Coming Soon!

Fallen Gods, Book 1

By Rachel Van Dyken

Coming December 4, 2024

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Spellbinding new fantasy from #1 New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken…

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"Old myths, old gods, old heroes have never died. They are only sleeping at the bottom of our mind, waiting for our call. We have need for them. They represent the wisdom of our race."— Stanley Kunitz

"Did she accept?" My voice clips into the phone. I tap my foot and stare out at the cliff overlooking the sea.

"Yes, sir," Ingrid, my secretary says quickly, she's anxious with her words, like she knows what's happening next, but none of us, not even I, can prevent it. Fate is a cruel mistress and we're a constant slave . "She leaves in the next twenty-four hours."

"First class," I say, my voice lacking emotion, because when has that ever helped me? "Put her in the West Tower."

She makes a familiar noise in the back of her throat signaling that she's about to argue with me—sometimes it feels like she's more mother than secretary with her tight blond braid that I swear just continues to cause more wrinkles around her green eyes. "Are you sure that's a good idea—"

"Are you sure you'll stay employed if you finish that thought?" I snap.

"Sorry, sir." She sounds anything but sorry—I know her thoughts on this, I always have, but we all have our parts to play and she often times, more recently, needs to be reminded of hers. It's tiring, this life.

But balance will always outweigh chaos.

And power will always overcome death.

I drop the call without saying goodbye; there's no need. She knows better, and she knows how this works. I stare out over the sea. The wind picks up outside as waves crash against the rocks. The swells grow higher and higher. The sea groans in anticipation, the water will be like this for a while.

History,will always repeat itself. How tragic. How necessary.

It's almost comical how angry the water suddenly gets when it senses yet another shift in the universe. Time never truly stands still; it's continuous in its wrath, always moving, never pausing, shifting from one thing to another.

By the time I'm outside, the weather's gone from sunny to angry, like it can sense what's about to happen or maybe it's pissed about what's been happening, what needs to continue to happen in order to keep those waves where they belong—in the fjord.

"Settle down, Ken," I murmur, knowing he can hear the vibrations of my voice through the wind, even if he doesn't want to. A giant crack sounds in the distance as a tree snaps in half on the small island, hurling itself into the water. Nature's throwing a small tantrum as per usual.

I snort out a laugh of amusement, so testy. "Yeah, well fuck you too."

I turn my back on the crashing waves, close my eyes, and breathe in the salty breeze. I start walking but stop at the large oak tree in the middle of the back property and press my hand to it, then lean my body against it until my forehead touches the warm rough bark. Strength flows through me, renews my body. I swear I can see the deepness of the three large roots below my feet feeding off the earth, giving life, taking it.

"It wasn't always like this, was it?" I say mostly to myself. "It's almost like I can't remember anymore."

Or maybe it's that I really don't want to. Because who truly would?

Only a monster.

The wind suddenly dies down and I go back into my house to tell my staff to prepare yet again for its next guest.

And get to work.