BLOG TOUR: The House of Always by Jenn Lyons

 Welcome to the Official Blog Tour for The House of Always, the fourth title in the A Chorus of Dragons series, by Jenn Lyons! Today, on our tour stop, we have an exclusive excerpt AND a tour-wide giveaway to share! So... Be sure to check it out and catch up on the series now! Follow the tour, HERE.

Genre:

Adult

Epic Fantasy

Series:

A Chorus of Dragons, #4

Publish Date:

May 11, 2021

Publisher:

Tor

Synopsis:

For fans of Brandon Sanderson and Patrick Rothfuss, The House of Always is the fourth epic fantasy in Jenn Lyons' A Chorus of Dragons series that began with The Ruin of Kings.

What if you were imprisoned for all eternity?

In the aftermath of the Ritual of Night, everything has changed.

The Eight Immortals have catastrophically failed to stop Kihrin's enemies, who are moving forward with their plans to free Vol Karoth, the King of Demons. Kihrin has his own ideas about how to fight back, but even if he's willing to sacrifice everything for victory, the cost may prove too high for his allies.

Now they face a choice: can they save the world while saving Kihrin, too? Or will they be forced to watch as he becomes the very evil they have all sworn to destroy.

       

   

*Excerpt*

2: The Lies We Tell 

Kihrin’s story 

Inside Vol Karoth’s prison, just after Kihrin’s death 

The ruins of the city where I died stretched out around me . . .

Perhaps calling it a ruin was unfair. It was not, in fact, ruined at all.

Nor was it where I’d died, in this lifetime or the last. 

It was a memory of such places, however. The city’s buildings stood proud and  tall, but no trees lined the streets, no grass decorated the verge. The buildings— inanimate, mineral, lifeless—lay pristine as they wrapped around dusty streets. I  felt a strange disconnection—as if the city only existed when I directly gazed at  it, dissolving and re-forming as I moved my field of view. I couldn’t help feeling,  staring at the buildings stretched out before me, that I inspected a corpse. Noth ing living moved around me. No scent—good or bad—perfumed the air. Even the  colors were washed out, faded. 

The daytime sky loomed a dull leaden gray less like cloud cover than a  physical cap over the heaven’s zenith. I couldn’t see the sun. I’m not sure a  sun existed. 

Only then did I examine myself. I wore funeral white, just a misha and kef  with sandals, but the sword at my belt surprised me. It wasn’t Urthaenriel.  It was, in fact, the thriss-crafted blade I’d worn for years while training on  Ynisthana. Nameless and serviceable, with not a drop of magic owed to its  existence. No realer than the clothes, the city, the . . . everything. 

Including me. 

My illusionary reality manifested in a hundred subtle ways, from the lack  of scent to the way I didn’t feel hunger, weariness, or discomfort. Possibly a  failure of imagination on my part. Or perhaps neither hunger nor exhaustion  were necessary to communicate this particular metaphor. 

A wasteland. Bereft of life, hope, or joy.1 

But I wasn’t alone here. Somewhere out there a lurked a god. A haunted,  tortured god. The whole reason I’d come. 

If only I had a clue where to find Vol Karoth. 

So I searched. I walked through deserted streets for endless spans. I had  no way to track time. No way to tell the passing of hours or minutes when no  sun moved across the sky, the seasons never changed, my body had no needs,  and counting to myself had long since grown tiresome. Oh, I had time. Time  to contemplate how arrogant it had been to assume I could just step inside Vol Karoth’s prison and right all wrongs with a finger snap. That I could fix all the  mistakes when I barely understood what was wrong. 

Then, after some interminable time, I felt him. 

Vol Karoth was a hollow place just under my sternum, like the gut twist of  loss that scrapes one’s insides clean and leaves only stupefaction in its wake.  He lurked in the back of my throat, in the unbidden sting of tears with no  cause, in the creeping sour taste of malice under my tongue. Vol Karoth was  empty and dark and endless. A bottomless cup that could never be filled. 

Before I found him, he found me. 

There was no warning before the ambush. One moment, I was walking  along, and the next . . . a surge of anger, of hatred, of darkness barreled to ward me. I parried the blow; even then, the force of his swing pushed me back  along the street. Stones splintered underfoot. A sound wave blasted outward.  Had this been the real world I would have been dead. 

Vol Karoth slammed into me, darkness and shadow given form. I couldn’t  see his face—he existed as nothing more than an outline—but I knew his ex pression would have been the most hateful and malicious scowl.

How dare you. 

His voice was a raspy whisper, a hollow echo bouncing down long, empty  streets. 

Now you return? Now you think to conquer me? You fool. 

“Wait,” I stammered out. “You wanted me back—” 

It was hard to explain oneself while fighting for one’s life. His sword strike  bounced past my defenses and sliced a line of brilliant pain along my arm.

Explain how you think I’m a mistake. Explain how you think you can control  me. Dominate me. How you can destroy me, take my place. Do you think I cannot  recognize betrayal? Was I not born in the fires of betrayal? 

So I had a problem. 

This wasn’t a child. This wasn’t someone injured and hurting, whose will  wasn’t strong enough to fight off a more spiritually mature opponent (myself,  I had naïvely assumed). Vol Karoth was a full-grown adult. A full-grown god.  A full-grown god who saw through all my plans, knew what I’d intended to  do, and laughed at my intentions. 

Is it fun, I wonder? To think yourself so much better than me? Than our  brother? But the two of you are not so different. 

He never stopped attacking. 

I wanted to ignore his words, but it was difficult when he began comparing  me to Rev’arric. “Don’t—it’s not like that.” 

Is it not? Don’t try to hide how you feel. You can’t. Not from me.

The next strike fell along my hip. I screamed as I stumbled backward.

I expected you to be better. His voice was grim, amused, hateful.

I didn’t know what to do. I was keeping him back, but only barely. I didn’t think I’d be able to do so forever. He seemed in no danger of becoming fatigued; I had the terrible suspicion it wasn’t possible for him to become fatigued. He’d stay here in this prison, with all this power, never tiring, never waning, all his hatred focused on me. Forever.

So I did the only thing I could: I ran.

1 But not, it would appear, of melodrama.

Praise for The Memory of Souls

“Lyons has cleverly taken the epic fantasy tropes of prophecy and lineage and stood them on their heads, all while delving deep into her multidimensional characters and spinning great battles with high body counts.” ―Booklist, starred review

Praise for The Ruin of Kings

"[A] jaw-dropping, action-packed story of betrayal, greed, and grand-scale conspiracy . . . Lyons ties it all together seamlessly to create literary magic. Epic fantasy fans looking for a virtually un-put-down-able read should look no further." ―Kirkus, starred review

"Rich, cruel, gorgeous, brilliant, enthralling and deeply, deeply satisfying. I loved it." ―Lev Grossman, author of The Magicians

“It was one hell of a ride. I gobbled it up and was hungry for more.” ―Glen Cook, author of The Black Company

“The Ruin of Kings is a fascinating story about a compellingly conflicted young hero in an intriguingly complex world.” ―L. E. Modesitt, Jr., author of the Recluse series

"A thriller plot of revenge and loyalty with a get-under-your-skin and keep-you-reading-all-night mystery at its heart. I loved it."―John Gwynne, author of Malice

"The Ruin of Kings revs up with the glitz of a high-speed, multi-level video game, with extreme magic and a teen hero with angst." ―Janny Wurts, author of The Curse of the Mistwraith

~~~~~

A Chorus of Dragons series:

   

(cover link to Goodreads)

        

  

~~~~~

**About the Author**

PHOTO CREDIT: MATTHEW & NICOLE NICHOLSON, DIM HORIZON STUDIO

Jenn Lyons’s childhood was spent in the safe havens of local libraries and bookstores, where even as her artistic talents began to develop she continued to nurture her love of science-fiction, fantasy, and noir detective stories. Being pale, not a friend of sunlight, and not much of a morning person, she set her sights on a career that would allow her to stay indoors or work at night (her favorite career pick was ‘cat burglar’) but she was devastated when she discovered that she would not, in fact, ever be able to marry Batman. Older but wiser, she turned from the life of a jewel thief to tackle a career as a graphic artist and illustrator, spending the next 20 years working in print media and advertising. A woman with too many hobbies (a list that included video games, fountain pens, table-top RPGs, LARPing, comic books, and costume design), Lyons was irresistibly drawn to making things up storytelling.

After making a dramatic shift in careers from graphic artist to video game producer, Jenn Lyons dedicated herself to writing. The Ruin of Kings and The Name of All Things, the first two books in Lyons’s five-book debut epic fantasy series from Tor Books, A Chorus of Dragons, are available now. The third book in the series, The Memory of Souls, arrived August 2020.

Jenn Lyons lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, Michael Lyons (who is also a writer — and may or may not be Batman), a bunch of cats, and a whole lot of tea.

Stay connected with Jenn Lyons

       

~~~~~

***The Giveaway***

Giveaway Open Internationally | Must be 13+ to Enter

- ends May 31, 2021

Note: Not Responsible for Lost & Damaged Prizes in Your Mail Box

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour Organized by

BLOG TOUR: The Memory of Souls by Jenn Lyons

Welcome to the Official Blog Tour for Author Jenn Lyons' The Memory of Souls, the third title in the A Chorus of Dragons series! Today, on our tour stop, we have an exclusive excerpt and a guest post topic, Ten Reasons to Read The Memory of Souls, to share! Oh, we can't forget the cool tour-wide giveaway! So... Be sure to check it out and grab your copy now! Follow the tour, HERE!

Genre:

Adult

Epic Fantasy

Series:
A Chorus of Dragons, #3

Publish Date:

August 25, 2020

Publisher:

Tor Books

Synopsis:

WHAT IF YOU'RE THE ONE WHO HAS TO DIE?

Now that the city of Atrine has been destroyed and Relos Var's plan to free the dark god Vol Karoth has been revealed—the end of the world is closer than ever.

To buy time for humanity, Kihrin, Janel, and Thurvishar must convince the king of the Manol vané to perform an ancient ritual that will strip the vané of their immortality—a ritual that certain vané will do anything to prevent. Including assassinating the ones bringing the news.

Worse, Kihrin must come to terms with the horrifying possibility that his connection to Vol Karoth is steadily growing in strength. How can Kihrin hope to save anyone when he might turn out to be the greatest threat of them all?

       

   

*Excerpt*

Seven blazing pillars of light slammed into the earth next to the confrontation. The men who had been standing ­there—witchhunters, wizards, soldiers—vanished. Thurvishar liked to think ­those men found themselves transported to a safe location, but he ­couldn’t verify that earlier, when I’d transported myself to the ruined city of Kharas Gulgoth, where Vol Karoth’s prison lay. Once was enough; I’d know ­those clouds and burning tang in the air anywhere. I’d survived before ­because three of the Immortals had personally shown up to escort me back out. That ­wasn’t ­going to happen this time.
          Teraeth picked up a rock and threw it in frustration. “Oh, this is absolutely the Korthaen Blight. Damn it. I’m wondering if the king even knew we’d arrived to see him.” The pack animals still wandered from scrub bush to scrub bush, forcing everyone to walk ­after the wagon if we ­didn’t want to lose it.
          “Perhaps not,” Thurvishar said, “but he soon ­will. I’ll open a gate and return us to the Capital. Once ­there, we can contact the Eight again and decide how to ­handle this next. Does that sound reasonable?”
          There was a beat of silence. Then I realized Thurvishar was waiting for us to give him permission. ⁶ “Yeah. ­Great idea. Do it.”
          “Please,” Janel added. She looked down at her red silk outfit with obvious exasperation. “Why ­couldn’t they have waited for us to be dressed properly before drugging us and dumping us out ­here?”
          The vané had been hospitable. That was the galling ­thing. No one had ever said, “No, go away.” They had instead welcomed us in; insisted we would see the king as soon as he returned to the Capital; and that in the meantime, we needed appropriate clothing for the court. At which point ­they’d spent the next week or so throwing sumptuous attire at us, mostly so we could wear something nice at all the parties ­they’d invited us to attend.
          Janel’s outfit resembled traditional western Quuros attire, but only to someone who’d never seen traditional West Quuros attire. So while she wore a raisigi, hers clasped tightly around her breasts and then fell in panels of transparent silk, which deepened from orange to dark crimson. Her kef pants had panels missing at the hips joined by a thin chain of interlocking gold salamanders. The outfit ­didn’t even faintly resemble outdoor attire, although at least she wore boots.
          That was better than Teraeth or I could claim. We wore sandals, in addition to silk vané robes so thin I found myself glad the fashion required layering them. ⁷ The only reason Teraeth wore anything that could be described as more than “formal jewelry” was ­because he’d wanted to make sure he could conceal all his knives.
          Teraeth sighed. “At least the silk is worth a fortune.”
          “I’d rather be naked and still have my sword,” Janel said.

⁶   When one has grown up knowing that disobeying an order means death, certain instincts become quite difficult to break.
⁷   In fact, the layering is optional. The vané ­don’t seem to have nudity taboos.

        

           Thurvishar held out his hands as he began casting the complicated spell that would get us out of this death trap. I ­wasn’t surprised our would-be killers—whoever they ­were—had assumed we ­wouldn’t be able to escape the Blight. ­There ­weren’t more than a hundred ­people in the whole world powerful enough to open freestanding gates—and most of those ­were god-kings. I can count the number of mortals who can pull off that trick on my hands with fingers left over. ⁸ 
          Fortunately for us, Thurvishar was one of ­those ­people. Dumping us into the Blight without food, ­water, or weapons would have been fatal if we’d been stuck ­there.
          Except nothing was happening.
          “Um, Thurvishar?” I cleared my throat to catch his attention.
          He ­stopped moving his fingers. “That . . .  didn’t work. Let me try this again—”
          “Thurvishar, look up.” Janel’s voice sounded soft and urgent.
          I looked up too. The clouds above our heads had turned from sickly yellow brown to silver gray, flickering with rainbow colors: reds, greens, violets. ⁹ The clouds seemed to be boiling.
          “What the hell is—?” Janel started to say.
          “I know that sky.” Teraeth’s eyes widened. “Everyone ­under the wagon! Under the wagon right now!”
          Janel grabbed the nearest person—Thurvishar—and pushed him down. At the same time, Teraeth yanked me down. I ­didn’t need the incentive, but I was happy to take all the help I could as I scrambled under cover.
          Something thumped to the ground nearby. A second sound followed the first, then another, ­until it echoed like violent rain.
          “What—” I turned my head to look.
          A sword slammed into the ground, point first, impaling itself. A dagger sank down next to it, vibrating. Then another. Not all the weapons fell point first, but anyone outside without cover could expect to be bludgeoned or stabbed to death in short order. As if to punctuate the point, animal screams rang out, cut mercifully short. ¹º Metallic sounds rang out all around as weapons crashed into metal already on the ground.
          “Swords?” I said. “It’s raining swords?” I remembered Morios, the dragon Janel had slain, but he’d breathed clouds of wind-whipped metal, more like razor-tipped metal shards. ­These ­were ­actual, honest-to-gods swords, complete with wire-wrapped pommels, cross guards, and blood grooves.

⁸   Kihrin does know rather a lot of ­people powerful enough to open gates, though, ­doesn’t he?
⁹   Tya’s colors. I find that fascinating.
¹º   It’s fortunate ­they’d died quickly, before they could bolt and drag the wagon away from us

   

         “This time,” Teraeth agreed. “At least it’s not raining acid.”
          “Or poisonous spiders,” Thurvishar added. “I’ve read an account—”¹¹
          “Yes, you read my account—”¹²
          “Kihrin!” Janel grabbed my misha and pulled me ­toward her, just as a sword found its way through a crack in the wagon’s wooden floor and sliced all the way down. It missed me by the finest of margins.
          It also meant I was pressed against Janel, which, to be honest, ­wasn’t unpleasant at all. Janel seemed to realize how provocative the new position was the same time I did and started to smile.
          “Are you hurt?” Teraeth asked.
          I looked back over my shoulder, past the sword, and met Teraeth’s eyes. He looked scared, which ­wasn’t an expression I remembered ever seeing on his face before.
          Teraeth’s worry shook me out of any temptation to flirt. I let out a small prayer to my goddess, even though I knew it ­wouldn’t do any good.
          Taja was busy. Or hiding. I’m not sure which idea bothered me more.

¹¹   Atrin Kandor brought troops into the Korthaen Blight the last time Vol Karoth woke. And then took them right back out again.
¹²   Yes, I suppose I had forgotten Teraeth actually is the reincarnation of Atrin Kandor.

Copyright © 2020 by Jenn Lyons

~~~

Ten Reasons to Read The Memory of Souls

1. Dragons. AND dragons fighting other dragons.

2. Because you need to find out what happens to Khaeriel and Therin after that ending in Book 1.

3. Because you need to find out what happens to Kihrin, Janel, Teraeth, and Thurvishar after that ending in Book 2.

4. Road trip(s).

5. I force tough men to talk about their feelings.

6. Because the ‘only one bed’ trope gets used at least three times.

7. Everyone is so thirsty.

8. Dad jokes. (In some cases told by actual dads.)

9. Footnotes

10. This is your only chance to see Relos Var drunk.

~~~~~

Praise for THE MEMORY OF SOULS

“Lyons has cleverly taken the epic fantasy tropes of prophecy and lineage and stood them on their heads, all while delving deep into her multidimensional characters and spinning great battles with high body counts.” ―Booklist, starred review

Praise for THE RUIN OF KINGS

"[A] jaw-dropping, action-packed story of betrayal, greed, and grand-scale conspiracy . . . Lyons ties it all together seamlessly to create literary magic. Epic fantasy fans looking for a virtually un-put-down-able read should look no further." ―Kirkus, starred review

"Rich, cruel, gorgeous, brilliant, enthralling and deeply, deeply satisfying. I loved it." ―Lev Grossman, author of The Magicians

“It was one hell of a ride. I gobbled it up and was hungry for more.” ―Glen Cook, author of The Black Company

“The Ruin of Kings is a fascinating story about a compellingly conflicted young hero in an intriguingly complex world.” ―L. E. Modesitt, Jr., author of the Recluse series

"A thriller plot of revenge and loyalty with a get-under-your-skin and keep-you-reading-all-night mystery at its heart. I loved it."―John Gwynne, author of Malice

"The Ruin of Kings revs up with the glitz of a high-speed, multi-level video game, with extreme magic and a teen hero with angst." ―Janny Wurts, author of The Curse of the Mistwraith

~~~~~

Start reading the A Chorus of Dragons series now!

  

(covers link to Goodreads)

        

  

~~~~~

**About the Author**

Photo Credit: MAatthew & Nicole Nicholson, DIM HORIZON STUDIO

Jenn Lyons lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, three cats, and a lot of opinions on anything from the Sumerian creation myths to the correct way to make a martini. At various points in her life, she has wanted to be an archaeologist, anthropologist, architect, diamond cutter, fashion illustrator, graphic designer, or Batman. Turning from such obvious trades, she is now a video game producer by day, and spends her evenings writing science fiction and fantasy. When not writing, she can be founding debating the Oxford comma and Joss Whedon’s oeuvre at various local coffee shops.

Stay connected with Jenn Lyons

      

~~~~~

***The Giveaway***

Giveaway is Open Internationally | Must be 13+ to Enter

- ends September 14, 2020

Note: Not Responsible for Lost & Damaged Prizes in Your Mail Box

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blog Tour Organized by