Cover image for the new epic romantasy novel, “What God Has Ordained.”
Sent away as a child to become a priestess-knight — a paladin of a Church whose god is no distant idea but a living power that moves through her hands — Coralin Callens buried a truth she couldn’t confess even to herself: she has loved Athos, the foster-brother she was raised beside, since before she had a word for it. Now, after fifteen years apart, he rides to meet her at the gates of the holy land — a crown prince, a war-hardened Royal Marshal, haunted by dreams of a holy sword that he cannot reach.
Neither of them knows what their god — and the enemy hunting them both — already does: that the war tearing their world and the pull between them are the same thread, and that Heaven itself has a stake in whether two people raised as family can become something their peers swear they must not.
Duty forbids it. A king’s blessing hangs on it. An enemy has already marked her as the easier one to kill. And still, mile by mile down the long road to the holy city, the longing only deepens — fifteen years of restraint pressed into a single ungloved touch, a confession neither means to make, a nearness that costs them nearly everything honor demands.
Theirs isn’t a world where goodness comes cheap. It’s one where staying honorable costs something real — and they choose to anyway.
What God Has Ordained is an epic, faith-forward romantasy of forbidden love, a war for their world, and a slow burn fifteen years in the making — for readers who like their romance clean but never timid, their fantasy worlds vast and lived-in, and their gods close enough to break a heart.
Book Two of The Legacy of Chandar continues their story: They’ve learned, at last, to stop fighting what they feel. What they’ll have to stand for next — a fractured church, a wounded kingdom, the truth of who they really are, and the prophesied return of an ancient adversary — is a different fight entirely.
And the second draft of Book Two of The Legacy of Chandar is already written!
It was early morning, predawn. Athos tossed and turned restlessly in his cot, mind so full of the coming day’s battle he couldn’t sleep. Outside his pavilion, he could hear the muffled sounds of his army moving about. Twice he and his army had readied for battle, and twice the Confederation’s army of war orcs, half-orcs, and dark elf mages had failed to show up. Rain had forced them to stay back, an impediment far more consequential to them than to Athos’ own royal army. But though the Confederation forces hadn’t fought, neither had they left. Rather, they had simply waited.
By that morning, the late autumn rains had stopped for two days. The ground was drying. His army knew what that meant: Today they would fight. And hopefully today would mark the final victory in a string of victories that had lasted two years—and cost the Confederation dearly!
Finally, he gave up trying to sleep, quietly pulled on a robe, lit a candle, and made his way to his ink stand. Yesterday evening, couriers from the military base at Donnin City had delivered a letter from his foster sister, Coralin. Though they’d been parted for fifteen years, his heart always leaped with joy whenever he heard from her. So he’d opened it immediately—and then been instantly swept off for pre-battle meetings with his staff.
But now…
Now he needed her comfort to quiet his mind. He needed to hear her voice, see her gray eyes dance as she laughed, and feel her hand in his again. They had always been “closer than reason.” So Mother Orindë had always said—and that’s how it felt now, as he held her letter in his hand. He could feel her touch in the parchment. He could see her affectionate smile in the writing of the address, even as he ran his hand over the ink: “To The Royal Marshal, Prince Athos Mirac. Southern Army Command Headquarters, Donnin City.”
She would be quite a woman now. They were, after all, the same age, and even shared a birthday. The double security seals on the envelope—that marked her letter as both safe and confidential by the office of the High Lord Marshal of Par-Isen—demonstrated that she was also very well-connected. All things considered, that was only proper for a woman who was the foster daughter of Vin-Nórë’s late queen, and now foster sister to its king!
Enough!
He opened the letter.
Saint Hilden’s Monastery, Par-Isen7 B’nath 527
Dear Athos,
As you have noticed, I am writing to you from Saint Hil’s, much as I did after arriving here almost fifteen years ago. But do not be concerned. This time I am here on retreat rather than a long-term relocation, and am due to return to Khir-Isen and my duties the day after tomorrow.
I usually take my retreats in the spring, but Matrië Maryam recommended that I take this one before your arrival at the Great Gate later this month. I am sure she has noticed how I am increasingly distracted as that longed-for day grows closer. This is probably her way of getting me out of her hair while she coordinates with the High Lord Marshal and the other consulates on the details of your stay, while you are with us.
“While you are with us.” Lady’s breath, but I can hardly make myself believe that less than a month’s worth of days are left, God willing, before I will see you again!
It still seems unreal, unnatural even, that I have no idea what you look like as an adult. I read your letters and the only voice I can hear in them is that of the boy I knew, not the man you have become. Oh Athos, what does your laughter sound like? It feels strange that I should not know! Are there weather-crinkles around your eyes? And your hands—how would it feel to hold your man’s hand, now sword-hardened and used to dealing death? Would your grip completely engulf mine?
Daa wrote to me that you have grown a beard, which I cannot imagine at all. Will I recognize you, my own dear brother, when at last we meet? Will you recognize me?
He had to stop.
War? What war? Time had stopped.
He could sense no more than what was in his heart, for the tears that stood in his eyes made it impossible to read. He could hear her voice, feel her touch, sense her wonder; a wonder he shared as he imagined the warmth of her hand enclosed in his. She was beautiful. He felt it, knew it, and wondered at the truth of it, for there could be no other. Coralin. His Coralin. His beautiful, warm, funny, heart’s twin of a sister. She was there.
And yet…
She was not there.
He was there, in the candlelit dimness of his own pavilion, surrounded by a breaking dawn that marked time’s slow return, and punctuated by the snores of his sleeping batman, Giles.
With a sigh, he wiped the tears from his eyes and returned to reading:
These are some of the thoughts that have made me increasingly useless to my mentor, but try as I might, I have not been able to shake them for long. And fortunately, I shall not have to struggle with them for much longer! You are to have a ceremonial escort into Par-Isen consisting of one hundred or so of the most highly decorated khúrin-chavalleren still under arms—and I am to ride with them! My orders assigning me to the temporary company arrived yesterday, and I think they must have heard me squealing in joy all the way down in the village. Making the trip to Baraüd-Héredlin with your ceremonial escort cuts an entire week out of the number of days until our long separation comes to an end—however temporary it may be—and adds them to the number of days that we can, potentially at least, spend some time together.
So, if all goes well, we will have a few days’ ride to get reacquainted as we travel back to the Holy City. I will not be the only person in the company who wants to spend time with you, of course—but I am the one who has missed you the longest and the most. I hope that counts for something when Sir Coen is dividing up your days for the meetings and appointments that will surround that Pan-Sylantian military conference!
Ah, well. The cadence of the drums from the tower calls me to evening meditation, and then dinner. Wherever this letter finds you, I hope it finds you well, brother-mine, and that you’ll remain at least that well until we meet again—very soon, now. I am holding you safely in my prayers, and my heart, until then.
Your loving sister, Coralin
He read the last two paragraphs twice, letting the flush of anticipation bloom into full flower before absently setting the letter on his ink stand. His eyes and imagination drifted off into the candle flame. Today, there would be war. He would fight with a heart full of hope for this promised reunion. Tomorrow, the consequences of today’s battle would unfold, and would probably continue on for a few days more as the army transitioned from post-battle triage to winter reformation. Only then would he be able to leave.
Without really realizing he was doing it, he began calculating the days until he would meet her again. Forward operating bases remained manned along the front all the way from Khantar City to Baraüd-Héredlin, even in the winter months. And they had all been deliberately stationed a day’s march apart. That made it only six days’ travel by horse to the Great Gate of Baraüd-Héredlin. Today was the eighteenth of B’nath.
So… If he could leave on the twenty-second, that would put him at Baraüd-Héredlin on… the twenty-eighth!
The twenty-eighth! And her letter was dated the seventh. It was about a week’s travel from Khir-Isen to Baraüd-Héredlin. So, yes.
Yes! She and that ceremonial company should be able to make it by the twenty-eighth easily! The twenty-eighth. He would leave on the twenty-second so he could arrive on the twenty-eighth.
