Iron Thorn teaser, finale
Well, the book is in the wild. Now to sit back, relax and drink a nice umbrella drink while the sunshine of success rains down the vitamin D of bestsellerdom upon my visage.
Yeah, not exactly. It’s a work day here at the casa, so I leave you with a review, an interview, annnnnnnnnnd…a final Iron Thorn teaser!
(And starting tomorrow, the blog will stop being the 24/7 Iron Thorn channel, I promise. I’m just excited, like a cannibal eying an approaching wagon train. Er, or some other simile that’s more YA-friendly.)
- Wicked Awesome Books interviewed me a while back, and also reviewed The Iron Thorn.
- The final bit of my interview with Airship Ambassador is up.
The last snippet I picked out for y’all is when Aoife meets Dean, an outlaw guide into the wilds outside the city. I love Dean. Dean is the best. Here he is…
“I reached up and knocked Dorlock’s hand off my shoulder, hard. “Perhaps I don’t want to get along that way.”
Dorlock’s pouchy face fell in on itself, anger stealing into his small eyes. Hidden anger, like a snake. The most dangerous
type. “You don’t have any weight to throw around, lassie. I’m the one watching your hide underground, and it’d behoove you to treat me sweet.”
Before I could snap back at him, the Nash creaked as someone sat down next to me. “You know, Dorlock, I’m
impressed. Behoove is a big word for you.”
I turned to stare at the stranger and met his eyes. They were silver. His smile was crooked, and his hair was long,
swept back with a rash of comb tracks. The stranger’s hand was firm and ridged when he took mine and shook it.
“Dean. Dean Harrison. And you might be?”
I opened my mouth, shut it. I didn’t quite know what to make of the stranger, except that he didn’t seem to care for
Dorlock any more than I did, and his hand was warm. “I might-” I started.
“She might be with me.” Cal reappeared, juggling his camp duffel and two helpings of takeaway irritably.
I watched Dean tilt his head back, and look up to Cal’s considerable knobby- kneed height.“Sorry, brother. I didn’t know she was spoken for.”
“Oh, for the sake of all His gears,” I huffed at Cal. Of all the times for Cal’s tough act, this was the absolute worst. I shook Dean’s hand in return. “I apologize for my friend’s manners. I’m Aoife Grayson.”
Dean’s eyes and smile were both slow, but there was nothing dumb about them. He took the seconds to memorize everything about my face. I’d seen the same look on master engineers, contemplating a new device or problem.
Dean took me in, and he smiled. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Aoife.”
I returned the smile, writ much smaller. Boys-men-weren’t in the habit of smiling at me. I was odd, and I knew it. The few smiles before Dean’s had lead to pranks, but
when I looked Dean in the eye, his pupils just grew wider. Cal grumbled, his face turning colors. “Aoife. We need to go with Mr. Dorlock.”
Dorlock himself had turned a plummy shade of purple, huge hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted for a neck. “Harrison, you little ratlick, what are you doing yakking to my clients? They hired me fare and square-go poach somebody else’s hire, vulture.”
“Like I was about to bend your girl’s ear on,” Dean said. “You don’t want Dorlock, miss. He pays the barter boys down here to talk him a good game, and he poses the part, but it’s all fancy. Man will have you chumming a ghoul nest inside an hour if you go with him.”
“Guttersnipe!” Dorlock roared, raising his fist to Dean. “They chose me. Market rule says free hires to all. The sweetheart here and her companion want to go underground, and underground they’ll go.” He didn’t have the false face of a kind old uncle any longer. Rage had turned him crimson.
“Never knows when to shut his yap, either,” Dean muttered, standing up. His full height was a head shorter than Cal, but Dean was broad and solid where Cal was still disappearing inside his school clothes. Dean’s face wasn’t but a year or two older than mine, but it held a spark of wickedness, a blade- edge of worldly knowledge that a person could only light by seeing too much, too soon. Conrad had the same look. I didn’t trust Dean, but I was starting to like him.
“Listen, Dorlock,” Dean said. “I’m being a pal, and giving you a chance to walk away dignified- like.”
Dorlock’s nostrils flared. “Or?”
This time, Dean’s smile wasn’t slow and it wasn’t warm. “Or,” Dean said, “I can show your shame to these nice Uptown folk. You choose.”
I stepped back to stand by Cal in anticipation of a blow or a knife between the two. Dean had to be crazy, mouthing off to someone the size of Dorlock.
“You runt,” Dorlock panted, a vein in his temple throbbing like a swollen river. “What do you mean, poaching on this sweet little thing?” He reached for me again, my hair, my cheek, and I swatted at him again. It was like fending off an ungainly octopus.
“She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?” Dean drawled. “By decades or so?”
I took another step back, this one involuntary. Dorlock let out a yell and pulled a length of pipe with a wrapped handle from his belt. Dean reached into the pocket of his leather coat and brought out a palm- sized black lacquer tube. “You know that saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight?” he asked Dorlock. “Same principle applies, old man. Don’t think I won’t show steel just becausewe’re in market grounds.””
Originally published at Caitlin Kittredge.com