next week's meeting.” Jura forced a smile as years of conditioning kicked in. She couldn't give away too much information, many houses had fallen because they'd thought to confide in a friend. Her father would want this kept a secret.

No one could be trusted.

Her Quad stepped up behind her and Jura started at their arrival, still not used to their presence. Unable to attend the meeting, the four bodyguards had been forced to wait outside the Justice Dome's imposing double doors. They appeared now, a silent towering mass. Grateful for their intrusion, Jura excused herself to flee to her rooms. Amira would have to wait.

She entered her chambers and dismissed her house staff immediately, needing to be alone. She ripped off the robes and they landed in a heap on the cool stone floor. She sank down beside them and let the hot tears slice down her cheeks.

She had just killed a man.

He'd known that she would and he'd hated her for it. And she'd given the orders to end his life. The knowledge was crushing.

She drew in a shaky breath and wiped at the tears, they served no purpose and even though she never wanted for water she knew better than to waste it. Father hated when she cried.

She had to figure out how the man had managed to steal Fire from the palace. Perhaps his explanation would lead to his freedom. She shouldn't have allowed Velder to bully her into the execution. If she talked to the prisoner, convinced him to admit how he'd done it, she might be able to reduce his sentence before his execution was carried out. And although she didn't want the man's death on her conscience, she had to admit that questioning him served another purpose. If the man truly did know how to accomplish the impossible perhaps he held other secrets. Maybe he held the key to helping her with her father.

It was unlikely she could maintain control of the Thirteen for very long. She needed to find a cure for her father's sickness and she didn't have much time. It was only a matter of time before someone would demand to see the First. What would she do then?

Jura had never been good at keeping secrets.

She knew she was alone in her salon but she thoroughly checked again to be sure. She frowned down at the ornate floor rug before pulling it back to reveal a heavy trap door. The door was large and imposing, it took all her strength to pull it open. She descended the small ladder into the darkness, blinking to adjust her eyes.

The man inside was bound and gagged, he stared up at her with furious dark eyes. He tried to speak, but the gag prevented it. Jura knelt down beside him, careful not to get too close.

"Hello Father."

Writing Prompt: This Isn't What It Looks Like

Here is some flash fiction that I wrote for Writing Prompt Wednesday, hope y'all enjoy!

“This isn't what it looks like!” I dive for the bed, frantically scrambling for something to cover myself. A loose article of clothing, a tangled sheet, anything.

She slams the door behind her, blocking any exit and when she speaks her voice is a shrill scream that rings in my ears.

“Isn't what it looks like? Come off it Jamie. You're naked...in my bed!”

She has a point. I'm panting heavily from the short burst of activity and it takes a moment for me to catch my breath. In the mean time, I shove myself further beneath the safety of the bed's comforter.

“Emily, I know you're probably mad.” I peep out from beneath the covers. If she wanted to attack me she would have done so already, Emily can get feisty.

She's tapping her foot and her arms are cut across her heaving chest. Her face is flushed to candy apple red and the corners of her mouth are slashed downward, toward the stained shag carpet.

Yeah, angry is probably an understatement. What had I been thinking?

I sit up, dragging the comforter up to my chin as I do so. My eyes dart down to the rumpled bed before resting on Emily's face.

Em's wide brown eyes glisten with unshed tears, she always cries when she gets real angry, and I scan the popcorn ceiling for answers.

When none come I turn back to her and lift my chin, prepared to face the consequences of my action.

“You have every right to be mad. I promised this would never happen again and here I am...caught in the act. Just calm down. Forgive me? I'll do anything.”

I move toward her, tugging my safety blanket along with me.

Her bottom lip quivers and she shakes her head, jerking away from my touch.

“Just get out of my room.”

I nod. The fact that she's still speaking to me means that forgiveness will come. She just needs a little time.

I drop the comforter and run from the room. That's the last time I try on my sister's clothing without asking.