A band of slavers murdered my mother. Forced to sail for Araby with an exiled warrior from the East and a peasant girl closer than blood, I learned Subak from my husband-in-name to protect me from raiders of the sands and the secrets of the caliph's court. A strange dagger pursues me through tiger-haunted dreams. I will live until I face the sword that killed my mother and find justice for her blood, for I must return to my father's side and take up the keys of my stronghold. To keep her friends from a lingering death, stronghold daughter Kyrin Cieri, keeper of the keys, must take up justice against hate, and a dagger against her master's sword. And forfeit ever returning to her people. If she can pay the price the falcon dagger demands . . . Falcon Heart, the first book in an epic young adult fantasy series, is an adventure where Sherwood Smith's Crown Duel meets Stephen Lawhead's King Raven trilogy. Falcon Flight, Chronicle II, is coming soon. Discover the magic, the legend of Kyrin Cieri, who adventures with her mother's strange falcon dagger from Britain to Arabia and back. Excerpt: Seliam ran in, swinging. His blade would cut her in half. She evaded the edge by a hair, screaming defiancé in his ear, and struck. The falcon slid clean from his stomach to his back. She followed the blade and slid her other arm about his neck from behind. Her dagger tip pricked his spine. With bated breath, the crowd waited for his belly to spill. His body arched back, Seliam wavered, his blade loose in his hand, his breath wrenching hollow through him. Ali leaned back in his chair, and Sirius struck his knee with a curse. Shema put her hand over her eyes. Kyrin shouted, “Yield!” Seliam fell limp. She staggered, unable to hold him with one arm, but unwilling to slide the falcon in her sash. Her hand quivered at his back. She had reversed the blade. If she killed him, she broke Ali’s wager. Her falcon’s blunt haft sped toward his temple. Sliding to drop onto his knees, Seliam unfolded with a snap. His oiled skin defeated her wild swipe. He whipped around and his blade tip raked her ankle as she sprang back. Kyrin shook her leg; it burned, but he had not cut the tendon. He crouched, wary, his sword guarding. Ali yelled, “Bring him down!” It should have been finished; she could have killed Seliam. All knew it. The white receded from his face, his burned-corn hair lank with sweat. He feinted, and studied her sideslip with passionless eyes, every sense focused. His eyes were slits, his mouth tight and bloodless. He meant to kill her. And their masters meant to let him try. “Never take your eyes off your enemy.” I won’t, my father. Kyrin slid into Seliam’s reach, and retreated. He followed with a cross-body slash, a moth to the flame of her body. He missed, then thrust one-handed for her stomach. She side stepped and sprang. They thudded together. She aimed a stroke under his arm. His elbow slammed into her dagger hand as he desperately pulled back to shield his ribs. The falcon dropped from her fingers, her fumbling hands captured his wrist. She kicked at his front leg; it gave. She spun him about, his sword falling free. She took him to the stones with the dull smack of flesh on rock. And landed with her knees in his back. This Arab would learn the cost of treachery. Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days meets Lisa T. Bergrin's A River of Time Series. Long lost keeper of the keys and unfit first daughter, Kyrin Cieri is the hope of Cierheld stronghold or its doom. She returns to Britannia from slavery, and ambitious lords and the intrigue she thought she left behind in Araby engulf her stronghold. The king dies and a treacherous hand wounds Kyrin’s father. Torn by love, loyalty, and intrigue between a lord’s son she’s sworn never to handfast, a rival stronghold daughter, her father’s life, and the wazir’s vengeance, Kyrin must find the strength to become who she was born to be, or all will end in ash. Behind them all lurks the tiger of destruction. The falcon dagger holds the key to life, death, and a traitor deeper yet. Adventure beyond fear . . . Excerpt: A belligerent horn blared. Keffer’s men ran from the gate. And it was as if the world ended. A thunderous noise and a slap as of a giant hand hurled against the gate knocked Kyrin sprawling on a blast of air and shards of wood. She rolled over in the mud. The gate creaked open thirty paces away, buckled and splintered, within a bitter stink and another cloud of dark smoke. Her vision blurred in and out, and she hardly heard Lord Nidfael Keffer’s men give a single shout as they moved back again. And Lord Keffer rode through the inner gate on a white horse, twin to Mornoth’s. It paced past Kyrin toward the hall, so close she could have touched Nidfael’s sweat-stained leather stirrup. Her breath froze in her chest; she couldn’t move. Wherever her blurred gaze fell, Cierheldens were being disarmed. Her men had gone, dead or fled the sorcerous blast. Sorcery—or—Tae had said something of a strange black powder of enormous power when joined by flame in a contained space. The men of the East held keen wit for inventions of death. And Mornoth used it against them. . . . Kyrin staggered and sank to her knees in the thawing mud, suddenly conscious she was holding herself up by her sword, point first in the earth. Around her, Nidfael’s men lifted their blades warily. One man tilted a pike toward her. Could they know who she was? Before Cierheld hall, Lord Keffer’s mailed back was straight. A polearm guard of six bristled around him. The gates were packed with men bearing the white horse-head. Kyrin looked at her sword, and let it fall. Cierheld was lost. There was no escape. She sagged over her knees, too sick to cry, and her bow dug into her shoulder, the tip on the ground bending dangerously. She could save that. Kyrin laid her bow on the ground with shaking hands and slid her quiver over her head, lowering it to the earth. A weapon cared for was a later friend. . . . Kyrin tilted her head; Lord Nidfael’s men watched him implore and demand by turns. These were her people. She was not what she wished, but better her than no one. Tae also said, Never give up. Kyrin slid an arrow from her quiver, the edges of her vision greying on Lord Keffer. Steeling herself against a blade or an arrow in the back, she stood slowly, leaning on her bow, one arm limp at her side. The same shoulder her mail had plagued earlier. She did not feel it now. “Do not be foolish, this is the last grace I will give,” Lord Keffer cried. “Surely, you cannot all be fools?” His blue tunic was bright. Together we cry, full to the wide blue sky. Rise over stone, for hope to vie. Spread wings where freedoms lie. His closest man was ten paces away. Kyrin quietly nocked the arrow. The arrow her father had given her. Though it was not red but black. May you fly true.

Shannon Hale's The Goose Girl meets Mary Pearson's The Kiss of Deception. A slave must grasp her destiny. Alaina flees her master’s rose perfume and court gardens for the tents of a Twilket prince of the sands. The wazir sends an army against Faisal’s tents, and a traitor lurks in the Oasis of Oaths. For the wazir’s reach is long; a slave who runs must be caught. While her sister sails for Britannia to free them from a death sentence, Alaina must find the strength to put down her quill and her healer’s bag and take up the staff of war. She holds disastrous keys of choice in her forbidden love, her martial skill, and the wisdom of one greater than her heart. So begins a war for freedom, justice, love . . . But the greatest traitor may be her heart . . . Excerpt: There was no one else. Alaina gripped Etain’s mane and saddle—and paused. If she stayed as Faisal ordered, Hafiz would fall. He would never challenge or betray her or her prince again. He could not warn her not to steal. She rested her forehead against Etain’s warm flank with a wordless groan. Dark pits of choice opened. There was no one to show her the way. She hated blood. And her own thought worse yet, that she would leave Hafiz to die; for advantage, for fear, for a path that led in old, sure ways; to Kyrin, to safety. She was strong, and feared that strength. Whatever she chose, she could never go back. Help me! She stared down over the rock. Surely the sheyk or Tae would stop the Baghdad warriors. Below her, the archers Tae had posted in reserve moved toward the mountain’s foot—shadowy shapes flitting from rock to tree to tamarisk. But there were not enough. The Twilket line would not hold much longer. If she did not try, and Hafiz fell … her people would be surrounded. It had come to that. Down there screams would ring in her ears. She would spill blood. Or die in a puddle of her own before she reached the man in red. It was likely. Who was she—a scribe, not yet a prince’s wife—to ride down the hillside and raise her staff to stop a tide of death? Alaina found her teeth chattering, her face wet. Shivering, she pulled off her hattah and cast it away. Whether Faisal, Hafiz, or the warriors wanted her or no, they were her people. If she was going, if this was the end, she would give them something to look at. She withdrew Tae’s hair pins and tucked them in her sash, fumbling around the sharp points. If she had to use those it would be close work … a shudder shook her. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and cold swirling snowflakes rushed to meet her on the air, tugging at the red-gold. She drew her staff from its thongs and mounted Etain. Wiping her running eyes and nose on her sleeve, she pointed Etain’s head downward. The path she’d picked for a swift descent after the battle ran in a rough zigzag, often in the open. She’d not thought to ride it in heavy leaps and jolting, sliding turns. Alaina gripped Etain with hands and knees and shivered and could not stop. Kyrin would tell her to go on. Etain moved down, steady and strong. Another leap and a shuddering jolt. Her face was freezing. Why hadn’t she learned to use a sword? Men fell just below her. Master, Father, give me strength … Alaina smelled rosewater. She leaned back and Etain lunged for the last slope. Kyrin, I love you. Faisal, my heart … A heavy landing clicked her teeth together, snapping her head back.