TL Morganfield

@stitchingfiend.bsky.social

190 Followers 261 Following

SF/Fantasy writer. Author of The Bone Flower Trilogy. Aztec mythology is my jam. She/her. Featured artwork by Kurt Huggins and Zelda Devon.

The spike of heat began building inside her with alarming speed. “I think I’m going to be sick!” She lumbered to her feet and nearly tripped over his boots as she hurried out the door. The added bolt of pain in her back when she regained her balance enough to keep from falling on her face hit her stomach with swift force and she vomited watery apples all across the ground in front of the horse trough. Luckily, Niyol followed her out and helped held her long, greasy hair back as she heaved and gagged until nothing more came out, leaving her spirit as pained and empty as her stomach. “I don’t…want to know…about any of this!” she wailed, the tears pouring down her cheeks, her chest hitching as she struggled for breath. Her insides boiled as if doused with acid, slowly them away. “Why…why did this…have to happen to me?” What she wouldn’t do to hug her Da or her Mam, or even Rory again; hell, she would hold onto Rory the tightest, even as he yelled, “Git yer paws off me! I don’t need none of yer seam squirrels!” But with only Niyol there, she grabbed hold of him and hugged fiercely, crying onto the buttons of his chambray shirt. To her relief, he didn’t push her away; instead, he returned her embrace, resting his chin atop her head and stroking her hair, like her Da used to do to calm her down. His fatherliness surprised her but was welcome. And much needed. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he murmured. “It was thoughtless of me to dash everything you’ve been raised to believe, especially when you already weren’t feeling well. I’m sorry, Fiona.” Muttering through snot and tears, she said, “I sorry I shot the cat all over your new boots.” He chuckled. “It’s quite alright.”
Nodding again, Pedro said, “Don’t you know? You’re the god of war?” “I am?” Mextli leaned back against the counter, feeling as if he knew nothing about anything. “Tell me more, please.” “Of course! What do you want to know?” “Everything!” Pedro pulled his legs up onto the table and sat cross-legged. “This is what my abuelito told me. The sorcerer god Tezcatlipoca—” “The Smoking Mirror!” Mextli offered. “Yes! He came down to earth as a spider, lowering himself from heaven upon a single thread of silk, and he placed a ball of colorful feathers under the altar in the temple in Atzlan. That’s where the woman Coatlicue found it.” “Snake Skirt,” Mextli murmured. He pictured a very intense woman that made him feel as he were a rodent being watch by a viper. One almost expected to see snake fangs when she smiled. “That’s right! And she picked it up and tucked it into her shirt, like this!” Pedro reached up to pull the neck of his shirt out and reached inside with his free hand. “Abuelito always said, ‘Right between her enormous breasts!’ but father said he could be uncouth with his words. And that’s how Coatlicue became pregnant with you.” “Is that what happened to your mother?” Mextli asked. “Did she find a ball of feathers and tuck them, like you said?” “I don’t know, but Coyolli—Coyolxauhqui, I should say—asked her the same thing. She said no, but…here you are. And speaking of your sister, she is not nice at all! Then or now.”
Book Quote Wednesday: "Decision". Excerpt: “But I must make certain that we’re in agreement about expectations and...needs, on both sides.” I withdrew my hand from his to smooth my dress across my knees. “In the past, I’ve given up things I wanted, and I cannot do that again.” “I do not wish you to give up anything on my account. I wish for this alliance...this marriage to be mutually beneficial.” “What would be your expectations of me in this?” “Loyalty, of course. That would be paramount. As is support for my decisions, though I would also want your input on matters, such as how we deal with our humans, our enemies, and our allies. I won’t expect absolute agreement in matters of war, but I would expect that if there were disagreement, you will respect my decision and not undermine me with your own actions.” “I would expect the same of you,” I said. “I imagine there will be things we both feel strongly about and that we can respect each other enough to come to a consensus about how to proceed.” “I imagine so as well. Other than that....” He thought for a moment before saying, “I won’t expect you to be friends with Smoking Mirror, but I must ask that you understand that my relationship with him is important, and I will not abandon it, not even for you.” “I understand, and I request the same of you regarding the people of Tollan. They may live in the Feathered Serpent’s sacred city, but they must be left alone. And that includes Topiltzin.” Bottom text: #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology - Available in ebook and paperback
“You still didn’t tell me how you became so injured.” Sighing, she said, “I…murdered a boy.” “Hardly surprising for you.” “The boy was the son of the woman who gave birth to Mextli. Seems the two developed more of a brotherly bond than I’d anticipated, and I mistakenly thought that if I…removed the boy from the picture, he’d come to his senses and return to Smoking Mirror’s service.” “Oh!” “I thought he was staying out of some sense of obligation to the boy, because of what he did to his mother, not because he actually thought of the boy as his brother.” “Are you truly this foolish, Coyolxauhqui? Everyone knows that the one thing he’s wanted more than anything else in his existence is family. Omeyocan knows his father was unwilling to embrace that obligation, and his mother…you know her better than anyone. Obsession does not equal love.” “Love?” Coyolxauhqui spat. “Pathetic weakness!” Xipe Totec cocked his head, a shadow of a smile on his face. “Fascinating! Both of you were abandoned by those who should have loved you, and his reaction is to want love even more while yours’ is to strike it from your vocabulary.”
The shot rang surprisingly loud across the morning desert, and the bullet grazed the upper left corner of the Obsidian Butterfly’s gruesomely jagged head. That corner shattered with the sound of smashed glass and she whirled around, zeroing immediately on Fiona up on the ridge. “There you are!” she shrieked—was it delight or mania, Fiona couldn’t tell—and she started lumbering towards her, the feathers clanking together like glass bottles with every heavy step. Fiona rolled over and cranked the lever to reload. To her horror, the empty jacket jammed and she wrenched over and over, trying to knock it loose. She gave a panicked glance over her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t see the beastly creature cresting the hill behind her. Instead, she saw Xolotl lunge full-speed at the Obsidian Butterfly’s left leg, closing his fangs over it with a strange glass-shattering sound. He immediately pulled away, blood flying off his mouth, shards of black glass sticking out of his teeth, lips, and half his tongue hung out of mouth, held on only by a small strip of tissue. When the beast whirled on him, she spread her clanking wings wide and Fiona finally saw they weren’t feathers at all; they were in fact obsidian blades covering her entire body, from head to toe. “Black Dog!” the Obsidian Butterfly shrieked and jabbed a bladed wing at him. But he leapt out of the way, just barely in time. She embedded her daggers into the rocky ground where he’d stood, giving him time to sprint off down the hill, his severed tongue dangling out of his mouth, blood gushing all over his chest. Yanking herself free of the ground, she strode after him in pursuit, each step a clinking like men cheering the New Year with glasses of beer.
Mazikeen blowing up a car.
“We don’t sell no liquor to your kind,” the old man had said. “Or munitions, for that matter.” “I’m not looking for either,” the Indian had replied, in surprisingly fluid English. “Just some beef jerky, salt pork, and some corn flower, if you have it.” “I got that, if you got coin. Don’t want no glass beads or other trinkets Indians trade with.” “No glass beads.” The Indian set a small stack of silver dollars on the counter. “And a pair of work boots, if you don’t mind.” The man behind the counter squinted at him. “That’s a lot of coin for an injun.” “Boots aren’t cheap,” the Indian replied, unfazed by the insult. The shopkeeper twitched his bushy mustache, as if he wanted to spout more accusations, but thought better of it. That was a lot of coin, after all. He tilted his head off to the left, towards the back corner of the store. “Shoe bin’s over there, pick what you need. No trying on though,” he warned before disappearing into the back room to fetch the other items. Fiona watched the Indian shift through the canvas cart of loose shoes and boots, but when he looked up and caught her staring, she ducked her head and went to the counter with her armful of purchases: pemmican, apples, and the bag of candy. When the shopkeeper returned with the preserved meats wrapped loosely in butcher papers and a small bag of flour, he gave her a stern look, just as he’d given to the Indian. “I’m ready to pay,” she squeaked.
“I don’t need any more uncles,” she muttered. When his expression turned questioning, she headed off the interrogation by finally gulping down the whole cup in one prolonged draw. A warm drizzle escaped the corner of her mouth, but when she finished, she wiped it up with her finger and sucked the remains off. Already the magic throbbed in her veins, heady and powerful, so much so her hands shook. She took hold of her magic mirror and muttered, “Pahtiā!” The agony surged again, raw and merciless, like being burned alive. That lasted for almost a full minute before the icy relief spread through her and she fell back on the end of the bed, panting as if she’d run miles. She looked up when he came to stand in front of her. He was holding the cup out again, refilled with more blood. “I will never understand why you do this to yourself, Coyolxauhqui.” Xipe Totec tapped his finger on the edge of the cup, refilling it with blood. “Why do you let him torture you so?” “It’s the price of service,” she muttered, sipping. “Ridiculous! Any of the other creator gods could have healed you without reducing you to a bowl of watery atole.” “None of them would make me a goddess!” “And neither will he.” “He has promised,” she said stiffly. “He has spoken the words. If I keep my end of the bargain, he must keep his.” “And what is your end of the bargain?” “I must acquire allies for him, for the war against the angels.” Xipe Totec furrowed his brows. “Who are the angels?”
“Very well.” To Xolotl, Raphael said, “I promise that I will do what is necessary to return your divinity to you, once all of the gods have been returned to their rightful place on the Black Lake.” He then held his hand out in front of Xolotl’s snout again, waiting. Xolotl still hesitated but took Raphael’s hand gently into his mouth. He gazed up at the archangel expectantly. “You’re going to need to actually bite,” Raphael said. So Xolotl pressed harder, biting down with increasing pressure until his canines broke the skin holding in Raphael’s divinity. It tasted like heat and blood. Angels had once been humans themselves, after all. Their father had never mastered the art of creation the way gods like Quetzalcoatl or Cihuacoatl had. Perhaps if he’d continued practicing instead of leaving…. Raphael’s hand lit up like it had when he’d healed Xolotl’s nose, but this time the tingling rang through Xolotl’s teeth like a rush of cold water. When Xolotl let him go, he was fully healed, but the tingling sensation remained. “It’s done,” Raphael announced, standing again. “So, what about the girl?” Uriel asked. “I ain’t goin’ to no convent!” Fiona cut in. Under the angels’ intense gaze, she said, “I’m staying with Xolotl.” “You will just slow him down.” “I can walk just fine, thank you very much. Besides, without me, he ain’t gonna make it far anyway. A lone dog wanderin’ the countryside? If he ain’t shot before dawn, someone will take him home and tie him up to use for a workin’ dog. But if I’m with him, everyone will think he’s my dog, and most folks don’t go around stealin’ kids’ dogs.” “We cannot guarantee your safety with him,” Raphael countered. “Da always said ain’t nothin’ guaranteed, so what’s new? I ain’t got no one to go back to.”
“Then don’t eat it. But it’s yours, to do what you will with.” [Redacted]’s smile weakened, his eyes growing distant. “You’re going to have many adventures, and it will be like I’m right there with you, brother.” He coughed up blood all over his chin, his head twitching and lolling. “Te amo, Hermano,” he whispered wetly as his hand went limp and slid away from the wound on his neck, letting the blood flow freely. Within another breath, he fell completely still.
Book Quote Wednesday: "Change". Excerpt: But we didn't get more than a few steps down the hall before Nahuacatl called out to us. He looked nervous as he approached. "Forgive me for delaying you," he said with a bow. "But I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time, to discuss a...political matter with you, Lord Topiltzin?" Little Reed's brow creased but I patted his arm, and said, "It would be better if I discussed this matter with him, My Lord, so go on ahead without me." Nahuacatl looked at me with an expression of horror, as if he hadn't expected me to know what this was all about. Or perhaps that I'd be so bold as to suggest that he should discuss marrying me with me instead of with Little Reed. Little Reed hesitated until I gave him a reassuring smile then he left, taking his guards with him. Mine remained nearby. Nahuacatl cast his eyes down as he said, "Please forgive me if I've offended you, My Lady. I was only following traditional protocols—" "I know you were, My Lord, but the fact that Topiltzin and I share the throne has made it necessary to...change the way some things have been done in the past. You understand?" He nodded, his cheeks flushed with youthful embarrassment. "Then my sister told you of my intentions?" "She did, and I'm flattered by your interest." Bottom text: #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology - Available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook
Luckily the boy had abandoned his post at the front of the stable, and she made it back to her room without anyone noticing them. The man looked around her accommodations with casual interest as she closed the door and slid the bolt-lock into place. When she turned to face him, he was already stripping his black overcoat off. In the light, she saw he was better dressed than she’d first thought, in fine black slacks, crisp white shirt, and polished black shoes. Not a local. He probably came in on the stagecoach and wandered off to watch the festivities in the plaza and seek out some willing female companionship. A fine layer of black hair covered his fleshy jowls. When he noticed her leaning back against the door, a smile further lit up his already flushed cheeks. “So…do I pay you now or after?” Giving him her own meaningful smile, she beckoned him to her. He dutifully obeyed, and he even chuckled heatedly when she grabbed him and rammed him up against the wooden door. He pulled a metal bill fold from his pants pocket and held it up, the expression eager on his face. “Name your price.” “Everything!” she whispered, but when the smile fell from his face, replaced with cautious confusion, she hissed, “Tlayecuele!” and he froze. From his forehead to his toes, not a muscle moved, not even his eyes, though she read the terror in their unblinking stare; awareness was very much still present. If she had any humanity left, she might have pitied him.
Once she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she noticed a neatly folded pile of clothing sitting on the wooden chair, topped with the pair of boots that Niyol had bought back in Mesilla. Upon closer inspection, she found the left boot had not only been cleaned up from her sickness, but it has also been modified. The rubber sole had been sliced in half horizontally and layers of animal hide sandwiched between the pieces, and all of it covered in a thick layer of honey-brown glue. Curious, Fiona slipped off her old shoes—so full of holes that she’d nearly worn through her wool socks on both of her big toes—and slipped on the boots. They were a little big, but not so much that they would slip once she laced them up. To her utter delight, when she stood, for the first time in her life it was straight. Her hip protested a bit at first, being used to its normal tilt, but once she walked in a circle a few times, it felt surprisingly good. Her Mam and Da had often talked about taking her into Laredo to get fitted for proper shoes, to fix her limp, but money was always too dear to buy regular new shoes let alone special ones she’d just outgrow before the next year.
A giant, spectral-white serpent rose up behind him like smoke from an extinguished candle. Vaporous wisps trailed off its head in all directions, forming what looked like a frame of pheasant tail feathers. Its eyes glowed blindingly white in its sharply triangular head, the brow ridge locked into a scowl. Like a rattlesnake. Fiona stared up at it wide-eyed, numbness born of both awe and terror spreading through her; compared to this apparition’s sudden appearance, Aniel’s spear threat seemed distant and laughable. Perhaps seeing her unexpected terror, Aniel froze. He swung around, his spear at the ready for an attack from behind. But when he craned his neck up to behold the face of the serpent, he stumbled backwards a step. “Quetzalcoatl?” he choked out, surprised. In response, the snake bared its fangs and struck. On the first bite, it engulfed half his body in its mouth and lifted him effortlessly off his feet. On the second bite—more of a gulp—Aniel disappeared completely, spear and all. Only a few of his hawk feathers floated through the air to the ground at Fiona’s feet. The snake itself looked strangely disconcerted, blinking and swaying before taking one last swallow. Its glowing bright white, smoke-like whisps around its head blazed like the sun.
“He up and left, leaving everyone and everything at the mercy of a monster that’s even worse than you!” If Aniel wasn’t among the worst of the angels, as Niyol had claimed, she shuttered to imagine what Michael was like. “Who told you that?” Aniel whispered, his attention again refocused on her. “Wouldn’t you like to know, you fiddle-face devil-dodger!” Aniel releveled his spear, the darkness in his eyes intensifying. “There’s that mouth of yours again. Enough. We need Xolotl to finish this risen gods nonsense, but we definitely don’t need you.” He pulled the spear back as if winding up to stab her. But Xolotl leapt in between them, straddling her lap, his hair standing on end, teeth bared, growling. Narrowing his eyes at Xolotl, Aniel said, “Don’t think I won’t kill you now and bring you back after I’m done with her, Black Dog. Perhaps you’ll even get the chance to lead her through those lovely trials into Mictlan.” Turning his gaze in on Fiona again, he said, “That’s right, girl. You love these heathens and their gods so much, you can go to their hell and experience the damnation first-hand. I hear Lord Death is a sight to behold.” He drew back again, preparing to stab.
Niyol pulled his horse to a stop. “You know, my wife, Mayahuel; was she on the Black Lake with the others?” Xolotl tilted his head, in the opposite direction this time, but still no reply. “Maybe he didn’t know you were married?” Fiona offered. “Everybody knew we were married. We even had children.” To Xolotl, he said, “You know my daughter, Xochiquetzal?” Xolotl nodded. “And her twin Xochipilli?” Xolotl nodded again. “And my other son Ehecacone?” Again, Xolotl bobbed his head. “And what about their mother? Do you remember her?” Xolotl thought for a moment then shook his head. “Her name is Mayahuel, the Goddess of the Maguey.” When Xolotl only looked more puzzled, Niyol pressed on. “She was an earth monster imprisoned in Heaven before I took her to earth to bring love to humanity; it’s why the sky is filled with the pollen of the sacred tree we formed with our first coupling.” Fiona looked around into the sky but saw only the clouds and the occasional bird. What must it look like for love to be raining down from Heaven? “And when her grandmother murdered her for that, she spent eons in Mictlan under your watch,” Niyol went on, a hint of distress to his voice. And still Xolotl looked gravely confused. “You helped me negotiate with Lord Death for her resurrection almost a thousand years ago, remember? You made sure he wouldn’t double cross me in the deal, since he was still angry with me about the bones of humanity.” Xolotl whined and shook his head. Niyol sighed, crestfallen. Once they returned to heading southeast into Texas—Cuatrero had stopped to wait for them—and Xolotl had trotted on ahead again, he said, “That is some very powerful memory magic at work.” “What do you mean?” Fiona asked. “Someone has made Xolotl completely forget that someone he’s known for eons exists at all.”
Mextli went to the front door but paused when he noticed the dusty black boots sitting off to the side, below a series of pegs that held coats and hats. He picked them up and resized them with his teotl, then summoned the socks to his feet before slipped the boots on one at a time. The combination felt surprisingly comfortable, and he liked how they looked as well. He then turned his attention to the brown duster coat hanging on the peg furthest from the door. A black, wide-brimmed fur-felt hat with a flat top hung with it, battered and well-loved. A beaded band in the distinct Diné style encircled the crown. Like with the boots, Mextli resized both the coat and the hat then tried them on, finding both comfortable. He even found a mirror to assess his appearance in, and while he found it suitable, if a bit alien, the hunger scoffed, indignant. This is not who you are. “Then who am I?” All his new clothing vanished, replaced with a familiar-feeling turquoise and white feathered xicolli shirt over a white cotton loincloth, beaded elbow and knee bands, and his body painted for war with geometric patterns and swirls in red, black, and yellow. The black and gold paint streaked across his eyes reminded him of Smoking Mirror, and the sudden spike of resentment and hostility surging through him brought a curling sneer to his lips. “That isn’t who I am anymore,” he hissed, the rage heavy and inexplicable. He immediately sent all his old clothing away and returned the new, leaving his face with only his blue hummingbird feathers as decoration. Finally, the pungent anger dissipated. “This is a new life, a new opportunity, to be my own god. I don’t have to be an extension of Smoking Mirror anymore.”
When she started to sit up, Xolotl immediately raised his head, completely awake. She held a finger to her mouth as she rose to her feet then beckoned him to follow her over to Niyol’s horse. Once there, she loaded her pockets with the remaining reloading tubes and unholstered the rifle. The horse tossed its head and looked back at her with dark eyes but surprisingly made no noise. Slinging the rifle strap over her shoulder, she beckoned Xolotl to follow again and she pressed out into the desert, checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching them. Once they were far enough away from the firelight for her voice to not carry back to listening ears, she stopped. The first indications of morning were glowing light blue and purple against the puffy clouds overhead, stretching out from the eastern horizon. “We’re going to go find this Obsidian Butterfly ourselves. We can’t involve Niyol, not with the angels wanting to capture him, so we’re on our own.” Xolotl whined. “If he weren’t here, we’d be doin’ it like this anyhow, right?” He conceded the point with a weak tap of his paw. “It’s safer for everyone,” she said. “The Apaches want to hunt her down and try to kill her, which will just get all of them killed, so we’re keeping everyone safe by doing this ourselves. It’s our task, not theirs.” Again, Xolotl whined. He looked back towards camp but eventually tapped Yes with his foot.
Once in her room, she changed out of her riding clothes and into a skirt, a satin blouse fully buttoned up—to conceal her magic mirror—and a pair of shiny black congress gaiters: her hunting clothes. Using a touch of magic, she finished the look by styling her long black hair into an impossibly complicated chignon of braids and curls, accented with feathers and flowers. With one final check in the mirror, she set out into the night.
Lord Death had not only strictly forbidden his wife from ever leaving her house, but also from ever using her magic. Today she violated both rules with impunity. When she and Xolotl materialized in the throne room of the obsidian palace, right in front of Lord Death on his throne of jade-covered bones, he lumbered to his feet, blue infernos blazing in his eye sockets, but she stepped right up to him. “You will keep your mouth closed and you will listen,” she warned, pressing closer with each word, making him stumble backwards, as if he feared her touching him. Once he’d collapsed back into his chair, she turned to Xolotl. “Now, tell him.” Quaking the entire time, Xolotl laid out the situation. His master sat very still, his loathing stare fixed unnervingly on him. Usually Lord Death sat to one side, because of the throne's missing arm—he'd long ago lost the large femur bone to Ehecatl—but now he sat straight upright, his fists balled on his lap. Even when Xolotl finished with a supplicating bow, he said nothing. It was only when Xolotl finally dared venture his gaze up to meet his master's face, confused as to why Lord Death hadn't yet spoken, that his master launched from his chair, reaching out to throttle him. But Lady Death jumped between them, making Lord Death recoil. Pain, disgust, and fear painted his face as he petulantly protested, "You protect him now, but when Michael finds out...he will be dead—probably thrown into the Black Lake—and you—" "Xolotl will bring them back, and you will return them to the banks of the Black Lake." She stepped closer, making him retreat back to his throne again. "He'll work as quickly as he can, so they're here before anyone knows they are gone."
Book Quote Wednesday: "Simple". Excerpt: "You aren't my servant anymore, Malinalli," I protested. She might have been forced to act as my handmaiden while we'd been captives of my uncle, but that ordeal was thankfully over. And though I was Culhuacan's queen now, she was Quetzalcoatl's fire priestess, and having her play the part of my servant was demeaning. But when I reached for the brush, she held it out of my reach. "No, I'm not, but that doesn't matter. My sisters and I used to brush each other's hair, and I've missed doing it." I'd had many sisters but we'd never brushed each other's hair; that was servants' work, and while I'd brushed Little Reed's hair when he was young, I'd found it a tedious task. Even in school I'd had no female friends to share such bonding with, for most girls avoided me due to my status as the high priestess's ward. But who was I to deny my best friend a little joy? So I let her continue. "Besides, we'll get this done much quicker if you let me do it," she said, a smile in her voice. "All those noblewomen hairstyles are impossibly complicated, and a queen must have flair." "Not this queen," I said with a laugh. "A simple braid right down the back will suffice." Chuckling, Malinalli shook her head and started separating my hair for braiding. When I stifled a yawn, she said, "Maybe a sleep tonic would help keep you from waking in the middle of the night?" Maybe, but will it stop the dreams? As a young girl, I'd suffered recurring nightmares of traveling the dangerous road into the underworld to face Lord Death, but now they happened two or three times a week; Lord Death always towering over me, the hollow eye sockets of his skull-face glowing like swamp gas, his grin pulling his thin, transparent skin painfully tight. "Welcome home, my spiny little princess," he hissed as a spider scurried out of the corner of his mouth to take refuge behind his necklace of extruded eyeballs.
Sometimes when he arrived at the gates of the underworld, Xolotl would find a recently deceased soul waiting for him; hundreds of years ago, lines of people would be waiting, all anxious to begin the treacherous journey to eternal peace in Mictlan, but those days were long over. Most humans worshipped but one god now, and there hadn’t been any new souls for him to guide in at least three decades.
The cover of the novel The Bone Flower Throne, Book 1 of The Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield against a dark red background. Book Quote Wednesday: "After". Includes the following excerpt: "Given your royal blood, perhaps it was too much to expect more of you than just another half-witted noble girl.” My cheeks flushed hot. “How dare...who do you...you don’t know me at all!” She strode back, her fists clenched. “I know you haven’t the guts to embrace the challenge of living a life of sacrifice for someone whose name will last long after the bones of princes have gone to dust. Instead you’d rather hand your future over to some pretty noble boy who’s not even half the man his father is.” I stared at her, too stunned to say anything. “I see girls like you all the time, doing what they must to please their fathers, just biding their time until they’re told to marry, never making the hard decisions for themselves, never grabbing opportunity because they don’t dare upset the men. Nimilitzli hoped you would be different, that the god had given you to her for a reason, but that proved foolish. At least she still has your brother to make her proud; he at least has a firm sense of his self-worth and potential. If you believe the only thing you have to offer this world is your womb, then that’s all you’ll ever contribute, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to make you into something you can’t be.” Bottom text: #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology - Available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook
The cover of the novel The Bone Flower Throne, Book 1 of The Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield against a dark red background. Book Quote Wednesday: "Drive". Includes the following excerpt: “You don’t consider yourself too grown up to listen to an old woman anymore, do you?” I laughed. “You’re not old.” “I’m past my childbearing years, which makes me useful only as a priestess or a servant in the palace.” “I’ll always listen to your wise words, Nimilitzli.” “Be very careful taking on this task.” I startled. “What do you mean?” “It’s one thing to serve the gods to honor them. Quetzalcoatl has asked you to become involved in the power struggles of the gods themselves.” I struggled with how to respond. “The Feathered Serpent wouldn’t...he’d never...this is about ending human sacrifice, Nimilitzli. Quetzalcoatl cares about humanity and he’s tired of seeing us die meaningless deaths to feed greedy gods who only want us for our blood—” “That’s most of the gods, Quetzalpetlatl. You know that.” “Yes, they all need our blood, and we owe it to the old ones, but he’s talking about gods like Smoking Mirror, who want us to fear them so we will feed them extra and make them stronger than the other gods. I’ve seen the work of Smoking Mirror’s followers, and I want him driven back into the desert hole he crawled out of.” Bottom text: #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology - Available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook
Image: cover for T. L. Morganfield's alternate history historical romance Fugitives of Fate, featuring a native man embracing a native woman against a background of a reed-covered lake. The sun with an Aztec calendar superimposed over it sinks below the mountains on the horizon. Followed by the Text: Book Quote Wednesday: "never" then the following snippet from the book: When a guard came out of the palace at a determined pace, Cuauhtemoc expected Malinali to follow him out, but he was alone. The guard bowed before Ixtlil and waited to be acknowledged before standing up straight again. “My Lord, the chief of the guards requires your presence in the throne room.” He cast a nervous glance at Cuauhtemoc. “Is something the matter?” Cuauhtemoc asked. The guard bowed again and this time didn’t look up. “One of your slaves won their freedom by reaching the palace entrance on their own, Revered Speaker.” “One of my slaves?” He rose to his feet, confused. The guard nodded. “She’s in the throne room right now with the chief of the guards.” His heart skipped a beat. She? Cuauhtemoc exchanged glances with Ixtlil then followed his friend inside, his trepidation growing with every step. It might not be Malinali, he tried to convince himself. But what if it is? What if she leaves and you never get to see her again? His throat tightened. It would serve you right, for not having the backbone to free her yourself when you had the chance. But when he saw her standing with the chief of the guards in the throne room, filthy with dust and her hair windswept, but unabashed exhilaration on her face, his fear gave way to unfiltered joy. She’s never looked more beautiful and strong! At the bottom is the text: #alternatehistory #historicalromance Visit tlmorganfield.com for purchase link. Available in ebook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited.
The cover of the novel The Bone Flower Throne, Book 1 of The Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield against a dark red background. Includes the following excerpt: “Some people cannot help being fools,” Citlallotoc said with a frown. “I always found his cool demeanor strange though. I thought priests were supposed to be personally involved with the community.” “Yes, but Topiltzin hadn’t been a priest more than a few days before he left for the army.” “He does perform the daily sacrifice for the troops, and he’s quite the sight to watch. Even the men from the other armies come to hear him talk about Quetzalcoatl. It all makes good sense now that I know his true parentage. He says we should all give a little blood to the god of our choice before a battle, and once I started doing this, my sword fell swifter and I’ve twice escaped being dragged off by Chichimecs. I wouldn’t think to go into battle without honoring Quetzalcoatl with a little of my blood.” Little Reed had told me about such things in his letters. He’d been working hard instilling the idea of bloodletting as a noble and worthwhile practice, especially among the soldiers. If I can get warriors to believe in the superiority of sacrificing their own blood, converting the general populace will be easy later on, he’d written in one letter. They’ll be the most difficult group to convert, since they’ve been trained for so long to shed their enemies’ blood in honor of the Sun, not their own. Over the years such philosophical statements became the staple of his letters, making me wonder if he considered me nothing more than a religious peer he was exchanging notes with. But he never fails to sign his letters with love, I reminded myself. Bottom text: #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology - Available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook
Image: cover for T. L. Morganfield's alternate history historical romance Fugitives of Fate, featuring a native man embracing a native woman against a background of a reed-covered lake. The sun with an Aztec calendar superimposed over it sinks below the mountains on the horizon. Followed by the Text: Book Quote Wednesday: "several" then the following snippet from the book: “It’s a very majestic creature, isn’t it?” Lady Izel told Malinali as several slaves led the sleek yellow horse to Cuauhtemoc by the reigns. Malinali watched Cuauhtemoc slide his robe off his shoulders, into the hands of his waiting body servants. He wore only a finely-embroidered loincloth under it and the sight of his tight, solid abdomen—cut like limestone blocks—made her sweat even more than the summer heat. “Majestic indeed,” she murmured, watching him mount up and trot the horse around the yard in a circle, giving it basic commands to show off the beast’s intelligence. In Chapultepec, he always rode relaxed and casual, but now he sat confident and regal in the saddle, a general ready to charge into battle; this was the man who’d taken the beach at Potonchan, the man the warriors idolized and loved, and she wanted him all the more. At the bottom is the text: #alternatehistory #historicalromance Visit tlmorganfield.com for purchase link. Available in ebook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited.
The cover of the novel The Bone Flower Throne, Book 1 of The Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield against a dark red background. Cover features a stylized silver and black feathered serpent symbol on a red Mesoamerican-patterned background that fades to black at the bottom. The top title is crowned with white tuberose flowers, known as bone flowers to the ancient civilizations of Central America. Includes the following excerpt: “Are you a nahual?” I whispered. It flicked its leather tongue at me then spoke in that familiar ethereal voice. I am the Feathered Serpent’s tonal companion, it confirmed. I sat up and immediately bowed. “My Lord.” Last time we’d spoken I hadn’t had time for bows, but I would do it right this time. I am but a humble servant. It is you I have come to honor. “Me?” The nahual bowed, dragging its neck feathers on the stone floor. The Morning Star has risen, and through my fangs he anoints you guardian of his only son, the future Emperor of the Tolteca, and he gives you the power of his counsel when your need is most urgent. I touched my wrist. “You mean—” You may call upon the Great Feathered Serpent in body and spirit and he will come to aid you, the nahual answered. My mouth dropped open. “You mean I can summon the god anytime I want?” Use the gift wisely, the nahual warned. The sacrifice only becomes greater the more you use it. The gift is meant to protect his son and yourself from those who would harm you. My mood darkened. “You mean like Ihuitimal. He sent someone to poison Little Reed.” And this very night, another assassin walks the palace halls.
Boyz 4 Now from Bob's Burgers.
Digital painting featuring a golden-colored stone feathered serpent head--representative of the god Quetzalcoatl--gazing down at a woman sitting upon a pile of Aztec greenish-turquoise pots, her feet resting on a jade skull--representative of the god Tezcatlipoca. She wears a maroon, sleeveless dress, her hair flowing as if in a breeze.
The cover of the novel The Bone Flower Throne, Book 1 of The Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield against a dark red background. Cover features a stylized silver and black feathered serpent symbol on a red Mesoamerican-patterned background that fades to black at the bottom. The top title is crowned with white tuberose flowers, known as bone flowers to the ancient civilizations of Central America. Includes the following excerpt: “Everyone always talked about how honorable and noble your father was; even as a child, Father gave him just a little more tlaxcallis than he gave the rest of us.” He went back to the kettle to pour himself a new cup of xocolatl. “We were on campaign in the north when we were beset by Chichimecs and I was captured. Mixcoatl vowed to return and free me, even if it took the rest of his years. I spent three years in captivity, forced to fight with one ankle bound to my opponent for the amusement of the chief and his allies, half starving and constantly defending my life, and dreaming of the day when Mixcoatl would keep his promise and raze their miserable village to the ground. I dreamed nightly of finally taking my throne and seeing Chimalma’s smile again; that kept me from succumbing to the misery of my waking hours,” he added, with a surprisingly nostalgic expression. I blinked, stunned. “My mother?” The thought of him pining for her made my skin crawl. Ihuitimal frowned as if I’d interrupted a pleasant dream. “Of course your mother. Your grandfather promised her along with the kingdom, and we were to marry when I returned from my last campaign.” He gulped down the xocolatl as if it had angered him. “But Mixcoatl never came." Available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook #romantasy #epicfantasy #mythology
Watercolor artwork of Quetzalpetlatl and Smoking Mirror, done by Kurt Huggins and Zelda Devon. Quetzalpetlatl is a woman with dark brown hair, wearing a white feathered headdress with a rabbit head on the front, and a white dress fringed with gold trim and neckline. She holds an orange maguey flower in her right hand. Smoking Mirror faces away at an angle, and is wearing a jaguar pelt cape, complete with jaguar head with a tufted of red feathers protruding from the crown. His body and face are painted with red strips, and he holds a staff behind his back that is topped with a human skull decorated with jade mosiac stripes. White smoke flows up from one upheld, clawed hand.
Unhappy dog recovering from TPLO surgery in her cone of shame.
"The Hearts of Men". Artwork by Kurt Huggins and Zelda Devon, from Realms of Fantasy Magazine, 2009. A shirtless boy removes his heart from his chest and holds it out to a blue man dressed in a blue trench coat covered in Aztec symbols. The blue man holds a bowie knife in his right hand while accepting the boy's heart with his left. The bottom landscape is dark green with a farmhouse on the horizon. The sky is early dawn with stars and two vicious dog-like creatures with quills on their backs and glowing orange eyes float over the blue man's right shoulder.
Cover image of The Bone Flower Throne: Book One of the Bone Flower Trilogy by T. L. Morganfield. Features a stylized silver and black feathered serpent symbol on a red Mesoamerican-patterned background that fades to black at the bottom. The top title is crowned with white tuberose flowers, known as bone flowers to the ancient civilizations of Central America.