Sometimes when I try to think about what I’ve been doing, I can’t think of a thing. I know I’ve been busy—very busy—but when I sit down to write it out, everything seems to scatter.

I suppose the main things are these.

I’m still working on The Banker Prince, Book 5 of the Barriers of Stone series. It’s coming along, slowly but steadily. I thought instead of trying to explain it, I’d simply give you a small moment from it—an excerpt from Chapter 7.

Once the train had settled into its rhythm, the soft sway of the carriage eased the tension Sophia hadn’t realized she was holding.

She watched the countryside pass for a long moment before speaking.

“I should have known better,” she said quietly, more to the window than to him.

Ellis glanced at her but didn’t press. “Known what?”

She exhaled. “That people who present themselves too carefully are rarely honest.”

He smiled faintly. “If that were true, half of Philadelphia would be out of business.”

She huffed despite herself, then caught it, clearly annoyed at her own reaction.

Ellis leaned back slightly. “If it’s any comfort, I once watched a man defraud three bankers, a shipping magnate, and myself—all in one afternoon.”

Sophia turned, surprised. “You?”

“Oh, especially me,” he said. “I was the most offended.”

She studied him. “What happened?”

“He claimed to be a Belgian count,” Ellis continued solemnly. “No accent. No estate. Not even the imagination to invent one convincingly. He simply relied on the fact that no one wished to admit they didn’t know how Belgian nobility worked.”

Sophia smiled—just a little.

“He made off with a respectable sum,” Ellis added. “And a watch. A hideous watch. I was relieved to be rid of that.”

She laughed then, quickly covering her mouth. “You’re serious?”

“Entirely. Con artists are rarely brilliant. They’re just persistent—and very good at exploiting politeness.”

Her smile lingered. “So, you’re saying I wasn’t foolish.”

“I’m saying,” Ellis replied gently, “that you were courteous. There’s a difference.”

She looked at him more fully now. “You make it sound almost forgivable.”

Ellis shrugged. “Most mistakes are—once you survive them.”

Sophia leaned back, exhaling as the train rocked gently beneath them, the sound of the rails steady and almost hypnotic.

Ellis glanced at her again, catching the lingering curve of her smile. “Oh, I have a thousand stories I could tell you.”

Sophia’s brow lifted with interest. “Then tell them to me.”

There was no hesitation in her voice—only curiosity.

Ellis considered her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

For my space fantasy stories, I’m still working on God of Revenge, Book 2 of the Jeopardy Directive. These things always seem to take longer than I expect. I’d give you a scene from that as well, but it’s a futuristic military war story with some very dark elements, and out of context it wouldn’t read well—possibly even be a bit disturbing.

But alongside that, I’ve been working on a four-book space fantasy series that spins off from The Jeopardy Directive, called Atterscaithe. It actually takes place before The Jeopardy Directive is activated. The first book came in at over 150,000 words, so I’m reshaping it into two books without losing the flow.

Here’s a short moment:

The Blacksmith of the Rebellion: Atterscaithe Book 1, Chapter 11, Scene 2

Amos, the AI, had just begun explaining the Zryhawk’s advanced systems when Trayton’s comm unit flared with an urgent chime. Rhyden’s did the same. The signal came encrypted—direct from the Stardust.

Trayton tapped his earpiece. “Go ahead.”

A clipped voice answered, tension thick in the transmission. “Trayton, Vendrais IV is under attack.”

Rhyden’s expression darkened instantly. “Repeat that.”

“The Obsidian launched a full-scale assault—bombers, ground troops, scorched-earth tactics. They’re wiping out everything. The villages are burning.”

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.

“They’re going after the people,” Crismore muttered, fury flashing in his eyes. “They’re not just taking the planet. They’re exterminating them.”

Trayton clenched his jaw. The Vendrasians—iridescent-skinned, resilient, and defenseless. They had no military. No ships. They had trusted the Kavari to protect them.

“The Obsidian waited until we were out of position,” Rhyden said grimly. “Leger Kine planned this.”

Crismore swore under his breath. “And we walked right into it.”

Trayton straightened. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” the voice confirmed. “Multiple settlements are already lost. No known survivors from the western villages. Obsidian forces are moving inland, burning everything in their path.”

Rhyden’s hands curled into fists. “We’re on our way.”

“We’ll rendezvous wi’ the Stardust,” Trayton added. “Hold the line as long as ye can.”

“Send Valk in to join us,” Rhyden said. “We’ll need him.”

The comm clicked off, leaving only the hum of the Zryhawk’s systems and the quiet tension hanging between them.

Trayton turned to Rainger. “Yer stayin’ here.”

Rainger’s head snapped up. “What? No—”

“Yer stayin’.” Trayton’s tone left no room for argument. “She’s out cold, and we don’t know when she’ll wake—or what she’ll do when she does. She’s powerful enough to take down a fleet. That makes her either an asset or a liability. Someone stays with her.”

Rainger gritted his teeth but nodded.

“I’m leavin’ a medic wi’ ye,” Trayton went on, “and one o’ the scouts—Margo. She’s got good instincts.”

Crismore clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll be back before you miss us.”

Rainger didn’t answer. He stared at Julia’s unconscious form. She looked peaceful now, but what she had done . . . he still couldn’t comprehend it.

Rhyden was already moving. “Prep the ships. We leave now.”

As the others rushed out, Rainger dropped into a seat.

The Zryhawk hummed softly, and Amos’ holographic form flickered back into view, that same amused expression in place.

“Well,” the AI drawled, “looks like it’s just us, sleeping beauty, and the babysitters.”

Rainger leaned back with a long breath.

Outside, engines roared to life, breaking the stillness of Grugen’s wastelands as the Kavari ships launched into the sky—racing against time to save what remained of Vendrais IV.

***

Someone asked me recently what my favorite genre to write is. I had to say Space Fantasy because I love the creative license it gives me as opposed to historical which I love also but have to be confined to time and culture and the way things were but I still enjoy writing it and will never stop. Also a lot of my space fantasy is based on historical events for example God of Revenge, which I will hopefully have ready soon, was inspired in part by the story of Lucius Junius Brutus, traditionally placed around 509 BC, at the founding of the Roman Republic

We’ll see where I am with all of this next month. In the meantime, take care and stay safe.

—Helen