#weaver series

[ifartconfetti]

Ooohh masarec ooooh *twirls my hair* 

My second most favorite they/them

[leporinesaber]

Getting my fix don't mind me. Seth/keru 16, ferrand/Paz 2, ferrand/masarec 23, ferrand/paz/masarec 25, paz/masarec 24, afzal/raf 14, isolde/Fenn 3

Seth/Keru - 16

“Dance with me?”

"You know I'm no good at that."

"Incorrect, I know that you are good at that, and that you're just shy."

Seth looks at him flatly, and Keru beams--he already knows he's won when Seth doesn't immediately say no.

"Just one."

"YES!"

Ferrand/Paz - 2

"...you're staring, Paz."

Pazkhal touches one hand to his chest with exaggerated astonishment. "Me? Staring at you? No..."

Ferrand rolls one of his shoulders and huffs a laugh, "Not fooling anyone, let alone me."

"I've just...I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

Ferrand is silent for a moment, most of his face in shadow. But the quiet little grin is still on his face when he turns back. "Get used to it."

Ferrand/Masarec - 23

Masarec curses colorfully as the careful draping they'd been toiling over for the past hour tumbles gracelessly to the floor. Of course, the knight commander chooses this exact moment to visit.

"Rough day?"

Masarec sniffs disdainfully in his general direction, bundling the silk in their arms, "None of your concern."

Ferrand leans in the doorway to their workshop, eyeing the sorry state of their progress. "Need a hand?"

“As if you would really do that for me.”

Ferrand steps wordlessly over discarded drafts to reach for the fallen dressform. Masarec stares at the strong line of his shoulders for only a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Ferrand/Paz/Masarec - 25

Masarec whips by Pazkhal's open study door in a harried swirl of bright red fabric and jingling beads, cackling.

Pazkhal shakes his head and dips his quill once more, just in time for Ferrand to rush by, looking stormy.

When he peers out into the hallway, Pazkhal can't help but double over in laughter. Masarec is attempting to use the hall's banner to scale up to a high window while Ferrand makes a grab for them.

“Why is he chasing you?”

Masarec grins--the cat who caught the canary--and proudly proclaims, "No reason!"

"They started something they won't finish," Ferrand huffs.

"He really does want to finish, if you catch my drift..."

Paz/Masarec - 24

There's the telltale gentle clink of jewelry as Masarec sidles up to him. They can be so charming when they want to be, Pazkhal thinks.

He does not relent, keeps his back straight and his gaze focused on his book for the time being. Barely a minute later, the fidgeting starts. Masarec shifts on the chaise. Pazkhal turns a page.

"I'm just saying. It'd be nice."

Paz hums noncommittally. Masarec huffs, then goes suspiciously quiet. With a shift of silk, they slide off of the chaise.

“Do I have to get on my hands and knees and beg?”

Pazkhal turns another page and deigns to look them over, wild curls spilling over one revealed shoulder. "It would not hurt your case."

Afzal/Raf - 14

“In case I do not come back, I want you to know something.”

Afzal immediately sets down his embroidery and comes to Rafaeyel's side, "Don't say things like that."

Rafaeyel's face pinches delicately, "I will not pretend there is not danger in any outing. You understand this well."

There's always this air of heaviness around him nowadays. Afzal would give almost anything to lift some of that weight from his shoulders.

"The book on the desk..."

Afzal leans into him, listening.

"Do not unmark my page. There would be sever consequences."

Afzal jostles him with snort, and the spark of mischief in Rafaeyel's eyes is a welcome sight.

Isolde/Fenn - 3

Fennimosa finds it harder to leave every time they do this, and Isolde does not make it any easier. She reaches for her in her sleep, unknowing, trusting, even as Fennimosa slips deftly out of her embrace and back into her clothes.

She's not as deft as she thought, clearly, when Isolde stirs awake behind her. "Sorry, darling. I meant to let you rest."

"You're leaving?" Isolde yawns, rolling over to look at her properly.

Fennimosa slides her knives back into place, hidden among her corset's boning, "Yes, darling. I can't stay the night this time."

“What do you mean, you can’t stay?”

She sighs and leans over to placate Isolde with a kiss, though when she goes to pull away, Isolde holds her there for a moment longer, one strong arm looped around her.

"Next time. Next time you'll stay."

[shannenlcolton]

A gift for you! For the first time ever, both Weaver’s Stone and Galreyva’s Heir are free on Kindle, now through December 26th. You can read on any device with the free Kindle app. Merry Christmas!

Weaver's Stone: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1687793379/

Galreyva's Heir: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09VG3SGKT

-Shannen L. Colton

[oldsolidbooks]

The trade and the ton

I am partial to historical romance novels, and particularly fond of the traditional Regency romance. They are not a so-called “guilty pleasure” for me, as I hold them in high esteem, and delight in them openly. But I do admit that I am rather picky about the books of this genre I read—or of any genre, for I am a picky reader—and always pleased to find a particularly good specimen. Some of those are famous, classics of the genre, others are hardly known.

One of those hidden gems is The Weaver Takes a Wife by Sheri Cobb South.

I found it browsing a goodreads list, and added it spontaneously to the little collection of used paperbacks I bought with a valentine’s gift code from my favourite online book store. It arrived soon afterwards, and I immediately, actually rather randomly, picked it up and read it. And I loved every line on every page!

I expected it to be a pleasant read, nice and just generally good fun. It turned out to be brilliant. The little black volume itself looks good enough, though unassuming, if not a bit off, perhaps, as the type-setting is pretty but at times looks unfinished. As I found out, it was independently published in 1999, when indie and self-publishing was not quite as common as it is now, and the style in Regency romances differed from the older classics and the current revival of the genre.

The story itself is gorgeous. It is written in a far more traditional style, reminiscent of Heyer, yet not at all imitating her. Only a tad old-fashioned, fit to the period and without being stuffy, very funny and full of sparkling dialogue. The supporting cast is great, featuring everything a traditional Regency romance needs, such as a no-good but darling younger brother; a set of caring friends; loyal servants, prone to gossip; and a quite despicable villain. Unlike other books of its type, it also features a delightful group of cotton mill workers.

The hero, Mr Ethan Brundy, is simply amazing, and very unusual for the genre: an illegitimate workhouse brat turned super-rich cotton mill owner, who drops his aitches and dresses expensively, with little taste. He is genuinely kind and caring, responsible and confident. His accent and his earnesty, not to mention his appearance, cause people of the ton to underestimate his intelligence and quick grasp. Nor do they understand that he cares not in the least about their opinion of him—he stands by his background, his class, and his convictions, and he does so with a disarming friendliness. His unwavering strength of character, combined with his exceptional candour, and his controversial opinions, expressed so kindly, are a joy to behold. And so is his love for his reluctant bride.

Lady Helen, or ‘elen, as her husband calls her, is very much unlike him: cold, haughty, and supercilious. She hasn’t a kind word for anyone, except perhaps her brother, and she delights in shoving her numerous suitors away by mere force of rudeness. Though very beautiful, she makes her way through more seasons than her father could afford, because she is still waiting for a man who might not exist. Mr Brundy is, for her, a mere laughing-stock, hardly a real person.

“Mr. Brundy,” she said with a nod, making the most perfunctory of curtsies to her father’s guest. He made no move to take her hand, but merely bowed and responded in kind. “Lady ‘elen.” “My name is Helen, Mr. Brundy,” she said coldly. “Very well– ‘elen,” said Mr. Brundy, surprised and gratified at being given permission, and on such short acquaintance, to dispense with the use of her courtesy title.

Now why does she marry him? Because Mr Brundy, as I have said before, is more than confident, and certain he to reach every goal he sets himself. The moment he sets eye on his ‘elen, he decides to marry her, and her father, a dept-ridden duke, pressures her to accept his offer of her hand. She gives in:

“Mr. Brundy, you are no doubt as well acquainted with my circumstances as I am with yours, so let us not beat about the bush. I have a fondness for the finer things in life, and I suppose I always will. As a result, I am frightfully expensive to maintain. I have already bankrupted my father, and have no doubt I should do the same to you, should you be so foolhardy as to persist in the desire for such a union. Furthermore, I have a shrewish disposition and a sharp tongue. My father, having despaired of seeing me wed to a gentleman of my own class, has ordered me to either accept your suit or seek employment. If I married you, it would be only for your wealth, and only because I find the prospect of marriage to you preferable –but only slightly!- to the life of a governess or a paid companion. If, knowing this, you still wish to marry me, why, you have only to name the day.” Having delivered herself of this speech, Lady Helen waited expectantly for Mr. Brundy’s stammering retraction. Her suitor pondered her words for a long moment, then made his response. “’ow about Thursday?”

And now, the (supposed) marriage of convenience slowly evolves into a love-match of misunderstandings. Only Mr Brundy’s friends are truly aware of his sincere feelings for his wife, and only one of them of her feelings for him. Because Lady Helen enters marriage not only thinking her groom a cit, but certain that he’s only after her social standing. He, in turn, takes all her insults to heart and believes that she only married him for money even as her feelings for him grow to fondness, and love.

All this is tricky to write, for has it been done with less grace and skill, both characters and their romance would have been insufferable. But Mr Brundy’s love for his wife and his way with her are wonderful, as lovely as could be, and her growth as a person, and the development of her feelings are plausible and well-written, gradually, yet with sudden, clear reason.

There are sudden, tender moments of a shy, reluctant couple; adorable scenes of the Pygmalion kind; dinners and balls and dress fittings and the refreshing contrast of trade and ton—and a significant trip to the industrial North.

And in the end, there’s a great, rather Heyer-esque adventure, which causes first more secrets and misunderstandings, and brings our couple to defeat the villain, and finally admit their mutual love to each other.

It is truly a gem, I promise. It is a Regency romance in the most traditional sense, and yet thoroughly original. It’s funny, but never silly. Sensual, but restrained. Romantic and sweet, but never saccharine. All in all, a true delight.

[ifartconfetti]

forgot to upload an art of the blorbos here