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READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS: Starlight: A Starlight Chronicles Novella, by P.S. Malcom

Happy Sunday, Parliament Patrons and holiday ghouls! Today, you can read the first two chapters of P.S. Malcolm's upcoming novella, STARLIGHT—book 1.5 of the Starlight Chronicles series!

Read book ONE, Lanterns In the Sky, here!

Starlight, by P.S. Malcolm

A treaty upholds the peaceful lands of Ersarence— who have suffered from the spilt blood of their humble goddess, Titania, which stains the hands of the ruthless Urenphians. Julian Rancewood— a small town delivery boy— wishes he could afford to save his dying mother. He never imagined a larger life for himself until he meets Adrina Hesfetter, the village seamstress's daughter. After striking a deal with the elusive King's advisor and joining the royal army, he finds himself helping to search for a missing, unknown heir. Against all odds, Adrina and Julian soon meet again within the palace walls. When Julian discovers Adrina’s fire magic— an impossibility among non-royals— they uncover a scandalous secret that will cause whispers of a Urenphian rebellion to travel through the kingdom. A thirst for revenge and a passionate romance causes the two villagers to set the events in motion which will bring down the entire Starlight Kingdom. A Starlight Chronicles Novella.




I grabbed my worn jacket from the stand and did my

best to pat out the creases. There were poor stitches every‐

where from various holes I'd tried to mend over the years, and I desperately needed a new one—but replacing any of my clothes was also my last priority right now.

Looking over my shoulder across the cramped single room I

shared with my mother, I said, “I expect to be home just before


My mother shakily sat up in her bed, the light brown sheets

gathered around her. My eyes widened with alarm.

“Don't get up—you must rest!” I nearly shouted, reaching

out to stop her and crossing the room in a couple of quick steps.

I gently coaxed her to lie back down, and she patted my arm

with her frail hands. Her blue eyes crinkled as she broke into a

weak smile.

“Oh Julian—my sweet boy, don’t you fuss over me,” she

replied sternly. “Don't you come home with that ghastly medi‐

cine either, you know it won't do any good!"

I grimaced, but said nothing. Mother was always telling me not to spend my hard earned coin on herbs—that they could be put to better use. There was very little money to begin within

our household and meals were scarce between us. She was

always insisting that I needed to eat more and that my bones

would grow weak and cause problems for my job as a delivery

boy; but being a delivery boy didn't require a lot of strength, as

it was rare that I ever handled a small package, let alone a heavy

one. I handled mostly letters, really.

“Just get well, Mother,” I said as I took a step back. I could

see the disappointment in her eyes—we both knew I would

come home with a pocket full of nothing but lint and a vial of

bitter tonic that only delayed the inevitable, but didn’t quell the

pain or illness entirely.

We had yet to 5nd a cure for my mother's sickness; none of

the healers in our village fully understood what was wrong

with her—and we certainly didn’t have the money for them to

spend time 5guring it out. Every day she grew weaker, her

cough grew worse, and her skin grew tighter around her frail

bones. She could barely stomach a single meal these days—

broth was about all she could keep down.

“I put some leftover broth on the bench in case you get

hungry. I'll be back soon,” I promised, and squeezed her hand

reassuringly before heading out of our creaky front door. With

a parchment in one hand 5lled with delivery instructions and a

sack slung over my other shoulder, I made my way down the

street and into the bustling village.

The village seemed livelier than usual, which was

odd because there was no special occasion in occurrence, nor

were there any reason for the excessive increase in people. I

passed many travelers: noblemen and even soldiers among the usual crowd of the township. As I passed them all I couldn't

help but wonder why they were all here. I managed to thread

through them, crossing the busiest square in our little commu‐

nity to get to the sellers stall I sought.

No matter how many orders I had, or if I had an important

nobleman waiting on me, I never did anything until I got my

mother's medicine from the local healer. The tonic he brewed

contained ginger, honey and thyme—as well as a rare 9ower

called a rochashe which sourced from the riverplains south of

here—and it was the only thing that seemed to be slowing the

e:ects of my mother's illness.

She used to be so lively before she fell ill—selling hand‐

made jams at this very same market and always telling me

bedtime stories. The smell of her cooking used to 5ll our house,

and I missed it terribly. Nowadays, she spent most of her time

resting, 5ghting fevers, chest pains and a horrendous cough that

left her weak and struggling to breathe.

Most of my pay from work went towards paying for this

medicine—and though I knew she wouldn't ever return to that

lively person she'd once been, I would do anything to keep her