Title: Seventh
Author: Rachel White
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: October 12, 2020
Length: 39300
Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, romance, fantasy, disabilities, slow burn
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Synopsis
Hynd Perrent leads a lonely life, rejected by most of society after a debilitating illness permanently changed him. He has spent nearly a decade investigating the disappearance of a military unit, Seventh Dragoons, in a war nearly a century prior, content to immerse himself in the frustrating search and the book he intends to write about it.
When his sister sets him up with a handsome stranger, Hynd can scarcely believe his luck, unable to recall the last time somebody wanted to be near him and did not fear or revile him for his illness. But Julius Ocere has come for a different reason: Hynd’s. He wants to learn what happened to the Seventh and prove that his great-grandfather was not a traitor.
While a research assistant isn’t what Hynd had hoped for, he takes Julius on. The mystery they uncover is larger than either of them could have imagined, and it will take both of them together to finally put the ghosts of the Seventh to rest.
“I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on, obviously,” Hynd explained, “but most of my work has focused on these.”
He held up the sixth volume of Captain Walsh’s journals for Ocere’s perusal. They were in Hynd’s study, standing at Hynd’s desk, Hynd on one side and Ocere on the other. Hynd’s notes fanned out over the desk’s surface, the various books spread haphazardly on top of the pile of papers. Ocere had been inspecting the things on the desk with obvious curiosity, but at the sound of Hynd’s voice, he turned his attention to the journal.
“What is it?”
“One of the only remaining narratives from the Lily Wars. Written by an officer in the Seventh. Jeandon Walsh.”
Ocere’s curiosity sharpened into interest. “I’ve never heard of such things.”
“I found them at the very bottom of the Archives. The librarians didn’t even know what they were. It had been years—decades—since anyone read them.”
He handed the journal to Ocere carefully, so as not to damage it, and Ocere began to page through it. “Why has no one researched these before?” he asked. “If they’re about the Seventh, surely someone would have done something with them by now?”
Hynd went a little red. “They’re old,” he began, “so they’re a bit difficult to read in places, and parts are somewhat encoded, but mostly—”
Ocere’s eyes widened. “Ah,” he said. He grinned. “I see.”
It was hard not to snatch the journal back; the only thing that stayed Hynd’s hand was the knowledge that such an action would turn the book to paper scraps. “It’s not that funny,” he said instead.
“It’s a little funny,” Ocere murmured, handing the book carefully back. “He was quite… poetic, wasn’t he?”
Hynd glanced at the open page. Admittedly, the passage was one of Walsh’s more colorful ones and quite evocative. Sometimes, it seemed he had been in competition with himself about how many different ways he could find to refer to his lover’s cock.
Walsh’s spidery handwriting read:
We finally managed to meet last night. It’s been too long already. The first touch of PA’s lips against mine drove me wild. Though the tent was not ideal, it sufficed; I had his intoxicating spear inside me three times before the sun rose.
“Intoxicating spear?” said Ocere blandly, reading over Hynd’s shoulder.
“He was just very in love,” Hynd offered.
Ocere laughed again. “I don’t mind. Though, it does explain why these were bundled away. I can’t imagine any of the librarians carefully going through this and trying to catalogue it.”
“Precisely.”
“How many of these did he write?”
“Twelve,” Hynd told him. “This is the sixth.” He jabbed a finger at Ocere. “You’re going to help me read the rest of them.”
Ocere swept an elegant bow. “Certainly.”
Hynd put the book down on the desk. “I’m going to the library again this afternoon. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to come along.” He could, he supposed, use this as the first opportunity to send Ocere on an errand for him, but Hynd needed to speak to the head librarian. It would probably be better to go himself.
“I’d like that,” said Ocere, still immersed in the journal. “Do you think… PA…?”
Pellam Athaby. “I don’t know,” Hynd told him. “It’s possible, but…”
“There’s no guarantee, one way or the other.”
“Exactly.”
“Right,” Ocere began, but before he could continue, the clock in the hall rang eleven. He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, it’s later in the morning than I planned. I have a lunch appointment, but I would like to accompany you. When were you planning on going to the archives?”
“Sometime after two.”
“I think I can manage that. Shall I meet you back here?”
“If that works?”
“Absolutely.” Ocere nodded once at Hynd and adjusted his tie. “Two, or thereabouts.”
“Two,” said Hynd and saw him out.
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Rachel White was born and raised in L.A., California, but moved north for college. An avid reader for as long as she can remember, she started writing in high school and hasn’t stopped. Her favorite genre is fantasy, but she’ll devour a good book no matter what shelf it belongs to; she takes the same approach to her own writing, hopping between ideas, genres, and stories as it suits her.
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