Dear Lovely Mentors and Agents,
Eighteen-year-old bounty hunter Fyr wants revenge.
As children, she and her brother Asaan watched their village burn in a genocide that ruined their lives. Ever since, they’ve plotted against Vladyslav, a responsible politician, until new disaster threatens.
Every five hundred years, a magic army called “the Blue People” sets foot in Sayy and attempts to conquer it in fateful single combat. If the ceremonial duel doesn’t take place, the Blue People will drown the continent in bloodbath. And sickly Asaan is one of a few who meet the sacred qualifications to represent Sayy.
As soon as Fyr and Asaan set out to warn the bickering nations into action, they’re arrested by Vladyslav, the same conservative politician Fyr hoped to kill. He lures the mercenary siblings into his high society, promising not to prosecute them as long as they stay. And against Fyr's will, she slowly starts to fall for him.
Fyr is trapped. If the siblings leave, they’re condemned, and Vladyslav is lost to Fyr. But if they stay, the Blue People will arrive with no one to duel, ready to attack an oblivious land and destroy what little they have left to live for.
THE RED AND THE SCARLET is a YA historical fantasy complete at 84,000 words, set on a fictional Asian continent in the Napoleonic Era. It is LES MISERABLES and MULAN with a mercenary, minority Jo March for a heroine. It may appeal to fans of THE WRATH AND THE DAWN, SHADOW AND BONE, and JONATHAN STRANGE.
I am the winner of multiple Gold Keys in the Scholastic Arts and Writing Contest, as well as a handful of local awards for short plays that were performed live in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I live. Besides writing, I love to study history, especially the Napoleonic Era in which THE RED AND THE SCARLET is set.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Fyr stood under spinning snow, a book and dozing brother in arms. She faced the withered heads piked outside the village.
For a moment, any enmity between her tribe and the Vlalonnans seemed ridiculous. She wished the head could hear her frosted whisper.
"Thank you." She brushed flakes from her dark lashes and balanced baby Asaan on her hip. "For the book."
But that moment ended.
Bouncing Asaan, she squinted through the shivering distance. Warped shadows galloped across the horizon, shouts on lips and swords in gloved fists. Bugle squawks screeched against the sky.
They came because of the heads. They came for revenge.
The riders broke on the village faster than her people could panic. Gunshots shattered still air, clogging the sky with black smoke and death cries.
She dashed towards the yurts, past flailing horse and angry human. Past the living. Past the dying. She pressed all she had to her pounding heart. Her book. Screaming Asaan. His little fists gripped the shoulders of her handpainted robes.
Fyr had to keep him alive.
Suddenly, she collided headlong with gray uniform and staggered to frostgnawed earth. She yanked a carving knife from her belt, pushed squalling Asaan behind her, and looked up.
A dismayed white face gawked back.
“Who are you?” She jabbed her knife towards the musket in the soldier’s clenched fingers.
The young man blinked. His accented answer paused as it left his trembling mouth.
His Vlalonnan sky-shaded eyes flitted to her baby brother and widened.
Thanks for reading!