A
Knight to Celebrate
New
Camelot Prequel
by
Barbara Russell
Genre:
YA Arthurian Steampunk Fantasy Romance
Nathair
and two other fellow cadets of the Sir Lancelot’s Academy for
Knights are pulling a prank on the ladies of Lady Guinevere’s
Academy for Damsels. After the ladies filled the cadets’ quivers
with honey, it’s only fair that the cadets return the favour.
**Only
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THE FIRST RULE to be a good, no, a great thief was to be patient.
Hurry would get Nathair caught, and getting caught picking the lock
of Lady Guinevere’s Academy for Damsels meant an immediate
expulsion from Sir Lancelot Academy for Knights, a month grounded at
home, and the end of his dream of becoming a knight.
But with his fellow cadets fretting around him and urging him to be
fast, the noise of the night patrols roaming New Camelot’s streets,
and the looming fear that a clockwork knight might discover them, he
wasn’t particularly prone to follow this first rule.
Not that he was a real thief. He’d never stolen anything. So far,
he’d used his pilfering skills to help his best friend, Tristan,
enter the ladies’ academy to meet his girlfriend of the moment. If
Sir Lancelot had been alive today, almost five hundred years after
King Arthur’s death, he wouldn’t be impressed by what the young
knights in training were about to do. Protecting the ladies was one
of the first rules of the Knight Code. Heck, Nathair’s mother
wouldn’t be impressed or amused.
He was the first dark-skinned cadet, member of the tribe of the
Snake, to almost become a knight, and he might blow his career
tonight. But two days ago, the girls of the Lady Guinevere had filled
the cadets’ quivers with honey. So, it was only fair that the
cadets returned the favour.
“Will it take long, Nathair?” Raymond asked, biting his
fingernails. His gaze darted around, and his chest strained the
jacket of the cadets’ uniform.
Nathair slid a thin knife into the slit between the door and the
doorframe. “It’ll take the time that it’s needed.”
He paused to wipe his clammy hands over his trousers and to push back
his hair. A sliver of anxiety crawled up his neck like a spider, but
he ignored it. He’d picked this lock dozens of times. He knew it
intimately, better than the cabbage field in his farmhouse. Yet that
night the lock didn’t want to yield to his touch. The knife jammed
even though the lock hadn’t been changed. He was sure of that. It
was the same, rusty old lock of a few days ago.
Raymond shifted his weight and blew air on his hands. The blue cloak
swished about his ankles. “Can’t you speed up?”
Tristan swatted his shoulder. “First, don’t disturb Nat while
he’s working. He tends to become sloppy when you push him.”
“No, I don’t,” Nathair gritted out, sticking the second knife
in the lock.
“You do.” Tristan waved a dismissive hand before returning his
attention to Raymond. “And second, why did you wear the academy
uniform? If someone sees us, they’ll know the Sir Lancelot’s
cadets broke into the Guinevere’s Academy.”
A
Knight in Distress
New
Camelot #1
Knights
are supposed to rescue damsels. That’s the natural order. So when
Nathair, a knight in training, finds himself rescued by the princess
he’s supposed to save, he’s annoyed. And when the princess proves
she can fight like a knight? Well, that’s enough for a boy to think
about a career change.
A
Damsel in Shiny Armor
New
Camelot #2
After
fighting dragons, wild Vikings, and clockwork monsters, Nathair is
facing the biggest challenge of his life: proposing to Bryhannon.
Apparently, flowers and a three-month salary worth ring aren’t
enough because she doesn’t seem thrilled by the proposal. She has a
devastating power to control, Reapers to face, and more importantly
she has to find the courage to tell Nathair that she’s a Morrigan.
I’m
an entomologist and a soil biologist, which is a fancy way to say
that I dig in the dirt, looking for bugs. Nature and books have
always been my passion. I was a kid when I read The Lord Of The Ring
and fell in love with fantasy novels.
When
I discovered cozy mystery and crime novels, I fell in love with
Hercules Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. Then I grew up and . . . Nah,
I’m joking. I didn’t grow up. Don’t grow up, folks! It’s a
trap.
PS
I hate gardening. There, I said it. Sorry fellow Kiwis.
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