Rachel’s Comments (group member since Oct 28, 2018)

Rachel’s comments from the G.N.A. Publishing░N░e░w░ ░A░u░t░h░o░r░s░ group.

Hi Everyone,
I'm delighted that Steel Hand, Cold Heart is one of this month's reads. If you like jaunty, Viking-inspired YA adventure, strong women, annoying ghosts, and unlikely romance, you will love this! I'm hosting a Goodreads giveaway through February 10 if you want to enter to win a paperback copy!

ENTER HERE!

Hi! This is an excerpt from my forthcoming YA fantasy, STEEL HAND, COLD HEART.

The Odyssey meets The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue in this Viking version of the self-exploratory road trip.

I have eARCS available for download at the link below and would love a few reviews before it launches in May. Thank you!

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/x2uzdoz8zx


Chapter 1



They called me Carina the Unstoppable. No, the name did not render men to terror like Merciless Merle, nor did it inspire awe like Dagna the Destroyer, or command attention like Odda Ironfist. But the moniker was mine. I earned it for the many times I had been knocked flat on the training grounds or limped on bleeding limbs to finish a fight. It was how I earned my place as one of Hel’s Daughters, the Hand of Death Herself.

I leaned over the rails of our longboat, Jörmungandr, aptly named because the figurehead was carved in the image of the giant sea serpent, wriggling its way through the water east toward Frisia. A strong wind held our mainsail, and we bobbed back and forth on gentle waves. These smooth waters were a blessing from the sea giant, Aegir. He approved of our quest, speeding us along our last raid of the season, the last offering to Hel before the long winter.

This was the Daughters’ last raid of the season but my first. I could hardly contain my excitement. I wanted to be there already, to see the villagers’ faces when we arrived on their shore in droves. When we offered their blood to the Goddess Hel.

I curled my steel fingers into a fist. On the eve of my initiation, Thora warned me attaching my steel hand would hurt. Her exact words were, “It feels like cutting your fingers off one by one and pissing in the wound.” Vidar warmed the steel gauntlet in the coals until it glowed sunset red, and I grit my teeth as he slid the molten metal over my fingers. The steel hand burned through flesh and muscle until the metal touched bone. My eyes had watered. A violent scream had gathered in my chest.

I held it back. I didn’t have the luxury of showing weakness, and once the hand was seared to my fingers, I belonged to Hel. She who bears the steel hand has the Goddess’s blessing to take life.
That was three months ago. It took that long for my hand to heal, to become useful again.

“Oy, Carina!”

My fist curled tighter at the sound of Dagna’s voice. She made the application of the steel hand seem like a hangnail in comparison.
Whereas the steel only burned me once, Dagna burned me again and again and again.

Slowly I turned, on my time, not hers.

She stood opposite me on the port side of the longboat, still too close for my liking. Her gold hair glowed under the pale moonlight, tied tight into a perfect braid that resembled a thick coil of rope. She stood tall and lean, bright-eyed and fierce. With her broad axe slung over her shoulder and the cruel smile on her lips, one look from her caused men to fall to their knees and weep for mercy. She painted the perfect picture of one of Hel’s servants, and I despised her for that.

“When we arrive at Frisia,” she said. “I hope you don’t forget who you should be fighting. It will be easy to get confused in the dark. Should you find my axe in your back, forgive me. You blend so well with blackness.”

Her cruel smile widened. This was an old joke, a tired one, except a few of our Sisters still laughed. It stuck at me like nails. I was not the perfect picture of Hel’s Daughters. I had been claimed by a raid in the Southern Isles years ago, brought back as a spoil of battle at three. I had olive-toned skin and black hair, wood brown eyes, and even though everyone could plainly see it, Dagna felt the need to shine a painful light on my differences.

I should have been glad she at least warned me she might stab me in the back this time.

She had officially tried to kill me three times and maim me more times than I could count. The breeze lifted her tunic, revealing the edge of a long pink scar. I gave her that one on the practice field, self-defense with a touch of vengeance.

“A good, healthy rivalry,” Merle called it, seemingly proud that when it came to fighting, neither Dagna nor I held back.

But it was not exactly healthy. If one of us were stabbed, or trampled, or drowned tonight, the other one would open a bottle of mead and drink in celebration.

Name: Rachel

Author/ Reader: BOTH STEEL HAND, COLD HEART

Favourite Book: A Gathering of Shadows

Favourite time to read: on my lunch hour

Favourite Food: Tacos

Favourite Drink: Beer...I'm classy.