The land is at war!
Amidst a landscape of bloodshed and turmoil, Ettalara, a young noblewoman, seeks to return crucial documents to her King. Despite a path fraught with danger, dragons, and dances, she forges ahead. But when she meets Quip and Trill, a pair of orphans with a decidedly different view of the war, her plans come crashing to a halt.
The land is at war!
Amidst a landscape of bloodshed and turmoil, Ettalara, a young noblewoman, seeks to return crucial documents to her King. Despite a path fraught with danger, dragons, and dances, she forges ahead. But when she meets Quip and Trill, a pair of orphans with a decidedly different view of the war, her plans come crashing to a halt.
Year 144, 8th day of summer.
My name is Trilliapa Gadrich.
I will begin by saying that I am not an eloquent speaker or extraordinarily
brilliant or quick and witty. In fact, the word that fits me best would be
emotionless, but thatâs just not right either because I will try to let out my
thoughts and feelings in this book. Iâve been thinking about how distant I
am from sharing my emotions, and Iâve decided to give this journal a try. If
these entries work, maybe Iâll write more. Well, I havenât got anyone else to
confide in, do I? Let me explain:
I might as well start my story with my age. I am eleven, and, according
to my mother,very well read. Brone, my Father, is the cruelest person in
all of Eretz. He used to be a Senator of some importance, until he took to
playing cards and left the Senate in disgrace. Then, when he squandered all
our familyâs money gambling, he took to drinking as well. In his drunken
state, he assumed my mother and I had wasted the money. My mother had
to work hard to keep us in the middle class, and Brone, (I refuse to call him
âfatherâ) took all his anger out on us, for in his drinking he didnât realize we
werenât poor. He would beat me for every little thing. He did the same to my
mother.
A few weeks ago, we packed up so I could go fishing with my mother and
Brone. He soon drank a little liquor, then a lot. In a fit of anger he struck my
mother, sending her tumbling to the side of the boat. He shoved her again.
Screaming, my motherâs skirts flew up and over the side, her golden blonde
hair flying. Then, before my eyes, she disappeared under the waves.
I yelled for her âtil I lost my voice altogether. That was when I knew I had
to escape. But I wasnât going to leave home unprepared.
That night I went down to the cellar where Brone kept the weapons he
used to beat me, and looked long and hard for one of use. I searched until
my eye fell upon a truncheon, a long, thin, curved, metal rod with a spiked
cross guard. As soon as I spotted it, I knew I had to try it out. I took it up and
felt its weight in my hands. It was heavy, but if I trained hard, I knew I could
master it.
A week later, I packed only the necessities and took off. Where? I didnât
know. But I found myself soon out of food and water and looking like a living
skeleton. Maybe I wasnât as well prepared as I had thought.
Iâd been wandering through town without any purpose when I found the
orphanage. It seemed like a good enough place to stay. I certainly gives me
enough to write about.
A day here is simple: wake up, eat, clean, clean, clean more, eat, bed.
I arrived early several mornings ago and came face to face with the ugliest,
fattest woman I had ever met. She took one look at me, said a terrible oath
that I never heard before, and hit me.
âDo as I say, and you wonât get in trouble.â
I was still a bit surprised and outraged at this greeting. My face stung where
she slapped me, and I nodded automatically.
When I was shown my room, I was very glad I was good at hiding my
feelings. The girls, perhaps thirty in all, were packed into a single small, dark,
unclean room. I thought I saw a mouse run into a corner. The girls all looked
like living skeletons themselves, so I fit in well.
A girl about my age glanced up when I entered and walked over to where I
stood.
She was pretty in a different sort of way, her dirty blonde hair making a
striking contrast to her bright green eyes. She wasnât exactly the kind of
person that would turn heads in the street as my mother would, but in a way,
she sort of reminded me of her.
âHello,â she said. Her eyes shone in delight at meeting someone new.
âHi.â I met her gaze with directness (or whatever you call it). Her hair
looked a little like Motherâs, yet she had a stronger build. This girl could hold
her own in a fight.
âIâm Quipeneay,â she said, looking me up and down, âbut you can call me
Quip.â
I kept my blank expression. âIâm Trilliapa, but you can call me Trill.â
Quip grinned and pulled something from her sleeve. I tried not to back
away when I saw she had a knife. She flipped it up and down with ease.
âSo,â she smirked, âwhat brings you here?â
Sheâs trying to test me, I realized, my mind racing, she wants to see if I can hold
my own. And after years of being pushed around by Brone, I wanted to know
that too.
I swallowed my sudden urge to run away from the threatening girl and
faced her calmly. Before I could get a word in though, a shrill whistle echoed
up to us. âDinner!â The room erupted into a flurry of activity as every girl
tried to beat the other down to eat. I simply followed the line, trying to act
normal but sensing Quips eyes boring into me. Iâll prove myself to her. Very
soon.
***
13th day of summer
These days can be so boring! If it werenât for my recent escapade, I would
try to escape. Just yesterday, I had a run-in with an older boy who was
brutally forcing one of the other children to do his chores. He was tall and
muscular, and I think I remember someone calling him Redge. He had a small
boy pinned against the outside wall where the wash usually was hung, and
honestly reminded me too much of Brone. This time maybe I could be more
than a helpless bystander?
âDo it!â He growled angrily while the poor boy squirmed in vain against
his grip. I set my load of laundry down on the dirt.
âWhy donât you do it yourself?â I called over.
Redge whirled around, dropping the boy. Seeing me, he smiled a cruel
smile and said,âYouâd better scram, little girl or youâll help him.â
He started toward me menacingly.
âRun, run!â he taunted.
I froze. My legs wanted to take his advice but my head told me to stay. He
was almost upon me. Trying to buy time, I asked, âWhy did you make him do
your work? itâs not right.â I sounded like an imbecile, but couldnât think of
anything else.
âItâs not right.â he mimicked, pushing his shaggy blond hair from his eyes.
By now he was practically upon me.
âJust leave him alone.â I said, my voice shaking a bit.
He noticed and grinned.âWhoâs gonna stop me, you?â
I stepped forward, already feeling for my truncheon.
âCome on little girl! Come and get me!âhe growled.
Crouching, he leapt at me. I knew what to do because Brone often used
this method when taking me by surprise. I was ready. I pulled my truncheon
out of my dress and stepped out of the way. However, he seemed to know
thatâs what Iâd do, for he reached out his arm and took me down with him. I
slammed the truncheon down on his head viciously and jumped back up off
him. He stilled abruptly and at first I thought Iâd killed him, but I saw him
breathing shallowly in pain. I hit him again, a knockout blow.
âThat will bring him out of his misery,â I said, smiling wickedly, âOr, at least
âtil he wakes up.â
Sighing with relief, I slipped my truncheon back into my dress. Then,
turning, I walked to the doorway. A long brown dress caught my attention.
Quip stood in my path, eyes alight,
âGood job.â She said and followed me inside. I did it!
The author had an interesting concept, of a young woman who is on a mission to save a kingdom at war by bringing documents to her king. Until she meets two people on the other side of the war. Unfortunately, the execution made this book a challenge to read.
One of the MC's Ettalara is from Laitmea, which is at war with rival Haputa. She meets Quip and Trill who are from Haputa. At first, tempers flare and they dislike each other based on their lineage alone.
The book is written as a diary, with scattered poems and drawings throughout it. Sometimes the diary entries are short, there are time jumps, even three years at one point and the writing style was difficult to follow. It was very stream of consciousness, narrating what is happening at each moment rather than telling a tale. An example of this is in one section:
"Letâs not forget the corset and parasol. (I snuck out in my slip.) Uh, oh, been spotted. Bye.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Horror of horrors!
Death to the person who thought of etiquette! Death to anyone who defies
me! DEATH TO FASHION!!!!!!!"
The book is also split into the diaries of the different main characters instead of just following Ettalara. The story would have been better presented as a first person tale rather than as a diary and could have done without the poems between different entries. The poems were beautiful, but didn't seem to fit the style of the story. As a YA novel, most teens won't stop to read the poems and even I found myself skipping them to get back to the meat of the story. They ended up making the flow choppy.
The time skips between entries made the entries more like info-dumps of everything that happened in the last few days as a catch-up, rather than immersing the reader in the story as it unfolded.
While the writing style was from a young teen's perspective, the language and dialogue came off as strange and made it a challenge to read. There were also many grammatical and punctuation errors in the book and it is in need of a good edit.
I really wanted to see more about the girls and their character development but their characters felt flat. With Ettalara being noble born and Trill and Quip being orphans, it could have played out as a very interesting dynamic of them learning about each other and their own views and beliefs.
I did appreciate the dragons though.
This was a great idea but the way it was written did a great concept a disservice.