Danielle L. Jensen's Reader Group discussion
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Stolen Songbird
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Stolen Songbird Read-Along
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Extra #9 The Deleted Prologue (Tristan's POV)
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Eeeeeeeep! Thank you so much for sharing this with us! I've always wanted to know how the prophecy scene occurs. And to think that Tristan could have kept it a secret if not for his mother."The blow came hard and fast, a whip of magic across my cheek. I saw it coming, could have stopped him if I’d wanted, but I didn’t need my father knowing that.
He must believe you are weak."
I don't know how my poor Tristan managed to live this way for so long. :(
Yes, this was so awesome to read! Loved to see the foretelling as it was happening! Thanks so much for this :)
OH MY GOD. ON MY GOD. I HAVE CHILLS.
Thank you so much! I like knowing more about the relationship between Tristan and his mother and aunt.
Love it! This gives so much insight and is such an interesting starting point to know about now. :) Thanks for sharing! Poor Poor Tristan <3
Mod
"The b..."
Well, I'd say that's something that is inconsistent with the final version of the novel. The King stuck with psychological abuse. Which obviously is still awful.
That's awesome! I loved to see how the foretelling happened. Was it hard for you to write the poem? Did you get the name Guerre from Latin? I don't know it, but "guerra" is war in Portuguese, so I'm guessing there is a connection.
Mod
Guerre is the French word for war :)
I would love to have all these AMAZING extras added to the book. A huge part of what set this series apart from a lot of other fantasy was the political intrigue. Tristan seemed to have the world on his shoulders, and reading all these little scenes that flesh out how precarious his plans were, and how much theater was involved to keep those plans alive, is endlessly fascinating.
This would've been an amazing start! The prophecy scene was mind blowing and I loved the twist with his mother hearing the prophecy! But, besides the fact that Thibault didn't physically harm Tristan, was the guerre piece resembling Cecile also something that was later changed, or was there always a piece like Cecile in the book? I know in warrior witch Tristan's aunt got a custom made set done and there was a Cecile piece in there, but I'm not sure about the first book...Also, what was the cause for this prologue to be edited out? Just curious!
This would've been an amazing start! The prophecy scene was mind blowing and I loved the twist with his mother hearing the prophecy! But, besides the fact that Thibault didn't physically harm Tristan, was the guerre piece resembling Cecile also something that was later changed, or was there always a piece like Cecile in the book? I know in warrior witch Tristan's aunt got a custom made set done and there was a Cecile piece in there, but I'm not sure about the first book...Also, what was the cause for this prologue to be edited out? Just curious!
Thank you so much for sharing this one! I loved reading more about Tristan's motives and even more the moment of the foretelling!!
Honestly why was this cut out. It's such an important missing piece to set everything in motion. It helps explain so much about so many things in the story that just felt missing Thanks so much for sharing it
Mod
Basically, the prologue was a big giant plot spoiler, so it had to go :)
But it sure makes a good extra!!
Mod
Hi Shreya!
The Guerre piece doesn't actually look like Cecile in the prologue – it's just a generic "human" piece. Tristan is just sort of imagining Cecile (or as much as he knows about her from the foretelling) as one of the pieces, because the human pieces in the game are the weakest and most expendable. And that worries him.
Aw, I love this extra too, thank you! *hugs Tristan*
Danielle wrote: "The primary reason the prologue was cut was so that the reader would discover what the trolls were like at the same time as Cécile. The prologue would've spoiled that reveal. Also, it gave too much..."It could have been left in as a flashback scene when Cecile asked him about the prophecy. Knowing more about what shaped the main event would have helped set the stage for the next book which is the fullfilment of the profecy
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The ball of power slammed into the King, sending him flying backwards and out sight.
I stepped back from the battlefield and smiled with satisfaction. The dead lay all around me, on the floor, under the furniture, and scattered across the table. Picking up my long forgotten glass of wine, I plucked out a golden figure and examined it. A human – both fragile and expendable, they were always the first to go in a game of Guerre. War. The soldier wiped clean with the corner of my coat, I placed him carefully in the box, or coffin, as I preferred to call it.
“Another game, Aunty?” I grinned. “Or has your pride taken enough of a beating for one afternoon?”
The duchesse smiled in a way indicating everything had gone as she had planned. “My pride is not diminished by your successes, boy; I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.”
I flopped down in a chair, examining her expression and considering her choice of words. “You let me win, didn’t you?”
Sylvie Gaudin, Duchesse de Feltre sipped her tea and said nothing.
“Bloody stones,” I swore, and proceeded to run through my repertoire of favourite curses. Aunt cackled merrily at a few of them, then gestured to the game boards, which floated away into the darkness, settling on their racks with a faint click. Her silver pieces followed suit, arranging themselves in their coffin by rank. Feeling urge to move, I picked mine up by hand, admiring the warmth and weight of the gold. I usually preferred to put the soldiers away as they died, but there was never the chance in games against my aunt. “You must learn to think quickly,” she always told me. “There will often be times you have only a moment to strategize; a heartbeat to make a decision.”
“You’ll need to make your move soon, Tristan,” my aunt said, as though sensing my thoughts. “If you wait any longer, he’ll start to expect it. Never underestimate the value of surprise.”
My eyes flickered up, and I felt a flash of concern that we’d been overheard. I watched Mother’s reflection in a mirror on the far wall, her eyes staring vacantly at the gold coin in her hands. I’d given it to her earlier to keep her quiet while my aunt and I played. She wasn’t listening – she rarely did – but the last thing I needed was her innocently parroting our words back to my father.
“Or underestimate the honour of a forthright attack,” I said softly.
My aunt grimaced. “What is honour? A word. And the dead neither feel nor hear it.”
“Do not quote dead poets at me,” I retorted, but her point was a valid one. “I’ll proceed when it is prudent to do so.”
“My fear,” she said, blowing on her steaming tea, “is that when the time comes, you will have ceased to be the correct man for the task.”
A frown creased my brow. Moments ago, she’d called me a boy, now a man. It would not be a mere slip of the tongue. With my aunt, every word counted.
“You’ve played this role for a very long time, Tristan,” she said. “But how long must an actor play a character in fiction before he becomes the character in truth? In both his heart and in those of his people.”
I shrugged. “I’ll so offend to make offence a skill / Redeeming time when men think least I will.” I could quote the dead just as well as she.
“You’re nearly seventeen – the time for your redemption has come.”
“No,” I said, rising to his feet and crossing the room. “Not yet.” My light drifted over to illuminate the painting in front of me, but I stared blindly, not seeing. Not yet, but soon, and the very thought of the actions I’d take brought fear to my heart. And sadness: whether I succeeded or failed, I would lose a great deal. I wasn’t ready, not nearly ready enough.The only warning was the sound of a gold coin bouncing against the marble floor. Spinning round, I saw mother clinging to the edge of a table, her face filled with terror. Aunt’s body jerked and spasmed, her eyes rolled back so far only the whites showed. I bounded across the room and took hold of my mother’s hand, trying to calm her until my aunt’s fit subsided. The bones of my hand ground together beneath her grip until one snapped, sending a flash of pain down my arm. I ignored the discomfort, my attention locked on my aunt, listening for the foretelling I knew would come.
Sure enough, aunt spoke, her tone hollow and emotionless.
“Eyes of blue and hair of fire
Are the keys to your desire.
Angel’s voice and will of steel
Will force the dark witch to kneel.
Death to bind and bind to break
The sun and moon for all our sake.
Prince of night, daughter of day,
Bound as one the witch they’ll slay.
Same hour their first breath they drew,
On her last, the witch will rue.
Join the two named in this verse
And bring an end to the curse.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I might not be ready, but it seemed fate was about to force my hand.
“Well?”
My aunt had regained her senses and was staring at me now, her silver gaze narrowed. They widened as I repeated the foretelling back to her. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this, Tristan. Nearly five hundred years.”
The sound of heavy boots pounding down the hallway caught both our attention. He must have sensed mother’s fear. We exchanged glances right before the door flew open and my father dashed into the room, moving with surprising agility for one of his bulk.
“Matilde? What’s happened? Tristan?” He touched my mother’s hair gently and then turned to me. “A foretelling?”
Stall.
“She spilt hot tea on my new coat,” I grumbled. “Dark tea – the whole thing will have to be laundered.” I proceeded to ramble on at length over the difficultly in removing tea stains while my mind searched for a way to avoid telling my father the contents of the foretelling.
“Tristan.” Anger turned his voice into a growl. “What did she say?”
Deflect.
“I really don’t understand how you expect me to focus on what anyone is saying with boiling hot water soaking through my clothing.” I made a face and crossed my arms, mind whirling.
“Sylvie?” He looked at aunt.
“You know I can’t remember.”
Everyone stood in silence; I stared sadly at my sleeve and plucked at the damp fabric.
“Eyes of blue and hair of fire,” my mother whispered, breaking the hush. She proceeded to repeat the entire foretelling, verbatim. Apparently she’d been paying attention after all.
“Are her words accurate? Tristan?” My father scowled. “Yes or no.”
Not for the first time in my life, I supremely wished I had the human ability to lie. “Yes,” I admitted.
The blow came hard and fast, a whip of magic across my cheek. I saw it coming, could have stopped him if I’d wanted, but I didn’t need my father knowing that.
He must believe you are weak.
I howled in pain and clutched at my face, not bothering to hide the loathing from my eyes. Another blow; this time it hit my upraised hand, breaking the finger bone that had just finished healing. I forced myself to cower on the floor despite every instinct telling me to fight back. Not yet, not yet.
“Leave him be, Thibault,” Sylvie snapped. “He’s only a boy. Besides, it would seem you need him if you intend to break us free of this curse.”
The blows ceased and my father snorted in disgust. “So it would seem. And a human, too, of all things.”
I picked up one of my game pieces – their coffin had fallen open during my father’s rage – and studied one of the human soldiers with only a sword and shield for defence. A red-haired, blue-eyed girl with the voice of an angel. I rested my forehead against the cold floor.
My worst nightmare was about to begin.