Cover reveals are already one of my favorite things to do on this site, and they’re extra fun when I know they’re drawing eyes to some seriously underrepresented characters in lit. The Traitor’s Tunnel is a novella by Cal Spivey that stands alone but takes place prior to his NA High Fantasy, From Under the Mountain. The Traitor’s Tunnel focuses on estranged siblings Theodor and Bridget, who must reunite after more than a decade apart in order to thwart a corrupt nobleman’s conspiracy. Theodor is a panromantic asexual and Bridget is bisexual, and in this novella, both of them are in same-sex relationships. Sooo, it’s already pretty must-read right there, isn’t it?
Buuut just wait until you check out the cover 😉
First, though, a little more on the novella itself:
Witch-blooded robber Bridget has made a reputation for herself in the capital city, but she’s not interested in the attention of the Thieves’ Guild–and she’s not bothered by the rumors of urchin kidnappings, either. With winter coming, she’s looking out for herself and no one else.
Until she picks the wrong pocket, and recognizes her estranged brother Teddy.
Young craftsman Theodor arrives in the capital ready to take the final step toward his dream career as Lord Engineer of Arido. His apprenticeship with a renowned city engineer comes with new rules and challenges, but it’s worth it for the exposure to the Imperial Council.
While spying on her brother, Bridget overhears a secret meeting that reveals a cruel plot. After more than a decade apart, Theodor and Bridget must reunite to stop a traitor whose plan threatens not only their city, but the whole empire.
Set seven years before the events of From Under the Mountain, The Traitor’s Tunnel is the story of two young people presented with a choice–to protect themselves, or to protect others–the consequences of which will change their lives forever.
And now, check out this awesomeness…
(Cover illustration and design by Jess Taylor)
But wait, there’s more! Check out this excerpt!
Though the lord couldn’t see him, Theodor forced a smile over his clenched teeth. “If it please you, Master Roald, I’d like to begin my work as soon as possible.”
Master Roald ceased writing, turned half toward Theodor, and regarded him silently. After several heartbeats of silence, Theodor felt perspiration on his brow. He had misjudged his new master. He had encountered a type of casual artisan before, of course, one who thought relaxation just as important as work; and how rude it was of Theodor to refuse an opportunity to explore Del, which was after all the most beautiful city in Arido, home to some of the greatest and most innovative constructions ever conceived. A groundbreaking city, and here he was, suggesting that a tour of it would be worthless to him. It was crass, and foolish.
At last, Master Roald set down his pencil and stood. Theodor braced himself for chastisement—but Master Roald said, “Then we shall begin. Come with me.”
Theodor followed him downstairs, almost holding his breath, hesitant to relax. Master Roald’s voice was so low, and mild; it would take time before Theodor came to understand his subtleties, and in the meantime, his stomach would remain knotted up. Ogun intercepted their path to the door and, at a word from Master Roald, retrieved a cap and cloak for him. Fastening the cloak beneath his chin, Master Roald said, “Do you require an outer garment, Warren?”
It was already snowing in Javan. Del was balmy by comparison. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you,” Theodor said.
“As you wish.” Master Roald gave him a small, paternal smile. “Let us see where we stand.”
He gestured for Theodor to exit the house first, and he understood. He was not being chastised or given a lecture; not yet, at least. Master Roald planned to test him, out in the streets of a city to which Theodor had never been. It would mark his knowledge and experience; perhaps it would influence whether he was allowed to remain in Master Roald’s service at all. Theodor took a deep breath. He did not know what kind of man his new master was, but he knew stone and wood and metal. He knew the benefits and failings of common building structures; he had an eye for design. The rules of construction were the only ones of which he was sure—and he would prove it.
Thrice damn the Frost Owl. Bridget had nicked an extra coat off a laundress in the Second Neighborhood, but even that weren’t doing much to keep her warm. She wished she still had that bearskin she’d had last year, but someone had found her hidey-hole in the Vale forest outside of Del, and taken it. She didn’t hold a grudge; damn if she wasn’t jealous though. She stamped her feet a bit. It was early winter yet, and it’d warm up enough during the day. It looked to be sunny, too, a perfect day to climb up on some slate roof and soak it up.
She scowled and sank against the hot wall of the tannery. She hated winter, hated having to make plans. The cold meant less food to steal, which meant less energy for her little trick of going invisible, which meant stealing got more dangerous. Her stashes of supplies were more crucial than ever, but checking them or even using them too frequently made it easier for others to find them. She had money enough stored that she could take a room on the worst days and nights, but that was visibility she wanted to avoid. She had survived by being unknown to all but a few, ever since she was too old to make use of the orphan houses. Otherwise she’d be too involved in other people’s business, which just created too many chances for things to go bad in ways that had nothing to do with her but would ruin her anyway. She’d learned that lesson. Now she had three friends she just couldn’t shake, and she wasn’t about to make nice to anyone else.
So what be the plan for this winter? she asked herself. She’d gone south a few times—that was what most of Del’s homeless did when the weather got cold; they went downriver. Bridget didn’t much care for that. She didn’t like to lug all her food about, was shit at fishing, and the city of Neva was too damn far. Two years ago, she’d worked in a brothel for the season; that had been alright, but her thieving had taken a hit and it took months to reestablish her under-market connections. They all thought she’d been jailed, thought the Guild of Guards kept tabs on her—what a laugh.
There was a baker in the Third Neighborhood who swapped room and board for work sometimes; she could disguise herself, pretend to be a child. Wouldn’t work on the orphan houses because she’d already been in most of ’em when she was truly a whelp, but it’d be enough to turn away serious questions.
C.M. Spivey is a speculative fiction writer, author of high fantasy From Under the Mountain and the paranormal series, “The Unliving.” His enduring love of fantasy started young. Now, he explores the rules and ramifications of magic in his own works—and as a trans-masculine panromantic asexual, he’s committed to queering his favorite genres. In his spare time, he plans his next tattoo (there will always be a next tattoo) and watches too much Netflix. Anything left over is devoted to his tireless quest to make America read more. He lives in Portland, Oregon, with his darling husband Matt and adorable dog Jay.
(Author photo by Redhawk Photography)