Tower of the Ice Lord
Dreamspinner Press (2015)
Don't you believe someone can love enough to die for another?
Arius the sorcerer has lived in solitude for centuries, watching over his frozen tundra and sending his ice wolves against the kingdom of Evernesse. Only a sacrifice of royal blood can end the war, and it comes when Loren, son of the king of Evernesse, arrives at the Ice Lord's tower, willing to die to procure peace. Though stunned and mistrustful, Arius agrees. But as the fateful day draws nearer, Arius learns Loren's bravery and commitment run deeper than he suspected, and Loren begins to see the lonely man beneath the Ice Lord's mask. Arius's god demands a sacrifice, Loren might be his people's only hope, and both men must choose between the conflicting demands of duty and love.
Tower of the Ice Lord
Beacons Among the Stars
The hull of the colony ship curved away beneath him to the horizon, its surface weathered by long exposure to radiation and micrometeroids. Even the letters on the nameplate had been all but obliterated. The sun was a bright yellow ball in the distance; only a few centimetres of polymer separated him from incineration. But space was equally hostile to living humans.
We are all aliens out here.
Evolve Two: Vampire Stories of the Future Undead
edited by Nancy Kilpatrick
(EDGE SF&F Publishing)
Interview With the Jiangshi
Dead Red Heart (2011)
"I shouldn't even be here," I griped at April, as we stood in line for registration. "I don't know how you convinced me, but your whammy is wearing off."
She punched me lightly in the shoulder. "Don't chicken out now, Jackson. It won't be as bad as you think."
"Really?" The line moved forward, and the giant banner above the registration desk glittered into view, silver thread on black velvet:
TENTH ANNUAL INTERNATIONAL VAMPIRE CONVENTION
FANGS FOR THE MEMORIES
The Year's Best Australian Fantasy and Horror 2011
edited by Liz Grzyb and Talie Helene
Dead Red Heart
edited by Russell B Farr
The Gift of the Butterfly Queen
She came gliding across the room like a blade on ice, her six masked attendants trailing behind. Her ballgown rippled as though sewn with ten thousand sequins, but a delicate fluttering betrayed their true nature, a living garment of butterflies laid wing against wing. Thousands of legs twitched, millions of eyes glittered. The rustle of her skirts was neither satin nor tulle, but chitin.
edited by Gillian Polack and Scott Hopkins
Antipodean SF (2003)
She woke once before, at the turn of the century.