Faelaw: A Modern New Adult Fantasy: The Faelaw Chronicles

By Autumn Stevens

A personal tragedy thrust her into a mystical realm. Will this bewildered mortal find her purpose by saving its people from destruction?

 

Gwen Findlay is emotionally spent. After losing her last living family member on her birthday, the heartbroken young woman breaks down in her beloved aunt's home. But in the midst of her tidal wave of grief, she's transported to a magical world—and into the bloodthirsty jaws of a sea bear.

 

Narrowly escaping, she's stunned when she teleports back to Toronto where a strange man awaits her return. Told she's a prophesied hero chosen to thwart a treacherous Fey-King, Gwen fears battling ruthless enemies in a mysterious land could claim her last breath.

 

As her destiny unfolds, will she survive the cruel trials ahead?

 

Faelaw is the wholesome first book in the Faelaw Chronicles epic fantasy series. If you like resilient heroines, crackling chemistry, and action-packed quests, then you'll love Autumn Stevens's modern twist on a classic tale.

 

Buy Faelaw to embrace an unexpected fate today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troublemaker Books
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781998914005

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Two lands in Faelaw stand divided in twain: the Summerland to the west, the Winterland to the east. And never the two shall meet, and never a winter warrior cross to the lands of the sun—nor shall the summer folk fly to the lands of frost and snow. Each land impassable to the other, with ruinous mountains and treacherous forest barring the way in or out. But even these would not a barrier make, if not also for the strong, dark magic enchanting the uneven border with the Divide at its center, like a gaping mouth gurgling with acid waters.

But it was not always so. Millennia upon millennia ago, in the smoky past, Faelaw was united, its peoples living in harmony and peace. Neighbors, they were, and every path was clear to pass, through field and forest. Until a day dawned as dark as night, and the peoples of Faelaw fell into a deep slumber of forty days and forty nights. And when they awoke, whatever unseen evil had slipped in amongst them that day had split the country down the middle in two, forever . . . and the enchantment held.

To the south and northeast were islands of mist and magic, in a temperate clime unknown elsewhere in Faelaw. The islands were untouched by the magic that had riven the Faelaw lands apart, but neither were they hospitable to human or magical being. Instead, they had been left to grow fallow.

Witches, wizards, and enchanters of all kinds worked their spells on the lands of Faelaw over the years, casting their might upon the Divide, seeking to unite Faelaw again . . . but their efforts were in vain.

For the magic held fast, and to add insult to injury, the peoples on either side of the Divide had grown hostile. So rather than feed their resentments or turn the matter bloody, each side turned away from the other. Neither did they hate each other, nor did they love each other and thus pine for the loss. For what good would any of it do? The Divide was insurmountable. Though many a warrior had tried to cross it, they were dashed against the mountain cliffs or consumed by the corruption of the forest. Or if they’d gotten that far, swallowed whole by the Divide and digested in the river’s belly.

In this climate, in an uneasy truce and an unlikely peace, the Fey God-King established his station of Rae. Northern tip of the Summerland, hidden jewel of the Fey-King’s heart, Rae held the halls from which a new and even darker magic sought to stake its claim on the realm. The Fey-King was gathering an army and rallying his powers, while the Summerland shone on and the Winterland stood, many miles away, unperturbed.

But the times were changing. And trouble was brewing, the likes of which Faelaw’s denizens had never seen in their lifetimes . . . nor, for that matter, were the people of the human realm beneath Faelaw prepared for what was soon to come. They had forgotten the ways of magic . . . and so were as defenseless as kittens, at least in the eyes of the Fey-King.

Or so he thought.

For ancient tales shrouded in secrecy told of a hero who would rise up one day to seal the Divide . . . and free Faelaw’s people once and for all.

CHAPTER ONE

Toronto, the human realm

It was morning on Valentine’s Day, and Gwen’s coffee shop was bustling with customers and staff. She closed her eyes, inhaling the bittersweet aromas, and opened her eyes again. She smiled. Here, she was well and truly in her element. It was an element made up of coffee beans and cocoa pods, the whine and hiss of milk steamers and frothers, a woodsy bitterness mixed in with a sweet crème de la crème . . . literally.

In the background, soft music played with guitars and drums, coursing like a river just below the chatter of conversations. Conversations that went how they usually go: starting and stopping, with uncomfortable pauses and polite patter, declarations of devotion, and murmurs of sweet nothings. Gwen politely avoided eavesdropping, but sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. And sometimes, like on this day, the rush of the job kept her far too busy to mind her customers as much as she might like to.

She looked around, hands on hips and nodding in satisfaction. Pink and red streamers festooned the walls, with paper hearts, roses, kisses, and cupids adorning every corner and hanging from the ceiling. Her team of workers, some of whom she was lucky to also call roommates and friends, had stayed up late with her last night sprucing up the place. They’d done a great job, and Gwen was pleased.

Well and truly, Valentine’s Day was in full swing in her little corner of Toronto. There was nowhere else she’d rather be on this day, which coincidentally was her own birthday. So what if she was single? She was alive! And while, outside the coffee shop, the winter snows might fly and the winds might howl, here, it was warm, cozy, and fun.

On that happy note, Gwen’s sprightly voice chirped in greeting to a male customer dawdling by the counter. Hi, welcome to the Coffee Bean! May I take your order? She smiled her best impression of a megawatt smile and nodded to the lanky young man.

The man scratched the back of his neck and stared up at the chalkboard menu behind Gwen. Uhh . . . umm . . . can I get . . . a, um . . . he started to say. He blinked slowly, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, and said at last, Can I get a cappuccino with oat milk, please?

Gwen nodded, her fluffy blond ponytail flying, and said, Yes, sir, coming right up!

She punched in the order, her gaze flicking from the young man to the screen and then to the coffee shop doors, where a familiar figure emerged. He was tall, dark, and handsome, like a long pour of mocha.

Duncan? she thought ruefully. Really?

She shook her head, then absently she said to the young man, That’ll be five sixty-five, please. What’s your name? She tried again to meet the young guy’s gaze and stood ready with a cup and marker in her hands.

Um, Mike, he said finally and paid with a tap of his card.

"Okay, Mike, Gwen said tightly while avoiding looking at Duncan, and marked the customer’s name on the cup. Your order will be ready on the side there, she added, pointing to the end of the counter. Have yourself a great day!" She cringed inwardly as the words came out, all strident, not at all cheerful as she’d meant them.

Um, okay, thanks, you too, he mumbled, then shuffled off.

Gwen’s fake smile evaporated, and her forehead burned as her gaze alighted on Duncan taking his place in the line. He was tall and handsome, alright, and wealthy to boot, always leaving a hefty tip when it wasn’t called for. Too good to be true. And not Gwen’s type . . . anymore.

Your gentleman caller, Steph would often call him with a wink to Gwen. Steph always thought Gwen should give the guy another chance. Plenty of exes made mistakes and then made amends, was the reasoning. Gwen clenched her jaw and pointedly avoided Duncan’s eyes. She scratched her head. Where is Steph?

Gwen turned to look behind her, just in time to catch Steph coming in from the back. Steph could give Duncan a run for his money, so to speak. She was a tall Amazon of a woman, with buttery ebony skin, cornrow braids to her waist, and almond eyes perpetually creased in a kind smile.

Ste-pha-nie! Gwen trilled weakly, come take over this cash.

On it, boss! Steph said, giving a stray braid a flick over her shoulder. Sorry to leave you and James hanging.

Thank you, Steph. We’ve got a rush on our hands.

Oh, so just another Tuesday morning, eh? Ha-ha! Steph took her place behind the till while Gwen moved off to the side and ducked to fuss with the lower shelves. Oh! Steph caught sight of Duncan at the back of the line. She cast a sidelong glance down at Gwen and smirked slyly. Well, now . . . she said, half to herself, half to Gwen.

Hi there, what’ll you be having? James’s voice rose up from the other register. He was skinny, pale, and had a mop of red hair. Gwen, by the way, we’re all out of chocolate eclairs . . . he said, lowering his voice.

Perfect! she said, her voice cracking, then straightened up and headed for the staff door at the back. I’ll get those rushed in ASAP, she called over her shoulder. And here I thought we’d been prepared . . .

She could feel Duncan’s gaze boring into her back as she slipped away. In Gwen's mind, he was great on paper, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. And especially not today, the one day of the year solely devoted to romance, and her birthday, to boot. There’s no time for that nonsense. Not after the way they’d ended things—not today, not on any day. He didn’t own her, and he never would.

She stepped into her office and grabbed for the phone, but the receiver slipped loose and tumbled onto the desk with a clang! She hung her head and heaved a sigh. Come on, Gwens, she thought, then gripped the receiver to her ear, her other hand supporting her as she stood over the desk.

Yeah, hi, she said when the call connected. I’m gonna need another two boxes of chocolate eclairs, please. Yeah. Yeah. Rush, please. Yes, thank you.

She hung up the phone and looked around the cramped office. She’d gotten to know these four walls very well over the last few years. Head office had made her store manager of the Coffee Bean only a year ago . . . Damn, how time flies. She rubbed her jaw and sank into the office chair. She picked up today’s memo from head office and scanned it again. Happy birthday to me . . . she thought a little sadly. Steph had birthday plans for her later. What they were, Gwen didn’t know yet. Gwen was twenty-two today and not too proud or too happy about it. Frankly, she’d rather not celebrate with any fanfare or anything. What was the point? Especially when there was work to be done. But Steph had insisted, so Gwen had relented.

She set the memo paper back on the desk and stood, steeling herself. There was lots more day still to go through.

My hand’s getting cramped from drawing latte roses, Gwen, Steph muttered to Gwen when she returned. Steph twirled a delicate wrist, her brows knitting. Is it five o’clock yet? she whined teasingly.

Gwen smirked and walked around the counter, giving Duncan a wide berth. He was now at the front of the line, giving James his order. She moved around the length and width of the shop, picking up empty cups and napkins, jiggling the milk and cream pitchers for refill checks, and wiping down surfaces. It’s one thing to be a barista. It’s quite another to be a manager.

A manager is a barista on steroids, which reminded her. Gwen looked up at the clock above the menu. It was going on eleven o’clock, and the morning rush was waning. She’d need to call a staff meeting soon. Gwen tidied as she went, barely hearing her baristas flirting outrageously. Sometimes, eavesdropping couldn’t be avoided.

I’ll take over latte rose duty, Steph, James said, cracking a grin.

Thank you, sweetie, Steph said, a smile on her face and in her voice. I’ll owe ya one.

Meanwhile, Duncan stood at the end of the counter, waiting for his coffee. He shot a glance back at Gwen, and when their eyes met for a second, she seethed but gave him a weak smile. And then, she scurried away to the other side of the store, where she moved a chair back in place toward a table. As she did so, she accidentally bumped into the chair of a seated customer. Oh, I’m so sorry! Gwen said, turning around and putting a soft hand on the lady’s arm. Mrs. Wallace, sorry about that!

The older lady smiled gently and said, Oh, it’s no bother, dear, before turning back to her husband, who smiled just as nicely at Gwen. She noted with sweet envy that there was a big red bouquet of roses on the table between them. So sweet! she thought. The Wallaces were definitely #CoupleGoals.

Turning around, Gwen took a step toward the counter and nearly body checked Duncan by accident. Dammit! she cursed quietly. She was all thumbs and left feet today, it seemed.

Gwen, hi, he said in his deep baritone. Happy Valentine’s Day.

She saw now that he had his messenger bag with him, from which he pulled out . . . a small box, a sealed envelope . . . and a single long-stemmed rose . . . with petals of sky blue.

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it. She didn’t know whether to gasp or barf. Um . . . Duncan . . . I-I-I can’t . . .

He smiled innocently. Please, Gwen. Just take these. From me. No pressure. He set the three gifts down on an empty table nearby. He held up his hands, one of which held his coffee. See? I’m gone.

He stepped around Gwen and walked to the doors. Then, with his hand on the door handle, he half turned and said to her, loud enough for everyone to hear, Happy Valentine’s Day, lovely lady. And a happy birthday, too.

And with that, he left.

Gwen turned back to the shop to see at least a dozen pairs of eyes gawking at her. A whoop rose up from one of the customers, and everyone erupted into clapping, cheering . . . an embarrassing applause. Steph clapped the hardest.

Gwen grimaced and tried to mentally will the floor to collapse and take her with it. Unfortunately, nothing doing.

The customers were grinning to themselves, and Gwen’s coworkers-slash-employees exchanged meaningful looks. Were they laughing at her? Gwen sauntered over to the table with Duncan’s spread on it. A rose, a box, a card. Classic. But what about the rose? Why blue? Intrigued, Gwen picked it up and twirled it in her fingers. She gave the rosebud a sniff. It smelled . . . like any other regular rose.

A rose by any other color would smell just as sweet . . . Maybe he was trying to be original . . . She rolled her eyes, then gave it another whiff. It does stand out, though . . .

Catching herself in the midst of this reverie, Gwen pulled herself together and replayed the old memory. He’d broken her heart into a million little pieces, and then she’d dropped out of university, and only Aunt Rose could help her pick up the pieces and move on. So much had happened, not all of it Duncan’s fault, but still. He was Bad News, and she wasn’t about to give him another chance.

She quickly collected Duncan’s gifts and made a beeline for the office. Right, memo, she thought, after dumping the gifts into the trash bin. Whatever he was trying to say to her, she’d heard it all before, and didn’t care to go over it for the nth time. A perverse part of her was secretly pleased at his attempts at reconciliation, and it sure made her