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Release
date: April 9th 2013Publisher: Delacorte Press
Pages: 464
Purchase: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | Books-A-Million
The sun never shines in the land of Anglavia. Its people in constant fear live within a sinister Mist created by their rulers, the cruel Agromond family. Nobody dares defy them. But things are about to change, for the youngest of them is not like the others…
Fiery-headed Jemma, the family misfit, is increasingly disturbed by the dark goings-on at Agromond Castle. On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, she discovers the reason why: She is not who she thinks she is, and the Agromonds have terrifying plans for her—plans that could kill her.
But saving her skin is just the first of Jemma’s ordeals. Ghosts and outcasts, a pair of crystals, a mysterious book, an ancient prophecy—all these gradually reveal the truth about Jemma’s past, and proclaim a destiny far greater and more dangerous than she could have imagined.
With her trusted friend, Digby, and her two telepathic golden rats, Noodle and Pie, Jemma faces enemies both human and supernatural. But in the end, she and her untapped powers might be the only hope for a kingdom in peril.
Lloyd Alexander meets Angie Sage in this suspenseful, magical page-turner.
THE FLAME IN THE MIST Deleted
scene:
It was fun to mull over
which deleted scene woud fit with the book as is, but wouldn’t reveal too much.
Here it is, with a brief explanation first.
In the first draft, Jemma
was at the castle for a whole week before attempting to escape. This scene
takes place in the yard outside the kitchens. Digby and his father are
delivering the weekly groceries. Jemma is good friends with him—she’s made to
work in the kitchens, and has looked forward to seeing him at delivery time
every week for the past 2 years.
So Jemma has been trying desperately to confide in him about the weird
goings-on at the castle. But Drudge, the Agromonds’ creepy old servant, keeps
hanging around. The last thing Jemma wants is for Drudge to hear and tell the Agromonds
about her fears—it’s essential to her survival that they think she’s unaware of
their dreadful plans for her.
“Dig,” Jemma whispered, when they’d reached the back of the cart. “Hang back, just for a moment. Please. I’ve got to talk to you when Drudge can’t hear.”
Digby nodded, seeming at last to realize that something was really wrong. He handed Drudge two bags of herbs—hemlock and wolfs’ bane, no doubt for next week’s dreaded Ceremony—then gave his father a basket of toadstools.
“Here, Pa, go with Drudge a mo’ and have a nice cuppa.” Digby winked at his father, who quickly caught on.
“Right you are. Come along then, Mr. Drudge.”
Drudge didn’t move. “Me…good…red,” he said, shaking his gnarled head, wisps of white hair framing the crackled skin of his face. “Help!”
The clock struck six-thirty.
“Oh no—we’re late!” Digby looked distraught as he heaved a sack of flour onto his shoulders. “Jem, I’m sorry. We’ve got to get these in and be on our way. We’re late already, an’ what with all this rain, an’ the roads bein’ muddy, an’ Pa’s back bein’ out an’ slowin’ us down, we won’t get home till nigh on midnight as it is. The triplets, they got to be fed, an’ Ma can’t manage, poorly as she is.”
Jemma’s heart sank. Any remaining hope of confiding in Digby washed like rain into the mud as they lugged the rest of the supplies into the kitchens, Drudge trailing them like a shadow all the while. If only she could hide in their cart and leave with them there and then! But with her aboard, the Wailing Alarm was sure to activate, and she wasn’t about to put her friends in danger. Besides, she still had to find her Stone; she couldn’t leave without its protection.
“See you next week, then.” Digby gazed at her for a few seconds, then smiled, leaned down, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Jemma’s heart flipped, then sank again. “Next week…” Next week would be the day after her birthday—and whatever the family had in store for her. Next week would be too late.
“Look after yourself, all right?”
Jemma nodded, feeling as though she was being sucked into quicksand.
The cart rattled out of the gate and melted into the Mist. The gate closed, and Pepper’s hooves faded into the distance, until all Jemma could hear was relentless rain.
Digby nodded, seeming at last to realize that something was really wrong. He handed Drudge two bags of herbs—hemlock and wolfs’ bane, no doubt for next week’s dreaded Ceremony—then gave his father a basket of toadstools.
“Here, Pa, go with Drudge a mo’ and have a nice cuppa.” Digby winked at his father, who quickly caught on.
“Right you are. Come along then, Mr. Drudge.”
Drudge didn’t move. “Me…good…red,” he said, shaking his gnarled head, wisps of white hair framing the crackled skin of his face. “Help!”
The clock struck six-thirty.
“Oh no—we’re late!” Digby looked distraught as he heaved a sack of flour onto his shoulders. “Jem, I’m sorry. We’ve got to get these in and be on our way. We’re late already, an’ what with all this rain, an’ the roads bein’ muddy, an’ Pa’s back bein’ out an’ slowin’ us down, we won’t get home till nigh on midnight as it is. The triplets, they got to be fed, an’ Ma can’t manage, poorly as she is.”
Jemma’s heart sank. Any remaining hope of confiding in Digby washed like rain into the mud as they lugged the rest of the supplies into the kitchens, Drudge trailing them like a shadow all the while. If only she could hide in their cart and leave with them there and then! But with her aboard, the Wailing Alarm was sure to activate, and she wasn’t about to put her friends in danger. Besides, she still had to find her Stone; she couldn’t leave without its protection.
“See you next week, then.” Digby gazed at her for a few seconds, then smiled, leaned down, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Jemma’s heart flipped, then sank again. “Next week…” Next week would be the day after her birthday—and whatever the family had in store for her. Next week would be too late.
“Look after yourself, all right?”
Jemma nodded, feeling as though she was being sucked into quicksand.
The cart rattled out of the gate and melted into the Mist. The gate closed, and Pepper’s hooves faded into the distance, until all Jemma could hear was relentless rain.
About Kit:
Kit Grindstaff was born near London, and grew up in the rolling countryside of England. After a brush with pop stardom (under her maiden name, Hain), she moved to New York and embarked on her successful career as a pop song writer. Kit now lives with her husband in the rolling countryside of Pennsylvania, where she still writes songs as well as children's books. The Flame In The Mist is her first novel. Twitter Chat:
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