In the wake of revelations about the NSA, here’s an excerpt from my book

* * *

They sat together, Belloc watching the people, Duin staring at the Great Jefferson. No one knew who they were. The FBI had given them fake proximity ID’s and private locators. Anyone viewing them through augmented reality would see pseudonyms above their heads. And unless white-listed, anyone trying to locate “Ambassador Duin,” “Belloc,” or “Genevieve O’Riordan” on any Net map would find the word classified.

But the Secret Service could still l’up their location, and would know they were not in their apartment. “You think they’ll be mad that we left without putting it on our schedule or having an escort?”

“We’re not alone. You see the man on the steps?”

Belloc looked.

“And the woman in the sunglasses, drinking from a travel mug? And the young couple with their arms around each other, on the other side of the statue?”

“’K.”

“I recognize them. I’ve seen them in the museum, below, or when I am walking among the war memorials at 2 a.m.” He rolled his head in the general direction of the National Mall.

“How often do you go out?”

“Most nights.”

“We thought you slept in the pool.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I do.”

“They could be tourists.”

He made a disagreeing grunt. “The man near the steps followed us from Crystal City. He’s one of the agents who took us to the Senate after the arrival ceremony.”

Duin bent his knees and put his feet on the stone bench. From his mitten, he withdrew a scrap of hu’cric and a small, sharpened piece of metal. Cupping the Glinnish paper, he pierced his skin. With his own blood, he used the metal as a writing implement and created a splash of Glinnish.

Belloc leaned close so he could read the words. We are prisoners here. Belloc nodded, once, to indicate he got the message.

Duin ripped the hu’cric with his teeth, chewing the paper and swallowing. On the remaining scrap, he wrote, I don’t like being imprisoned. He murmured. “They watch everything we do, hear everything we say.”

“So did Hax.”

Duin stuffed the paper with the second message into Belloc’s mouth. “Hax was not…” Duin glanced around at their covert entourage, and didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

No, Hax was not. A powerful government. A collection of corporate and military scientists probing the secrets of their physiology. An ally who insisted on keeping them close to the Pentagon, in spite of Duin’s repeated requests to move to Embassy Row. A nation built on the promise of freedom and equality, which they could not move freely in unless disguised. Anything they said here could be heard by listening devices. If they tried to message each other, their digital words would be intercepted. The only way to speak freely was to write in blood and destroy the evidence. Belloc chewed the bitter fibers, tasted the unmistakable tang like mineral-rich silt in the splashes of blood, and swallowed.

“Nana-sim said that all of our incoming and outgoing connections at the apartment are monitored.”

Duin nodded. “And I’m beginning to think that some of our messages are being blocked. J.T. called yesterday to tell me that he had an email from Nish, forwarded by Hax to INC’s European offices. Nish has been trying to contact me, and I had no idea.” The Net was just that—it trapped them. Speaking in Glinnish provided no privacy, since every human had access to a translation app. These facts hadn’t bothered Belloc before but were an acceptable price to pay for living where he could play video games, eat enough food, become a citizen and be with J’ni.

But Duin’s words, written in blood, cast a sinister light on the situation, and Belloc possessed a well-honed ability to sense impending doom. Most of the time. There was probably much more that Duin wasn’t telling him—too much to write on a slip of hu’cric, even with all the blood in his body. Belloc made a calculated change of subject.

“J’ni and I are thinking about going to Ireland. I’ve been invited to perform in a few pubs and theaters. Brendan could see his family. You should come with us.” Belloc hoped Duin would understand what he was really saying. Can we leave the U.S.?

“I thought you were going to start training with the U.S. Olympic team.” Belloc interpreted this to be a question: What about your bid to become a citizen?

“They have water in Ireland.” Maybe I could become a citizen of the European Union, instead.

“Part of my understanding with the United States government and the Department of Defense is that we’ll remain here while they study us. Well, study you. And that I remain here, close to the military leaders and politicians who are helping our planet.” Duin sounded much less enthusiastic about that than he did when they’d arrived in the U.S. and had lunch with the president. He pattered his fingers over Belloc’s arm. “Tell me, do you think I’m doing the right thing, for Glin?”

Belloc couldn’t help barking a short, derisive laugh. “How do I know what’s right for Glin?”

“Exactly! How does anyone know? I’m forced to make sweeping decisions about everything. Not just obvious ones, like ‘Should we kill Tikati? Yes.’ But everything, from flags to anthems to which river is refilled first, where to put the next military base, whom will we trade bavat with, how the budget is allocated, writing a constitution…They won’t even wait for me to hear back from the Freedom Council. They want decisions now.” He sighed. “I need you, Belloc.”

“For what? I’m an ezzub.”

“You’re right. You’re an ezzub for thinking you’re an ezzub.” Duin placed a hand on Belloc’s healed thigh. “I need you because it’s hard for me to admit to J’ni that I am drowning in this endeavor. I know you don’t care about Glin, but do you care about me? Please say you do.”

He looked at Duin, United Nations Ambassador, INC Star 5 Blogger, Envoy of the Freedom Council, Elder of Lost River, Hero of the Uprising and Tikati Revolt, Savior of Glin, J’ni’s soulbound. And he was pissed at himself for not seeing Duin, the husband and friend who needed him.

His eyes blurred and he nodded. “Yes, Duin. I care.”

Copyright (c) 2012 by J. L. Hilton
Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.

• STELLARNET REBEL

• STELLARNET PRINCE

  Available for all reading devices and apps, and as audio books from Audible and iTunes

A conversation about women in SFF has been going on for awhile, now. I blogged about it when I published my debut novel Stellarnet Rebel in January 2012. Then I blogged a year later how Illogicon featured a lot of discussion — public and private — about misogyny (as well as racism and homophobia) in SFF. The Galaxy Express has been an advocate of SFR and women in SF for years, and Debra Doyle wrote about the Girl Cooties Theory of Genre Literature as applied to SFF, way back in 2000.

I had the opportunity to experience a range of reactions to my SF novels at the Escapist Expo last year. I met people frustrated with science fiction’s lack of character development and over-reliance on violence and gadgetry. Others described how the term “romance” no longer meant bodice ripping and vapid heroines but was being applied to any novel written by a woman, with a strong female lead, in any genre. And I had a few men who saw the cover of Stellarnet Prince and said, “I don’t read chick books.” (Though I suppose they would have no problem with this cover, or this one, or this one — that’s just “classic” sci-fi.) One guy complained, “Why is it every time a woman writes a science fiction novel with a female main character, it has to have romance?” I suggested that it might be the same reason why every man who writes fiction with a male main character, the hero ends up getting laid (or rescuing a woman with the explicit or implicit hope of getting laid). Two sides of the same coin.

In October, I wrote a guest post for my publisher’s You Tell Us feature, on the topic of women and science fiction.

I’ve met many women who don’t read science fiction. They might enjoy supernatural, fantasy or historical romance. But anything with aliens, robots, space ships or lasers, don’t bother to beam them up, Scotty.

Reasons for their dislike include a lack of characters to whom they relate, pervasive misogyny in the genre, absence of emotional depth or romance, too much violence, and too many boring descriptions of aliens, machines and technology. … (more)

On my own blog, I asked “Why don’t men like sci-Fi and sex?” Mentioning a few of my favorites — Desert Blade by Ella Drake, The Confederacy Treaty series by Lilly Cain, Twisted Tale and Bewitching Tale of Stormy Gale by Christine Bell, and anything by Robert Appleton — I note that…

(A) lot of time, research, plot and character development went into every one of them. Just as Stellarnet Rebel is repeatedly lauded by readers and reviewers for its massive “world-building,” these are all stories about much more than ripped bodices and sweaty pecs. They are NOT filled with pages and pages of snogging punctuated by lengthy internal monologues dripping with emotional angst and insecurity.

They DO have female protagonists and they DO depict intimacy, in various forms and stages, affecting or affected by the events of their plots — no different than Star Trek, Firefly, Babylon 5, Star Wars and lots of other sci-fi going back at least to Forbidden Planet. Which, had it been a novel written from Altaira’s perspective, would have been snubbed as “sci-fi romance” too.

I want to know: Since when are sex and relationships only “chick” pursuits, and since when are they “lesser” in cultural significance or entertainment value than explosions and robots? How can romance possibly taint a science fiction novel, darkening it into some sort of unholy untouchable??!? We know how much porn you’ve stashed on your laptop, so why would a sex scene (or two or three) in the middle of a sci-fi book freak you out?

Following that, myself, K.C. Burn, Ella Drake and Diane Dooley participated in a panel at CoyoteCon in late October called Girl Cooties in SF. (Transcript)

When it comes to SF and SFR, I’ve felt like a bit of an outcast, not really fitting into either category. The Stellarnet Series is character driven and praised by reviewers for its world building, with some calling it great SFR and others saying its not a romance at all. Stellarnet Rebel was science fiction-y enough to be a finalist in the EPIC Award for Best SF ebook of 2012, and romance-y enough to win a SFR Galaxy Award — for Best Non-Traditional Romance.

I’ve attempted to avoid or subvert many romance and SF tropes, but I don’t feel I’ve “trampled” (to use Mr. Sharp’s term) all over the genres. Prior to 2010, I hadn’t read any SFR novels, but I had read plenty of SF. Stellarnet Rebel was my attempt at writing the kind of science fiction I wanted to read — not just because it included an alien/human romance and a female protagonist, but because it included modern technology and social issues, in a future plausibly extrapolated from current trends (thus my publisher labeled it “cyberpunk,” but I think it’s better described as “post-cyberpunk, with aliens”).

I used to be a dues-paying associate member of SFWA, qualified by a short story published in Dragon magazine. However, because of an official prohibition against Harlequin and its imprints (my publisher Carina Press being one of them), and against the acceptance of books published without a minimum $2000 advance (regardless of royalties, subsequent sales, ratings, reviews or awards), I’ve not qualified for full membership. Based on this and the sexism issues, I declined renewal this month.

I hope SFWA doesn’t end up like the GOP, wondering where their popularity and support went, and deciding that they didn’t do enough outreach to women and minorities, while refusing to see that their policies and public relations were perceived as unwelcoming-to-downright-hostile by a rapidly-changing, diverse audience.

I felt I should add my two-credits-worth to the current dialog, and I’m glad this discussion continues.

- J.L. Hilton

Guess what! My cousin Brian is also a science fiction and fantasy author, as well as writing paranormal, romance, urban fantasy and more. He’s a self-publishing success story, reaching as many as a thousand downloads a day and over a million copies sold since 2010, which led to contract offers from publishers

JLH: When did you begin writing and what was your first paid publication?

BVL: I started writing seriously and sending things to publishers when I was about 17. It’s been a long road since then. I had a number of pro short story sales in the 90s, then in 2001, I sold a textbook series to a pro publisher. These were college computer science textbooks. I made serious money with those, doing ten volumes by 2010, when I dropped it because fiction was taking off for me. I self-pubbed for about a year, then started getting contract offers from publishers, which I’ve been signing since 2011.

JLH: When digital-first imprint Carina Press offered me a contract for Stellarnet Rebel in 2011, a lot of people thought I was making a mistake because my book wouldn’t printed on paper. Now, just two years later, it seems everyone is reading on their tablets, smartphones and other devices, and I’m meeting authors who wish they were in as many digital bookstores as I am. You were way ahead of the curve. When did you enter the world of digital publishing and why?

BVL: I found out about Kindle books in April of 2010. I worked all summer, 12 to 16 hours a day, getting my books up there and getting my first sales. This paid off as the Kindle grew in popularity and my sales grew with it. I originally had over ten novels lying around that had been rejected by all the publishers (I managed to get close several times, had agents and deals, but never got a real contract with a real check for a novel). So I figured I would just put them up and see what happened. It turned out to work for me when the public could decide what they wanted to read, rather than a few NYC editors.

JLH: How in the world did you write so many books?

BVL: I built up years of books before I began putting them online. Still, even counting that head start, I’ve written at least half of my work in the last three years. I’m writing faster now, mostly because it’s easier to do work on something that’s paying!

JLH: What’s the key to your success?

BVL: I consider myself to be an entertainer first and foremost. If I was a comedian, I would go up on stage to make people laugh, not to “express myself” or anything else. With every book I write, I’m thinking about the reader all the time. Is he getting bored? Is this what the reader wants to see happen at this point? Would I be upset if I were the reader and guy X died at the end of this scene? That’s what’s in my head. Also, I move the plot faster than most people, and try to do it in unexpected directions.

I think for a lot of writers, writing is about them, not the reader. They write to tell their story, or to make a point, or to feel better about something in their lives. All that’s fine, but to sell a thousand times more books, you have to adopt a different approach. To be clear, I write because I love writing, not just to make money. But I make sure I write things I would like to read, and which I believe most readers would like to read. When I read a self-indulgent book, I’m annoyed with the writer and stop reading. I don’t write that kind of work. Entertainment is all I’m shooting for, and that’s my key to success.

JLH: Does cover art matter? Who does your covers?

BVL: Cover art matters a lot when attracting readers initially, before you have a fan. I do my own covers for self-pubbed books, (completely pro on all my 47North pro sales), but I’m seeking help now in that area to make my self-pub covers better.

JLH: You write in several genres, including science fiction, epic and urban fantasy, and paranormal romance. Do you think this has helped or hindered your marketability? Or is it a fair price to pay to keep from getting bored (and boring readers)?

BVL: Probably, it made things worse for me, as people give me bad reviews when they buy a new book from me and get a very different experience. Originally, I wrote in many genres trying to break in, and because I get bored easily. Now, I’m trying to get more focused.

JLH: What are some of your influences and inspirations?

BVL: I consume media of all forms, and that has influenced my writing. My books feel different because there are movie/game/internet/current technology influences. I’m not purely literary in my interests and background. This upsets some readers, but most love it.

JLH: Are your books targeted to young adults or mature readers?

BVL: My protagonists vary in age, but are usually 25-35. (In other words, actual young adults, not teens.) About content, I wouldn’t give my books to someone under, say, 14. There are “adult situations” implied. There’s very little profanity, no graphic sex, but lots of terrible things happen to nice people, and there’s usually plenty of violent action. This varies with the genre, of course.

There is this odd concept in publishing that goes like this: “There are “young adult” books, which are really kid books for teens and simple people. Then, there are books for “mature” readers, which means a book that an approximately 40 year old NYC agent/editor finds worthy of reading. Honestly, I think there are more types of humans out there than these two flavors. I target 20 to 35 with my books. Most books written in the adult sector target 30 to 60. I’ve always been annoyed with how few books (particularly for 25 to 35 year old male readers) get published. As a reader, I found a lot to read when I was young, but as I aged I found very little for an adult who still had a wild imagination. I’m trying to fit that niche, writing for people who are college and after (the true “young adults”) rather than going for kids or the large older reader group. Surprisingly, a lot of my readers are older people who found themselves bored with the stale content written for them. I get emails from 70-somethings every month telling me I’ve revived their reading interest in what they see as a world full of dull books.

JLH: I think a lot of what you’re saying explains why self-publishing, e-publishing and niche publishing are taking off. Are all of your books self-published, or do you also work with niche and/or mainstream publishers, now?

BVL: My latest book just came out from 47North, The Bone Triangle, it is the second book in the “Unspeakable Things” series. These are completely pro books. So I do both now, I’m what I would call a “hybrid” author. Also, I have agents for both movie and literary sales. I have books sold to foreign publishers (translated into 4 languages now) and I’ve got audiobooks produced by three different professional audio publishers. Audible.com is my biggest audio publisher, and I think I have 18 books read by pro studio performers with them. I’ve been approached and talked deals with many TV/film producers, but haven’t gotten to the finish line there yet. I’m definitely an “all of the above” guy.

JLH: What are you working on right now?

BVL: I’m currently writing Dream Magic, the seventh and final book of my “Haven” series of epic fantasies. It’s almost finished!

JLH: Any advice for aspiring authors?

BVL: This is a fantastic time for authors. We’re out of prison and running wild in the fields outside. Everyone can now publish and get their books read, but only a few will make it to the top. (Think: Hunger Games). But honestly, don’t expect an easy path. Writing fiction is not easy, it’s like learning to play a violin at a concert-quality level. Very few of us can grab up a violin and make beautiful music our first time out. But with practice and fanatical dedication, everyone now has a shot at it!

More with B.V. Larson:

Interviewed by Ty Johnson

Interviewed by David VanDyke

Lord James Dupree must recover his family’s stolen Luck, an elven talisman that nurtured the Dupree lands, protected its people’s health, and made Dupree wines the finest in all the lands. Without the talisman, the Dupree vineyards are failing. Creditors are closing in. The Luck is James’ only hope of holding his family estate, keeping his motherless daughter and widowed mother from poverty, and protecting from an uncertain fate the families that have served his family for generations.

James stumbles across a solution–but by seizing it, he betrays the most cherished values of his land and family. He wins an elven slave in a game of cards. James has been raised to abhor slavery, and yet that slave, Loren, offers James his only chance to enter the Lands Between and recover the stolen Luck.

James tries to assure Loren that he wants him only as a guide to the Lands Between, but the elf has been cruelly used by his mortal owners; he does not trust this new master. Despite his best intentions, James finds it all too easy to slip into the role of slavemaster, threatening to send Loren to the auction block when the slave defies him.

Angry with himself, James tries to make amends. A wary Loren rejects his gestures.

Where the scene opens, James and Loren have left the town where the card game took place and are journeying to James’s estate, where they will stay for the harvest before continuing on James’s quest to retrieve his family’s stolen Luck.

James is dreaming unquiet dreams when. . .

“Master! James!”

Loren’s frantic cry jolted through his sleeping mind. He jumped to his feet, dagger in hand before he came fully awake. Dark shapes in the shadows. Glint of metal. Old instincts woke. James dodged and struck, and one dark shape fell.

He spun. The world narrowed to attackers and the chained elf he had to defend. Time slowed, he could count between the heartbeats loud as a drum in his ears. Loren had grabbed the chain that trapped him, using his cloak to protect his hands as he swung it, doubled, against two knife-wielding ruffians. The nearest ducked a swing of the chain. James charged before he regained his balance.

The man went down hard. James pinned the wrist of the brigand’s knife hand, thrust his own dagger heartdeep. Hot blood spilled over his hands.

The last ruffian grabbed the swinging chain and yanked Loren forward. James sprang. Too late.

The ruffian pulled Loren against him, dagger pressed to skin just above the iron collar. With his other hand, he looped the chain several times around the elf’s wrists and pulled it tight. Loren’s scream seared James’s soul as the iron burned into the elf’s flesh.

James could not aid Loren without risking Loren’s life. His hands went numb. He closed his right fist tighter around the hilt of his dagger, trying to keep the feeling. He used his breathing to focus his thoughts, just as he had been taught.

No time to be sick. No time for fear. Duelist’s bravery. Gambler’s calm. For Loren, if not for yourself. Hard to think with the rush of blood roaring in his ears.

“I’ll make you a deal, gambler,” the brigand said. “I was told to kill you and take the elf. But seeing as you turned out to be a better fighter than we figured on—” he spared a glance at the bodies of his erstwhile companions, “—I’ll let you live. If you don’t try to stop me leaving with the pretty thing here. And the horses, so you won’t be following too close.”

“If I don’t agree?” James asked to buy time while he came up with a plan.

“I’ll slit the pretty’s throat and we’ll see which of us has the quicker knife.”

Loren, deathly white, breathed now in great, heaving gasps of pain. The sound rent the stillness of the night. Don’t think about that now. Just like any high stakes game, focus on the other player and not on the risks. It was the best chance he had to get them both out of this alive.

If it were just a question of giving up Loren in order to spare the elf’s life, James wouldn’t hesitate. But what would happen to Loren if he allowed the elf to be taken?

“You’re hurting him. Alain won’t like it if you bring him back marked.”

The man’s laugh was like spiders crawling down James’s shirt.

“Alain don’t care if the pretty gets messed up this time. He’ll be putting marks enough on him.”

Very good. He hadn’t been certain that Alain was behind the attack. “Why take it out on the elf? None of this was his doing.”

“Didn’t put up much of a fight, did he? Alain figures you couldn’t have won so big unless the elf was helping you.”

He couldn’t let this man take Loren anywhere. He just didn’t know how to prevent it without getting the elf killed.

My fault. If he’d left Loren where he’d found him, the elf wouldn’t be standing here, knife at his throat, iron burning into his wrists, tortured by the chain that he himself had clipped to that horrid collar.

Loren met his eyes and mouthed, “Be ready.”

And then the elf shoved himself backward into his captor. James leaped in and struck with his knife, even as Loren fell with blood blooming at his throat. James stabbed and stabbed again, until he was sure the ruffian was dead. Afraid of what he would find, he rushed to Loren’s side.

* * *

Choosing an excerpt like this is hard. Many of the best parts of a book contain spoilers or rely on the context of what went before for their significance. I chose this particular passage because it shows James’s character; in the face of a threat, his concern is for Loren’s well-being, not his practical value in recovering the Luck.

Also, this is the first time in the novel that James and Loren work together against a common threat. The scene marks a turning point in their association, and its events and their aftermath begin to build the trust and mutual reliance at the heart of the later relationship between them.

~ Shawna Reppert

The Stolen Luck: How far will a good man go to save his home and loved ones?

Lord James Dupree must recover his family’s stolen Luck, the elven talisman that has protected the Dupree lands for generations. Without the talisman, the Dupree vineyards are failing and creditors are closing in. The Luck is his only hope of saving his home and his family from poverty and ruin.

Despite his abhorrence of slavery, James wins an elven slave in a game of cards. The slave, Loren, provides the only chance to enter the Lands Between and recover the stolen Luck. Despite James’s assurances and best intentions, Loren does not trust his new master and James finds it all too easy to slip into the role of slave master when Loren defies him.

As the two work together through hardship and danger, James finds himself falling in love with Loren. And when a hidden enemy moves against them, he must choose between his responsibility to his family and his own soul.

Buy it on Amazon or DRM-free directly from the publisher Carina Press. Keep in touch with the author at www.ShawnaReppert.com, Twitter: @ShawnaReppert, or on Amazon, Facebook and Tumblr.

Stenvar, aka Mr. Dovahkiin

Don’t get me wrong, Stenvar’s a great guy. Before adding the Dragonborn DLC to my Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, I’d carefully considered every marriage candidate in the game before choosing a Mr. Dovahkiin, and I spent a bit of time adventuring with other followers like Faendal the elven archer and Vorstag the tattooed Nord. I didn’t want someone like Balimund the blacksmith, who I would leave sitting at home and collecting a hundred septims a day for me. Even if he could “perform miracles with steel.”

I wanted a partner, a fellow adventurer who would help me defeat daedra, pickpocket priests and loot libraries. A companion to warn me of impending danger, witness the wonders of Tamriel at my side, and take aggro so I could shoot things in the ass with poisoned arrows and loot corpses.

Stenvar was a tank who could survive boobytraps and swing an axe like a lumberjack, but had the good AI not to rush into enemy dens and ruin my sneak-and-snipe modus operandi. He didn’t gripe about carrying my burdens, didn’t care who I robbed, and his gravelly voice reminded me a bit of Jayne Cobb. So we got hitched in the Temple of Mara and I proceeded to enjoy the “Lovers Comfort” bonus every chance I could.

Teldryn Sero, aka "the hunkiest swordhunk in all Morrowhunk"

But after I added Dragonborn, I took my man with me to explore the new island of Solstheim, and he kept getting lost or killed. I got tired of reloading, so I fast-traveled his candyass back to Solitude and decided to hire the weird cthulhu/steampunk-ish dude I’d seen sitting in the Retching Netch pub. I reckoned if Tiny Goggles got himself killed, I wouldn’t have to reload, I’d just go back to Skyrim and grab another piece of draugr fodder. Like, maybe that bitch Uthgerd in Whiterun.

Teldryn claimed to be the best swordsman in all Morrowind — or as he is known on Tumblr, the “hunkiest swordhunk in all Morrowhunk” and “the sexiest motherfucker that I have ever seen.” I quickly discovered that not only did the dark elf possess a lethal arsenal of conjuration and destruction spells, and sweet one-handed skills. Best of all, he had personality, a personal history, and an extensive amount of dialog. I found myself visiting places in Skyrim just so I could hear what he would say about them. Often, his opinions matched my own. Whiterun was unimpressive, Morthal was wretched, necromancers and vampires sucked (which is why I haven’t installed Dawngaurd), and Markarth was a wonder.

But his voice ultimately won me over. The melodious, theatrical flair to the way he delivered every line, often dripping with slick sarcasm. “So! this is Riften. Glover Mallory told me a good deal about the place. It looks exactly as I’d pictured…” One can’t help hearing the unspoken “a complete dung heap” at the end. Or the Shakespearian way he cries “Lead on!” after I finish riffling through his inventory, the words “and let slip the dogs of war!” run through my mind every time, for some reason.

Teldryn without his mysterious mask

Divorce isn’t possible in the game, but Teldryn is one of the few followers who isn’t designed to be marriageable, anyway, (unless one plays on the PC and is willing to use a hack or mod). He’s also one of the few who can’t be a steward, so my plans to build him a love nest with Hearthfire and remove him from Solstheim permanently aren’t possible, either. Damn you, Bethesda programmers!

Together, Nightingale and spellsword, we cleansed the bile-spewing Afflicted from the underground fortress of Bthardamz, read the Oghma Infinium, released a trapped demonic pirate from the bowels of the mage school, negotiated a temporary ceasefire between warring factions, and captured the dragon Odahviing, who took me to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin world-eater. We pickpocketed our way to skill level 100 and the Perfect Touch perk that finally allowed me to remove his helmet and see his handsome face. Then we joined the Imperial side of the war and liberated his fellow Dunmer from that racist prick Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm.

Curious, I looked up the voice actor who enchanted Teldryn to life. Turns out he’s Dan Donohue, a Grammy-nominated Shakespearian performer who also portrayed “Scar” in Disney’s Lion King on Broadway. Which explains a lot. If you want to hear more of him, check him out as Hamlet. He’s got sword skills IRL, too. (He’s the redhead.)

Thanks to Teldryn Sero, I’ve enjoyed Skyrim that much more, and Tamriel is a much richer world. Sorry, Stenvar. But, hey, our house in Solitude is next door to the bards college, and if you can’t get one of the musicians to “play your flute” once in awhile for a handful of flawless emeralds, it’s not my fault.

- J.L. Hilton

Update: See my “5 Questions” interview with Dan Donohue over at CharlotteGeeks.com

It was the flipside to this:

Clearly intended to be a “boys side” and a “girls side” of one display. Of course, boys and girls (and their parents) are free to buy whichever books they want.

Just don’t expect to see a single female in the “Heroes” book. I looked through it. Not one.

Because, after all, there aren’t any female lifeguards, soldiers, rescuers, police… oh, wait…

I didn’t look through every page of every book on the stand, but I did glance through  “Sticker Dolly Dressing Around the World” and there were male characters. I just discovered that there’s a “Sports Girls” book available from the same publisher, but it wasn’t included in this particular store’s display. I assume “Bridesmaids” doesn’t depict boys, because by definition a bridesmaid is female (though the book might include grooms and ringbearers, I didn’t look through it so I don’t know).

But heroics should not be restricted to one gender. One of my heroic characters is an interstellar news blogger named Genny O’Riordan. When I wrote Stellarnet Rebel, the first book in the Stellarnet Series, I wanted to make Genny something more than a beautiful damsel in distress. She is beautiful, because she lives in a future where genetic modification is selected for her by her parents, who ensure she has perfect breasts, teeth, height and weight. But those qualities become irrelevant when she finds her soul mate in an alien whose standards of beauty are different than ours.

There are times when Genny is rescued, and there are many times when she does the rescuing. She kicks ass and fires weapons, but also uses her intelligence, wit, wisdom and humor to save herself, her friends, and ultimately a world.

Because there’s absolutely no reason why a woman can’t be heroic.

~ J.L. Hilton

I found this note fifteen years ago, tucked between the pages of Dragons of Autumn Twilight in a used bookstore. I don’t know “Jeremy” or his Mom, but I bought the book and I’ve kept the note ever since. It’s such a beautiful snapshot of geekiness — Dragonlance, dice holder, headgear — and such a sweet expression of parental love. I’ve never had the heart to throw it away.

The alien heroes in my science fiction Stellarnet Series may think chocolate tastes like an oozing fungus from the planet Glin, but my human heroine Genevieve O’Riordan and I both love it.

Saturday, I visited seven chocolate shops in Raleigh, North Carolina. I started with world-renowned chocolatiers Godiva and Lindt in the Crabtree Valley Mall, then went down Glenwood Avenue to Hereghty cafe, followed by stops at locally-owned bean-to-bar shops Videri and Escazu (the latter also selling Elemental brand chocolate-covered cocoa beans made in Raleigh), then up Capital Boulevard to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory at Triangle Town Center, and ending at the Chocolate Boutique in Lafayette Village on Falls of Neuse Road.

The tour took me five hours from 11am to 4pm, which included driving in the snow, eating lunch, chatting with store owners and sales clerks, taking pictures, tasting samples, and making purchases at each stop. The tour might take others from 2 to 6 hours, depending on weather, traffic, being alone or with a group, and how much time spent at each location.
View Larger Map

* * * UPDATE 3/4/13: The Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory store in TTC has closed. There is one now open in Brier Creek. Click here for an updated map. * * *

I’m not going to rate nor rank the shops, and I can’t possibly choose a favorite. Every single one has a character of its own, with unique offerings, friendly service and delicious treats. Here’s more information, with the shops listed in the order visited. All photographs taken by J.L. Hilton (me).

* * *

GODIVA
4325 Glenwood Ave, Raleigh, NC 919.781.0930

In 1926, Joseph Draps opened his first Godiva Chocolatier shop on a cobblestone street in Brussels, Belguim. The shop in Crabtree Valley Mall, near the food court, is one of now hundreds of Godiva boutiques around the world. It features seasonal goodies, bars, boxes and individual pieces, as well as shakes, fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate, fresh fruit kabobs drizzled in chocolate, chocolate-dipped macaroons, chocolate dessert cups with fresh berries and chocolate-covered Oreo cookies. (See boutique exclusive info here.) I joined the Godiva Chocolate Rewards Club.

* * *

LINDT
4325 Glenwood Avenue, Raleigh, NC 919.786.6105

Lindt & Sprüngli is a a luxury Swiss chocolate and confectionery company that traces its origins back to 1845. Lindt chocolate is sold in more than 80 countries and manufactured bean to bar from eight production sites in Europe and the U.S. The Raleigh shop is just down the elevator from Godiva, and features bulk bins of Lindor truffles and European specialties, as well as bars, tins, boxes, chocolate teddy bears and seasonal gifts. I bought some of their HELLO bars in caramel brownie and strawberry cheesecake flavors, and I joined the Lindt Lovers Rewards program.

* * *

HEREGHTY HEAVENLY DELICIOUS
2603 Glenwood Avenue, Suite 123, Raleigh, NC 919.787.3995

This is not strictly a chocolate shop but a European-style cafe that offers cookies, pastries, coffee, wine, beer, sandwiches, salads, and so we stopped here for lunch. They do have chocolate truffles from time to time, but didn’t have any on hand when I visited. I did, however, taste a “Liquid Brownie” chocolate, caramel and espresso drink. I can’t wait to go back. The food, drink and pastries were all fantastic. The cafe is intimate, with limited space and small tables set up for couples, not really designed for larger groups. But they do off-site catering, corporate lunches, custom gift boxes, etc. Baked goods are produced in-house, except for their gluten-free offerings that are made off-premises.

Driving from Hereghty to Videri, we passed the Cupcake Shoppe and Turkish Delights, both on Glenwood Avenue. They would have been fun stops for chocolate-flavored goodies, too. But we were pressed for time as road conditions were expected to worsen by evening, and we were focused on chocolate makers — not chocolate bakers or other chocolate treats.

* * *

VIDERI CHOCOLATE FACTORY
327 West Davie Street, Downtown Raleigh, NC 919.755.5053

Not overtly “steampunk” but with a Victorian style that made me feel as if I’d stepped back in time as soon as I entered the shop in Raleigh’s warehouse district. The factory is designed to allow walkthrough, with most of the production occurring behind glass and beautiful signs describing each step of the process. I couldn’t stop taking pictures. They offer large and small bars, seasonal treats, custom creations and space for private parties. Two weeks from now, they will also have a coffee bar.

“Videri Chocolate Factory was started by group of friendly folks who wanted to create wonderful chocolate, from the bean, everyday. We’re a cozy downtown chocolate factory that scrupulously sources every ingredient to insure a high quality, socially responsible chocolate.”

* * *

ESCAZU ARTISAN CHOCOLATES
936 N Blount Street, Raleigh, NC 919.832.3433

A dark-chocolate-lovers paradise, I’ve been shopping at Escazu for awhile and had previously taken a behind-the-scenes tour where I learned where their beans come from and how their chocolate is made. What I still don’t know is how they make such unusual ingredients so delicious. Lime and chili? Lemon and cayenne? Buddha’s hand and poppyseed? It’s magic. They also offer ice cream, cookies and coffee. When planning a visit, keep in mind that Escazu is a very small store with limited parking, in a bit of an unusual location just off of N. Blount Street in a neighborhood of downtown Raleigh and next door to Market Restaurant.

“Our workshop, located near downtown in the Mordecai neighborhood also serves as a retail store. We make and sell all of our products at this location, with a continually evolving selection of truffles and confections available nowhere else. We offer coffee drinks made with Counter Culture coffee, house made ice cream push-ups, soft drinks and a wide array of drinking chocolates, as well as locally made gifts.”

Escazu also sells Elemental chocolate-covered fair-trade cocoa beans, which are made in Raleigh by Paul Mosca, who innovated a process to remove the shell while keeping the bean intact. Elemental does not have its own store location but may be purchased online or at Escazu and other stores throughout the Triangle.

* * *

ROCKY MOUNTAIN CHOCOLATE FACTORY
Triangle Town Center, Capital Blvd., Raleigh, NC 919.792.2277

Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory is based in the town of Durango on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. Many of their products are made in their 53,000 square foot factory, but individual stores also prepare caramel and candy apples, fudge, chocolate items and confections on-site, in full view of the customer. Apples were being made the day we visited. It’s a very small store, just basically a walk-up counter within the mall. But it’s easy to reach if you park and enter near the Creekside Cafes food court entrance and take the elevator up to the second level. Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory is between the Sak’s Fifth Avenue and Macy’s stores. Also, chocolate coated potato chips.

I know it was a chocolate tour, but I bought caramels for my daughter who doesn’t like chocolate, and I bought an “Apple Pie” candy apple. The sales clerk cut the apple for me, which made it easier to eat and to share. It was OMG. I can’t wait to have another one.

* * *

THE CHOCOLATE BOUTIQUE
8480 Honeycutt Road, Suite 100, Raleigh, NC 919.322.0960

Located in Lafayette Village, the Chocolate Boutique is both a chocolate shop and party venue. I don’t think it’s a bean-to-bar shop that grinds its own cocoa beans, but they do make all of their chocolates on the premises. One of my family’s favorites is their peanut butter caramel truffle, and my husband loves their chocolate-covered bacon. Parties are available for children and/or adults, where you can make your own chocolates. They offer more than 1,200 molds to choose from, according to their Facebook page. Parties may be booked for a private group, or you can sign up for one of the monthly chocolate-making parties open to the public.

* * *

I had such a good time on the tour. It made me feel like a kid who’s been out trick-or-treating all Halloween night or… just like a kid in a candy store!

- J.L. Hilton

* * *

ASTERIA COLONY MED-BLOCK, SECTOR H

Alison awoke to the sound of a sultry male voice that might have been called a “crooner” in another century. A voice that didn’t sound at all like Kermit the Frog. But, when she opened her eyes, the singer did look a bit frog-like—a painfully handsome, humanoid version of a blue dart frog, with a pale face and sapphire skin on the back half of his head, neck and body.

“’Lo, Alison.”

He moved with a dancer’s grace, slender but powerful, as he stood over her and leaned close. Large, glistening irises made his eyes look like dark, polished pebbles, with only the slightest bit of white in the corners. Yet even that alien characteristic was somehow appealing, giving him a wide-eyed look of gentle innocence. A fantasy author would describe him as elven, if he’d had pointed ears. But the aliens known as Glin had no visible pinna, only slits on both sides of the head.

Her throat felt thick and sore when she swallowed, but she managed to whisper. “’Lo, Belloc. ‘Sup?” She tried not to stare at the chiseled pectorals that drew her gaze past his unbuttoned collar, but averted her eyes to the floral patterns shimmering in the digital threads of his programmable shirt.

“Nik told me you were here, in the IRL med-block.” He glanced at the numbers and lights that covered the wall at the head of her bed—information provided by the nano-sensors attached to her skin or injected into her body. “Dr. Geber says you’re doing well.”

“Epic.” Alison croaked the word and cleared her throat.

“Your technomage missed the subzero expedition.” He referred to her incarnation in the popular MMOG Mysteria.

“Sorry.”

“No problem. You can watch the vid of our playthrough. We found the remnants of a secret civilization and several psionic weapons.”

A pair of gloves covered his webbed hands and extended to his elbows, alight with interactive Net icons on his forearms. He touched the controls on his cuffs and a corresponding window opened upon the wall, covering most of the medical apps.

“Were you watching something when I woke up?”

His hairless brows puckered over his eyes. “No.”

“I heard singing.”

Belloc sat on the edge of her bed and hung his head in awkward reticence. She’s the one who felt awkward, with her thin antibiotic hospital gown, bed head and raspy voice. She probably had bad breath, too. Ugh.

“I was trying to sing you well. The Glin do that.”

“’K, then don’t stop. I still feel like crap.”

“Are you thirsty?” He offered her a plastic bottle. “Duin thought you might need this.”

She accepted the gift and felt something slosh inside the container. “What is it?”

“Glem. Water.”

“Water?”

“From Glin.” His people used the same word for their planet as themselves, as they considered one inseparable from the other.

“Are there flowers to go in it or something?”

“Like tea?”

“Like a vase.”

“The floral block might have a few of those blue roses left over from the wedding.”

The wedding. The very first wedding between an alien—Belloc—and a human—interstellar blogger Genevieve O’Riordan. Their marriage took place right here in Asteria Colony.

He moved to get up, but Alison stopped him. “N-V-M. Just sing.”

A corner of his mouth curled up in a shy half-smile. But he inhaled a deep breath and sang in a low, gurgling language that washed her aches away. Alison didn’t understand a word, but she appreciated the beauty of Glinnish—and the Glin beside her. While he sang, she drank the water. With each note, and each sip, she felt better and better.

Dr. Geber entered, waving a stylus that manipulated the stats on the wall. “What happened?”

Belloc stopped singing and stepped away from the bed, pivoting on one foot and swirling out of the doctor’s way. “Should I go?”

“I think there’s something wrong with the sensors.”

“I didn’t mean to mess them up.” Belloc touched his glove and the unplayed vid disappeared from the wall.

“It’s not you. She just suddenly… reset, back to her pre-op stats.”

Alison sat up, rubbing a hand through her hair, though it probably only made things worse. “But, I’m supposed to get better, right? That’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“Well, yes, but no.” Dr. Geber’s fingers wiggled in the air, shrinking and enlarging items on the wall, and flicking through several menus. “Not so quickly.”

She stretched her arms, tentatively twisted her torso, and realized that she felt pretty damn good. “I feel like I could fight a whole army of steam trolls.” She smiled at Belloc. “I guess your singing worked.”

He smiled back. “I’ll tell Hax to add another power to my mist wraith. Siren song healing bonus, plus ten.”

Alison drank the last of the water and returned the bottle to Belloc.

(c) J.L. Hilton, 2013

To find out more about Belloc, Genevieve O’Riordan, Duin, Hax, Nik, Dr. Geber, Glin and Asteria Colony, see www.StellarnetSeries.com.

Artist unknown

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT

This is a VERY tongue-in-cheek homage to the game Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Do not read if you are easily offended by erotica, humor, double entendre, battle tank Nords sporting a “horker tusk” or an Imperial rogue Dragonborn with a hot set of sweet rolls.

- J.L. Hilton

* * *

“COME WITH ME TO SOVNGARDE”

My housecarl Jordis had a bath waiting for me in my bedroom, so I could wash the dust of draugrs and long Skyrim roads from my weary limbs. Steam rose from the tub, fogging nearby bottles of spiced wine and making the sweet rolls glisten. As I began unbuckling my scaled armor, Stenvar cleared his throat.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

His steel helmet tucked under one arm, he turned to go, offering me a privacy I did not desire. He’d proven himself a worthy follower, slaying bandit leaders, Falmer, Hagravens and Forsworn Briar Hearts with ease. His stealth and archery skills matched my own, making him a true partner worthy of adventuring with a Dragonborn rogue. Now I wanted him for more than a sellsword and a pack mule. Much more. I closed the door.

“You don’t need to sleep in a bed roll tonight.”

Amusement warmed his stoic features, lifting an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth in a slight smile. “Is that so?”

For a moment, I wondered if he would refuse me. I might be Dovahkiin, but Stenvar was not the loyal, protective Faendal, nor the sweet, guileless Vorstag. This man had deep battle scars and eyes that had seen too much. He was a Nord. I was an Imperial. Still, he was a man, and the long roads of Skyrim contained as much loneliness as dust.

Placing my arms around his muscular neck, I raised myself on tiptoe in my steel boots of hauling and leaned against the magickal ebony chestplate of regeneration that we’d recently looted from some ruins. I loved seeing him in the black armor, almost as much as I wanted to see him out of it. The sleek surface crushed my bosom as I asked, “Wouldn’t you like a bath?”

“I would. I can take one downstairs, when you’re done.”

“But then I won’t be in it.”

He said nothing. Damn the Nord, was he going to make me beg? He was too much a man of Tamriel to be coy, with gray strands in his beard and dark lines etched into his face. The grindstone of experience had honed him to a fine edge, and that’s what I wanted, what set my blood to burning like fire salts. I didn’t want to lead him by the hand, as if he were a Rorikstead innkeeper’s son. As in our quests together, I relied on Stenvar to know what I needed. And to do it.

He smelled of sweat and leather, and a hint of blue mountain flowers as I pressed my lips to his, relishing the rough scrape of facial hair and the faint taste of mead. With his left hand, he gripped the back of my head, and returned my kiss with a force that took my breath away. His fingers in their Orcish gauntlets tangled in my hair and held me fast when he broke off. His green eyes looked into me, and he seemed pleased with himself.

I didn’t beg, I demanded. “Stay with me. Bathe with me. Spend the night in my bed.”

He dropped his helm upon the wooden chest at the foot of that bed, where it landed with a heavy thud, and his right arm went round my waist. I felt as if I was being held by a standing stone, large and immobile. His cheek grazed mine as he nosed against me, breathing me in. His lips brushed mine, but didn’t linger. I wanted to scream, but there was no shout, no word of power for passion. I kissed him again, tongue and mouth opening hot and wet. And again he broke off. With a smile.

“You hired me to kill things. Other services cost extra.”

Merriment danced in his eyes like torchbugs. He jested with me. Companionship was part of the package, a perk in the grim grind of dungeoning and dragonslaying. In as harsh a land as Skyrim, any joys, any reliefs, were seized without question. Did he have a spouse or a lover waiting for him somewhere in Eastmarch? I didn’t know. But I knew he loved gold. Gold and the lethal crunch of bone under his hammer.

My voice felt thick in my throat as I replied. “If you fuck as well as you fight, it will be worth every septim.”

He kissed me again, while my hands explored his armor, finding buckles and straps and unbinding them. We removed our gear and stored it in the chest, but he was still in boots and trousers by the time I’d removed everything but my amulet of disease immunity. He waited, watching me as I climbed into the warm water. In this, as in battle, he wasn’t one to rush in until he assessed the situation, planned his attack.

I burnished my skin with tallow soap, worked elixirs of honeycomb and rock warbler egg into my hair. Sinking, I rinsed vampire blood and the Divines knew what from my dark braids. When I resurfaced, I beheld an eyeful of thick, naked manhood beside the tub. It was no wonder he’d mastered two-handed swordplay. The weight of him hung half-hard and enticing, inches from my lips. I choked back an appreciative growl even as I eyed the part of him I’d prefer to choke on—after he bathed.

“Is there room for me?”

Whether he meant room in the bath or room between my lips or legs, I swore to find a way, Dibella willing. I moved so he could join me. His bulging arms drew me closer, so my stomach covered his, and I felt his arousal throbbing between us. A long scar made a furrow through the hair that carpeted his massive pectorals, and I traced this with one finger.

“The Thalmor who gave me that was aiming for my head, but Arkay didn’t want me that day.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.” He chuckled, but his laughter transmuted to a savage groan when he put his lips to mine and his rough hands to the curves of my body. No metal nor leather separated us, and skin on skin I pressed myself into his hard thighs and harder chest. Between kisses, I washed the dirt from his neck and wiped a smear of wolf’s blood from his cheek with my own wet hands. His close-cropped hair felt like the velvet trim of a jarl’s tunic, his now rock-hard cock fit like the familiar comfort of Dawnbreaker’s hilt in my hand.

Stenvar reached for a bottle of Evette San’s finest, uncorked it with his teeth, and spit the cork over the side of the tub. He offered it first to me, then took a drink after, careless of the liquid running over his chin. He tipped the bottle and poured the spiced wine down my neck and over my breasts, where he licked the liquid from my skin. Seeking every drop, his mouth moved from my ear, along the taut ridge of my trapezius muscle, and over my shoulder, while his hand fast-traveled from my breasts to the rift between my legs. As nimbly as I could pick any lock, his fingers sent shocks of pleasure sizzling through me. He didn’t use magic, but he had me in his spell, all the same. The more the water cooled, the more I burned. I expected any moment he would bend me over and take me there, on my knees. Squirming, I tried to impale myself on his horker tusk, but his arms held me firm. His deep, gravelly voice filled my ear.

“You won’t be stealing that, my seductive sneak-thief. You’ll get it when I give it to you.”

A bard, archer and alchemist, I hadn’t actually joined the Thieves’ Guild, yet, but before I could argue, he lifted me out of the tub and carried me to bed, where he placed me upon the snowy sabre cat pelts. Standing over me, he drank the last of the spiced wine, while I enjoyed the magnificent view that made me want to explore him like a Dwemer ruin. His wet skin glistened in the candlelight, his nipples two small, tight nubs on the crests of his hulking torso, but the cool night air had no effect on his manhood. I was not a Nord, however, and I shivered.

“Cold? Then I’ll warm you.” He set the bottle on the nightstand and covered my body with his.

“You’re the one always complaining about the cold,” I teased, snuggling close.

“Ice caves make my fingers numb. I think my ma had some Imperial blood, though she wouldn’t admit it outside the walls of our home. Nords aren’t known for being tolerant of other races.”

“And how do you feel about Imperials?”

“With my hands.”

He grinned, cupping one ample breast and kissing me deeply while his thumb flicked over my nipple, gently pinching, tugging and massaging in circles. Pushing his hips against me, he slid the full length of his shaft back and forth, polishing the sensitive pearl in my hot, damp cleft until I arched my spine and writhed beneath him, digging my fingernails into his broad back and grasping handfuls of hard backside. If I were a lute, Inge Six-Fingers could not have played me better. And so I gave myself over completely to him and to my own berserker frenzy of lust.

When he finally entered me with a single, deft thrust, burying himself to the hilt, I cried out. The ache of emptiness soothed, deep recesses reached, a fullness more powerful than a potion of ultimate stamina, I wrapped my legs around him and my moans shook the rafters of Proudspire Manor. He impaled me again and again, each withdrawal leaving a desperate desire for more, each stab pushing me closer to the edge of oblivion. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they could hear me all the way to the Blue Palace.

The rumble of his voice insisted, “Now, Zephyr, my beautiful, my lovely. Do it now… Come with me to Sovngarde…”

Climax vibrated through me like a thu’um. Stenvar slowed but would not relent, drawing out the length of each stroke with expert timing, driving me to convulse again. Pleasure became perfectly painful, and I gasped his name when I couldn’t stand it any more, clawed his shoulders in exquisite agony. He grunted my name, and something about the Divines, and I felt his hot release.

I fell asleep in his arms. In the morning, I awoke before him, tucked a coin purse with 500 septims under his arm and went downstairs to make potions. He never mentioned the gold, never returned it, but never again suggested I pay for any of his services, in battle nor in bed. A month later, we were married in the Temple of Mara, but that’s another story…

* * *