Born at Dawn (Da'Valia Trilogy):: An Upper YA Fantasy Adventure by Christina Davis ➱ Release Tour with Giveaway
Chapter 1 Excerpt
Neva froze when the sound of footsteps approached the door,
disturbing the steady hum of the howling wind. The tower quarters had been cold
and empty when she climbed through the frosted window, and Flynn had assured
her the duke would be engaged in festivities downstairs well into the night.
She held her breath, remaining crouched over the warded chest in the dark as
she waited for the servant to continue past. The whisper of a lock pick and
wrench scraping against the keyhole reached her, and her stomach dropped. After
a moment, the door inched open, then closed with a barely perceivable click.
Neva silently backed against the study’s stone wall. If the intruder lit a
candle, she would be found out, so she murmured an incantation under her breath
to call her favorite glamour to life. The telltale sting of invisibility washed
over her as a man in black britches and a matching tunic strode into the study.
The invisibility glamour was worth the gold she had paid, and the pain of
having it stitched into her skin inch by inch, but it bit like poison ivy. She
resisted scratching as the sensation faded.
A woven rug muffled the man’s footfalls, and he squinted as he inspected his
surroundings by moonlight, hesitating briefly when he passed the space where she
stood, before continuing into the room. Her nose wrinkled. He smelled of
spoiled milk.
Neva’s enhanced sight allowed her to see the intense concentration on his
clean-shaven face. His short blond hair was almost as light as her own, his
hazel eyes were probing, and his nose was bent.
Neva stayed quiet as he moved around the desk and to the back of the room.
There, he knelt in front of the warded chest.
Her teeth clenched and her hand inched toward the dagger strapped to her ankle.
A job like this rarely came along, and she was counting on it to make a name
for herself. Not to mention that Flynn Abernathy, the most feared crime lord in
Glacier Pass, had commissioned her.
Anyone else after the same item was going against the Thieves’ Code.
Neva could ambush the man. She didn’t have the full power of a majila, a female
Da’Valia, but she could do more than merely see in the dark.
Da’Valia were fast, strong, brutal creatures. Eliminating this man from the
realm of the living likely wouldn’t cause them to hesitate, yet Neva did. Some
said thieves were without honor, but she knew otherwise. Her father raised her
to follow the Code.
“You don’t want to do that,” she said, dropping her glamour and stepping away
from the wall.
The man spun around as if startled but was nimble as he stepped away from the
hidden prize and tossed an illuminator from his pocket.
The ball of magic exploded in a burst of yellow light before hovering near the
ceiling in the center of the study. The temperature dropped to near-freezing,
and Neva’s breath traveled away from her in a fog.
Illuminators temporarily revealed that which lay beneath both spells and
darkness. Neva didn’t know if the man had stolen this one, or paid for it with
someone else’s silver or blood.
Then, the taste of copper settled on her tongue. He had paid with blood.
He frowned and stood protectively in front of the chest as he looked her over.
Neva was dressed differently than when she delivered firewood about the city
during daylight hours. She had replaced her heavy fur jacket and traditional
skirts with a costume of another kind. The black of her boots matched her
fitted bodysuit, and a charcoal wrap covered her light blonde hair.
“Good evening, dove,” he drawled, recovering smoothly. “Just who might you be?”
She noted with some relief this man’s accent was foreign.
“Maybe that’s what I should ask you,” Neva replied. Anyone who had purchased an
illuminator with blood was a serious threat.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He lowered into a slight bow, keeping his eyes
on her all the while. “My name is Thatcher Sullivan. You may have heard of me.”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Neva said, her voice bitter and flat. His
gallantry didn’t fool her. He had made no indication he intended to stand down,
and this job belonged to her.
“Ah.” He nodded. “An astute observation, but, alas, here I am.”
“You’re breaking the Code.”
A sneer flickered over his face. “I’ve been sent here by people who operate
outside your Code.”
A thought sparked in Neva’s mind. His name was Sullivan, and his accent
indicated he was from the west. Oh, she knew who he was all right. The
Chameleon. Although she had never heard of him working this far north, he was
notorious for taking contracts without local approval across Cirandrel.
It didn’t matter who hired him. Someone went through the wrong channels. The
thieving community could forgive that. But if Flynn discovered Thatcher was
working in Glacier Pass, the crime lord would have the thief’s head.
“I’ll make you an offer,” Neva said slowly. She wanted to keep the situation
from escalating, if possible. “But only this once, so listen well. If you leave
now, I won’t tell Flynn. If you make me fight for this, you will regret it.”
“So sorry, dove. I’ve promised some important people a certain item by the end
of the night.”
“Now, listen here —”
Chapter 3 Excerpt
Neva made it two steps closer to the man before he flung another spell in her
direction. This one knocked her off her feet, slamming her into the wall and
then the hard floor. Against a human, the spell would have rendered its victim
unconscious. Against a half-Da’Valia, it failed.
But Thatcher wasn’t waiting to see if the magic worked. He was counting on it.
By the time she regained her footing, he had used the lock pick and wrench from
his pocket to open the chest.
He didn’t notice her because he was so intent, but Neva was shaking with anger.
She didn’t think. She rushed him. Silent, fluid, nearly a blur.
She slammed into him, and he flew into the opposite wall with a hard thud.
Thatcher’s body was still, his right arm at an awkward angle. The illuminator
blinked out, sending the room back to darkness.
The noise from their scuffle made Neva cringe. She prayed the Guard hadn’t
heard. Perhaps she should have dealt with Thatcher another way, but there
wasn’t time to second-guess herself now.
Neva filled the bard’s cup, but she couldn’t force her gaze
from the Da’Valia in front of her. Although his hooded cloak blocked his horns
from the customers, her view allowed her to see each was as wide as her wrist
at the base, pointed on the end, and black. Instinct told her his ears were
molded pointy like her own beneath his unshorn hair.
“And you?” Neva pushed the words out, trying to avoid
staring at the scar stretching from below his eye to his jaw.
He was fearsome, yet something about him resonated with her.
She had never seen a Da’Valia other than her mother, but she had heard the
stories of the male warriors. Her mother’s white skin had almost shone, but the
males, the hilans, had not been born at dawn, according to the old stories. The
hilans had been born at midnight.
“Of course,” the Da’Valia said, sliding his mug forward. His
voice reminded her of a shepherd’s horn, deep and echoing through the
mountains.
“Have you heard any news from farther north these past
months?” the bard asked as she poured.
Neva shook her head. The more northern regions were so
remote only miners with gold fever ventured there. Fewer still ever returned.
“Very little comes to the Pass during Fireside,” she said.
“You would probably know of worthy things better than I.”
She spoke with the bard, but every part of her was alert to
the Da’Valia. Mentally, she thanked Neil for warning her. As far as her uncles
knew, she was entirely human, but the Da’Valia’s presence was intimidating
enough.
The Da’Valia moved to pull his mug to him, but the edge of
his hand tapped the ceramic, knocking it off the table. Faster than a human
could track, Neva set down one of her pitchers and caught the mug by the
bottom. She stopped its fall before a drop spilled. The action was pure reflex.
It happened so fast, the bard didn’t take notice, but Neva
was aware of the Da’Valia’s unwavering gaze as she scooted the mug back into
his hand. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the bard, yet instinct told her the
Da’Valia was looking at her. Silently, she cursed her reaction to his
clumsiness. It would have been safer to let it drop to the floor and deal with
the mess. She knew better than to show her speed in public, but she was
rattled.
The bard paused in his story for another sip of mead, and
the Da’Valia took advantage of the moment of silence.
“Nevazhi,” he said.
“Aye?” she asked, keeping her eyes down, not wanting to look
at him directly.
“I heard the customers call you that,” he said, wrapping his
hands around his mug. “It’s an interesting name. How did you come by it?”
“Why, my mother gave it to me, of course,” she said, forcing
a chuckle. Polite, not giving anything away.
The silence that met her response dragged, forcing her to
glance up. Her eyes locked with the Da’Valia’s. Without meaning to, she held
her breath. Maybe he didn’t recognize her for what she truly was. Maybe he was
just of odd character.
But his next words shattered her hope.
“Nevazhi is a name in my family as well,” he told her.
“That’s interesting,” she spoke softly, ready to give her standard
response. “But my mother was foreign. I suppose it’s popular in other parts.”
“No. It’s not.” The Da’Valia’s voice took on a hard edge.
Neva stilled like a child found out for lying. She swallowed
hard. The bard leaned forward, sensing something was amiss.
“Indeed,” the bard said. “Nevazhi is an unusual name. I have
not heard it in any of my travels, and I have walked to the far corners of the
realm.”
The Da’Valia kept his eyes on Neva’s a moment longer.
“It’s of no matter,” he said to the bard, settling
comfortably back into his seat. “Were she one of my people, she would not be
able to deny who she is forever. Regardless, I’m sure the barmaid has more
customers to attend.”
Neva nearly bit her tongue to keep from engaging the
Da’Valia further. What choice did she have? To accept it publicly would be to
invite judgment, fear, and hostility from everyone in her life. Something he
couldn’t possibly understand.
“I should move on,” Neva agreed instead, gesturing to the
next table.
“Aye, of course!” the bard agreed, nodding.
Neva obtained their coin before moving to the next table.
They stayed for more than an hour, and Neva felt the Da’Valia’s eyes on her as
they departed. As soon as the door closed behind them, she let out a lengthy
breath. The Da’Valia had recognized her name and all but challenged her to
admit her bloodlines. That scared her.
Neva stepped into the kitchen to collect herself. She had
spent her entire life hiding the true nature of her blood, but for however long
he was visiting Glacier Pass, the chances of her being found out were far
greater.
Can you, for those who don't know you
already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
I grew up in a rural
community in a small logging town in the California mountains called Boulder
Creek. Population: 6,000. I had a rare bleeding disorder, so I was often in the
hospital, and books became a vital escape. No one was really self-publishing
back then, and I had to rely on the local library to supply my voracious
reading habit. I was the kid who would stay up until 2 AM with a flashlight
under my covers, reading even though my parents told me to go to sleep. So,
eventually, I ran out of the kinds of books I wanted to read.
This is probably
self-incriminating, but I remember using my step-sister’s address in a
neighboring county so I could get access to their library system. That’s how
desperate I was for books, and that’s why I started writing. I ran out of
options, so I had no choice but to write my own.
I started writing my
first “chapter” book by hand in a spiral-bound notebook when I was about 12
years old. I never finished that one, but I completed four other books and many
more stories as a teenager. I took a break when I went to college, where I
studied Journalism, but as soon as I graduated, I knew I wanted to write a
novel. Pretty soon after that I decided I wanted to turn it into a trilogy, and
then I spent the next decade making it the best that I could.
I’m what the writing
community calls a “pantser,” so I built these books entirely based on a gut
feeling of what the characters would do. But, eventually, I realized that
wasn’t going to cut it. So I studied, I read books about writing, and I put my
imagination to work. I invested a lot of time into developing the Da’Valian
world until it was ready to be put out into the real world. And here we are!
What is something
unique/quirky about you?
Haha. I love singing along to country songs, but I almost
never know all the words. I’m the person who will make up their own words or
start humming, or vocalize the guitar solo because I get really into it.
Tell us something
really interesting that's happened to you!
OK, I’m convinced my mom’s house is haunted. I lived there
for awhile and house-sat occasionally, and I’ve had some very strange
experiences. Lights turning on in empty rooms, doors and drawers opening and
closing, and once a strange voice. All these things would happen when it rained
and I was there alone. It never felt malicious, but it was certainly creepy.
Probably the creepiest experience was when a friend slept over and had a
horrific, thrashing nightmare. That really put me on edge. Plus, there were
crosses burned into the paint over a couple windows, which added to the
mystique, and rumors about local ancient burial grounds that may have been
constructed over.
What are some of your
pet peeves?
Guys who leave the toilet seat up.
Where were you
born/grew up at?
I was born in beautiful Santa Cruz, California, and grew up
alongside Big Basin State Park. The park suffered some severe fires this summer
and, sadly, my childhood home burned down, so I’m still mourning the loss of
that. I had always thought it would be nice to go back and visit it one day.
The park suffered a lot of loss, too, so I know I’ll be too sad to go back and
see it for some time.
If you knew you'd die
tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
I would spend it with my family, write my daughter a letter
telling her how much I love her, take my husband on a hike, and eat all the
food I’m not supposed to eat. Especially chocolate gelato.
How to find time to
write as a parent?
Oh my gosh. The struggle is real. If anyone knows a trick,
please tell me. Normally, I would set aside time to meet up with my writing
partners, because we’re great at holding each other accountable, or I would
call my parents to come give me a little time off “moming.” But with the
pandemic and being a new parent, it’s much more difficult.
I don’t want to be the one to accidentally pass along Covid
germs to our friends or parents, so I really rely on my husband, Brian. Most
days after he’s done with work, my daughter hangs out with him while I “go
book” as we say. I tried getting up early a couple times to write before my
daughter wakes up, but she has a spider-sense and wakes up right with me, so
evenings and weekends it is!
When did you first
consider yourself a writer?
The first time I saw my byline in the paper. I was freelancing
for the sports section of the Register-Pajaronian, a newspaper in Watsonville,
California. I was still in college and figuring out what I wanted to do, but
there was a shift in my way of thinking when I realized that thousands of
people were going to see this article -- about a local basketball coach who
dedicated his life to coaching local kids -- that I wrote! What a thrill.
Do you have a favorite
movie?
I love Back to the Future! And the second and third movies in
the Back to the Future trilogy, but I love the first one the most. I have a
little quote graphic with a Delorian on my desk that a friend gave me. It says,
“Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”
Which of your novels
can you imagine made into a movie?
Isn’t that the dream! I would love the Da’Valia Trilogy to be
made into a movie. A lot of my visuals play on black and white, you have
adventure, fights, passionate romance… I mean, let the dream casting begin!
I’ll be waiting by the phone, Hollywood!
What literary
pilgrimages have you gone on?
The closest I got was the Anne Frank House in the
Netherlands, but our timing was off and we were not able to go inside. My
family history involves the Holocaust, and reading her diary when I was younger
helped me imagine what they must have gone through.
As a writer, what
would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?
OK, don’t laugh, but for a long time, the grasshopper has
been my spirit animal. I moved around a lot, and grasshoppers would always show
up in strange places - my bed, in my purse at work… It struck me that maybe
moving so frequently - 7 times in 7 years - was part of who I was on some
spiritual level at that moment in time.
I thought they left me for awhile, when I settled down and
got married, but I saw a grasshopper again just the other day. Maybe, together,
we embody the spirit of jumping from one thing to the next. For a long time,
that was jumping from one geographic location to another for me, but more
recently, I think it pertains to major life changes and the willingness to take
chances of a personal and professional nature. For instance, settling down with
my husband, becoming a mother, and leaving behind a career that just wasn’t
right for me anymore.
Thanks for helping spread the word about Born at Dawn! Happy holidays!
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