Sailor Moon meets Cinder in Guardians of Dawn: Zhara, the start of a new, richly imagined fantasy series from S. Jae-Jones, the New York Times bestselling author of Wintersong.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Guardians of Dawn: Zhara by S. Jae-Jones, which is out August 1st.
Magic flickers. Love flames. Chaos reigns.
Magic is forbidden throughout the Morning Realms. Magicians are called abomination, and blamed for the plague of monsters that razed the land twenty years before.
Jin Zhara already had enough to worry about—appease her stepmother’s cruel whims, looking after her blind younger sister, and keeping her own magical gifts under control—without having to deal with rumors of monsters re-emerging in the marsh. But when a chance encounter with an easily flustered young man named Han brings her into contact with a secret magical liberation organization called the Guardians of Dawn, Zhara realizes there may be more to these rumors than she thought. A mysterious plague is corrupting the magicians of Zanhei and transforming them into monsters, and the Guardians of Dawn believe a demon is responsible.
In order to restore harmony and bring peace to the world, Zhara must discover the elemental warrior within, lest the balance between order and chaos is lost forever.
CHAPTER ONE
The rent was due, rodents had gotten into the rice, and Zhara had just dumped a bag of salt into the custard filling.
“Mother of Demons!” she swore, trying in vain to scoop the excess out of the mixing bowl with her fingers. Bits of beaten egg and flour spattered an open book propped up on the counter and Zhara yelped, frantically wiping at the mess with her sleeve. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” she moaned, dabbing at the stains. “Master Cao is going to kill me.”
On the pantry shelves above her, a small, scruffy ginger cat gave an amused snort from his perch.
“Hush, Sajah,” Zhara said irritably, struggling to get the page to lie flat. Over the years, the little bookseller down in the Pits had allowed Zhara to borrow as many titles from him as she liked, providing she returned them all in perfect condition. “The Maiden Who Was Loved by Death,” she said mournfully, smoothing down the cover. “And the next volume comes out today.”
The Maiden Who Was Loved by Death was the most popular romance serial in the Morning Realms—so popular that Master Cao and his scriveners could scarcely keep up with demand each time an installment was released. There were only so many copies a person could write out by hand, so each little paperback volume was worth a premium. One Zhara could not afford.
Prrrrt, said the cat, the tiny bell about his neck jingling as he jumped from his perch to nose at the coin purse tied at her waist.
“I know, I know.” Zhara weighed the purse in her palm. Their coffers were rather empty of late, with every spare coin going to the astrologer, the aesthetician, the dressmaker, and the matchmaker in the hopes of securing a good marriage for her little sister, Suzhan. Nearly all the wages Zhara earned as an apothecary’s assistant disappeared into their ever-growing pile of debts, but every month she managed to save a few coins for herself and her small but growing collection of secondhand romance novels. Just enough for a harmless little treat every now and again.
Not enough to make her stepmother suspicious.
Zhara counted the coins, glancing at her threadbare slippers beside the kitchen threshold. She desperately needed a new pair, but she figured she could fix the stitching herself and pay Master Cao back. A new book cost more than two pairs of shoes from the cobbler down by the docks. Reading was a luxury, and one she could not often afford.
Miaow, Sajah said, batting at the bowl of salted custard filling.
“Blast.” Zhara winced. “The custard buns.” She had hoped she could tempt Suzhan into eating something—anything—before meeting her future husband at the matchmaker’s later that morning. Nerves dwindled her sister’s appetite to nothing, and Suzhan needed all the strength she could get.
They needed all the strength Suzhan could get.
“Maybe it’s salvageable.” Zhara dipped a finger into the mixture for a quick taste. She gagged. “Never mind.” She choked.
Niang, said the cat, primly washing his whiskers.
Zhara cast a desperate eye over the paltry contents of their pantry. It was too early for the shops to open, and all they had left were two shriveled onions, a bunch of dried hot peppers, a vase of cooking oil, a jar of fermented black-bean paste, and a leaking crock of soy sauce. While Zhara was well acquainted with the alchemy of stretching one meal into two or three or five, even her creativity had limits. “I can work magic,” she muttered. “Not miracles. Although . . .” She trailed off, looking to the wooden plaque on the wall above the stove. It bore the name Jin Zhanlong.
Miaow, Sajah cautioned.
A faint glow glimmered where Zhara’s skin met the smooth curve of the bowl. She could hear her father’s warning voice at the back of her mind. Be good, little magpie girl. Be good, and be true.
“Small magic, baba,” she said to Jin Zhanlong’s death tablet. “Too small to be of any notice.”
Miaow, Sajah said again, but Zhara ignored him, closing her eyes and finding the light inside. She had always imagined her magic as a steady flame within her, and the world around her as her kitchen. Elements were ingredients to be played with, like dough beneath her fingers. Zhara held her breath and concentrated, applying her magic to the mixture in her hands like heat to a pot of water.
A sudden, bright burst of light nearly startled her into dropping the bowl, but Zhara managed to catch it and set it gently on the counter. Dipping her finger into the mixture once more, she took a tentative lick.
Sweet.
“Well,” she murmured with a satisfied smile. “Maybe I can work a little miracle every once in a while.”
The cat sniffed.
“Yah,” Zhara protested. “Considering I have no idea how magic even works, I think that was pretty impressive.” She finished making the custard buns, tempering the beaten eggs, milk, sugar, and rice starch over the stove. “Like cooking without a recipe!”
There had been recipes—spell books—in the Morning Realms once, but they—like her father, like every other magician in the land— had been destroyed in the purges following the Just War. It was not only rare to be a magician; it was dangerous. Not only because someone might turn her over to the Falconer for treason, but because of the harm she could accidentally cause with her power.
Had accidentally caused.
Once the custard had thickened, Zhara took the pot off the heat and reached for the ball of dough she had set aside earlier, dividing it into palm-sized balls and rolling them out into thin discs. Sajah butted her arm with his head, purring suggestively.
“Not for you,” she said, adding a dollop of custard in the center of each disc. “We can barely feed ourselves, let alone a stray.”
The cat scowled and gave a spiteful swipe at her knuckles.
“Aiyo!” she hissed. With a deft twist of her fingers, Zhara sealed the buns shut and set them in a steamer basket. “At least you have somewhere else to go.” Cats were sacred to Zanhei’s guardian beast, the Lion of the South, and it was unlucky to turn one away. “Unlike the rest of us,” she said quietly, studying her father’s death tablet.
“Sajah’s not a stray, nene,” said a voice behind her. “He’s part of the family.”
Zhara turned to find her stepsister standing at the kitchen threshold. “Suzhan!” she said, leaping forward to take the girl’s hand. “I didn’t hear you come down.”
“I left my cane upstairs,” Suzhan said wryly. “I didn’t want to wake Mama with the tapping.” Her eyes wavered. “You know how she gets after a late night at the tavern.”
Zhara did know. The two of them had woken up with the bruises to show for it often enough. “You’re up early, mimi,” she said instead, fetching the low stool from the corner and setting it down before her sister. “Dawn’s not for an hour yet.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Too nervous.” Suzhan felt for the seat and missed, knocking over the stack of paperbacks by Zhara’s bedside. “What’s this?”
“N-nothing,” Zhara said quickly, shoving the books beneath her pallet. “Just some notes for Teacher Hu.”
Her sister gave a little smirk as she settled onto the stool. “You mean The Girl Whose Lover Died, nene?”
“The Maiden Who Was Loved by Death,” Zhara corrected, a trifle defensively. “I mean,” she said, panicking a little, “I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”
Suzhan laughed. “You’re a terrible liar,” she said. “Your tongue betrays you whenever you try.”
A flush of shame heated Zhara’s cheeks. “Don’t tell Madame,” she said, stacking the books back into a neat little pile. “Please.”
Suzhan looked hurt. “I wouldn’t tell Mama,” she said. “You know I wouldn’t.”
Zhara’s gaze fell to the constellation of fading welts on her sister’s calves and shins, twins to the welts on her own legs. “I know,” she said softly, but secrets were hard to keep in the face of the Second Wife’s capricious cruelty. Zhara cleared her throat and opened the steamer basket to check on the custard buns. “Anyway,” she said, “I’ve made breakfast. Are you hungry?”
From Guardians of Dawn: Zhara by S. Jae-Jones. Copyright © 2023 by the author and reprinted by permission of Wednesday Books.
