A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles Book 1)

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A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles Book 1)

A Strange and Stubborn Endurance (The Tithenai Chronicles Book 1)

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Had Father learned of my indiscretions? Both recently and otherwise, I’d committed so many that I didn’t bother to narrow down what stories might have reached him, or from which sources. My life in Farathel had become little more than a string of offences against propriety; that I regretted only a few of them, and for more complex reasons than simple contrition, didn’t make me any less keen to avoid their consequences, nor did it blunt my desire to escape, however briefly, the circumstances of their creation. It was equally possible, however, that the summons entailed only news of pleasant things—an increase in my sinecure; the expected birth of a new niece or nephew, or—moons!—another half-sibling; some propitious detail about the estate—and a certain self-interest wouldn’t let me forget it. A Tithenai girl,” I echoed faintly. I could no more swallow the concept than water could swallow oil. “You—that is, you mean—I—” This marriage is off to a terrible start,” said Velasin—and just like that, the humour between them vanished. Cae swallowed hard and brought them to a halt, nodding awkwardly at the infirmary door. My thanks,” he whispered. And then, as though he feared the answer, “Can you take me to him? I know there are other things to discuss, but Markel’s mute—he won’t be able to speak if I’m not there, and Tar Raeki might not think to tell the healers.”

An emotionally gripping, delightful queer fantasy filled with political intrigue, family dynamics, and tender moments that will grab readers' hearts and minds.”— Library Journal, starred review Whatever else could be said of the late Lord Ennan vin Mica—and there was a lot to be said, his lateness being unlamented by virtually everyone who hadn’t joined him in it—he’d certainly loved his horses. The grandeur of the stables reflected this fact, and if the estate’s grooms were at all perturbed by the still-recent change in their livery, it didn’t show in their enthusiasm. I’d scarcely dismounted before a wiry, capable-looking man appeared to take Quip’s reins from me, while a short youth did the same with Markel’s Grace. They had the stamp of father and son, or possibly uncle and nephew; their eyes were the same watchful grey, while their noses shared a distinctive crook. Their skin was lighter than Markel’s tawny brown or my own dark olive—a deep tan that came partly from outdoor living, but whose golden undertones suggested more than a drop of Tithenai blood. Looking so unlike my own sire, I always marvelled at such likenesses in others, though as she’d been the handsomer parent, did I say it myself, I never grudged a whit of my mother’s heritage. Oh,” said Velasin, swaying slightly. He gripped the edge of Markel’s bed, trying to steady himself, and all at once, Cae realised how pale he was. “Do you want me dead, then?” You keep calling me tiern,” said Velasin, cutting him off. “You know my full name, even.” He eyed Cae with visible unease. “Who are you?”

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At this, my lungs and brain forgot how breathing worked, denying me that function for seconds that passed like minutes. My poleaxed expression must have been the expected response, however, for Father waited out my breathlessness with no apparent chagrin. That will doubtless please my lord to hear,” said Lady Sine, and for a moment, her gaze was shrewd as Markel’s. “Though he might wonder at the occasion.” Never having experienced inequality, therefore, the majority of straight white men will be absolutely oblivious to their own advantages – not because they must necessarily be insensitive, sexist, racist, homophobic or unaware of the principles of equality; but because they have been told, over and over again, that there is no inequality left for them – or anyone else – to experience – and everything they have experienced up to that point will only have proved them right.

Blending intrigue and queer romance, A Strange and Stubborn Endurance stitches together two cultures and re-embroiders gender conventions. Meadows combines the personal and political through an elegant voice, and finds time for tender moments of healing.”—E.J. Beaton, author of The Councillor That’s one way of putting it. “Yes, Father,” I said, though how I kept my voice steady, I’ll never know. “I—I was not expecting him. He must have sought me out.” Please, please send him away. But I couldn’t ask for it; not without raising questions, and I felt too stupid to lie. The characterisation is fantastic. The conclusion is nerve-biting and explosive – and has dragons… I really really love it” – Tor.com on A Tyranny of Queens

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Many a reader longing for a sense of homecoming in the realm of romantic fantasy will find it in A Strange and Stubborn Endurance." - Jacqueline Carey I snorted. “Much as fine lace is different to canvas, yes.” And then, in signs—for use of the skill kept it fresh for me—“We should see the main house, soon.” Ah,” said Father—pleased, as though I’d hit upon the crux of it. “A Ralian heiress, no; I would not force you to swim such waters against your inclination. But a Tithenai girl, Vel—there, there you have value.” Fantasy readers who appreciate strong characters and excellent worldbuilding will immerse themselves in this tale.” – Publishers Weekly, starred review, on An Accident of Stars How can so many (white, male) writers narratively justify restricting the agency of their female characters on the grounds of sexism = authenticity while simultaneously writing male characters with conveniently modern values?



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