![A young red haired woman is reading books with her dog surrounded by dragons [in a whimsical setting] [with a sense of adventure and wonder].](https://i0.wp.com/phanniebookdragon.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/img-N56SfdlDjsU4lfHo7JPzyvbN.png?fit=80%2C80&ssl=1)
Hello everyone! Can you believe that we’re already ten days into the new year? I certainly can’t!
Today is my stop in the “Unseelie” Tour and I had initially planned a review for you guys but because my silly brain didn’t manage to finish the book an excerpt needs to work for the moment. I can say however that I really enjoy the book so far!
DISCLAIMER: A review copy of this book has been sent to me by the publisher via Netgalley
About the book
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Six of Crows meets the Iron Fey series in this high-energy YA fantasy that follows the adventures of changeling Seelie and her twin sister as they embark upon the heist of a lifetime for a mystery legacy. As they evade capture by both human and fae forces, Seelie discovers more about her own Autistic identity, her magical powers, and love along the way.
Twin sisters, both on the run, but different as day and night. As one searches for a fabled treasure, the other, a changeling, searches for the truth behind her origins, trying to find a place to fit in with the realm of fae who made her and the humans who shun her.
Iselia โSeelieโ Graygrove looks just like her twin, Isoldeโฆ but as an autistic changeling trying to navigate her unpredictable magic, Seelie finds it more difficult to fit in with the humans around her. When Seelie and Isolde are caught up in a heist gone wrong and make some unexpected allies, they find themselves unraveling a larger mystery that has its roots in the history of humans and fae alike.
Both sisters soon discover that the secrets of the faeries may be more valuable than any pile of gold and jewels. But can Seelie harness her magic in time to protect her sister, and herself?
Title – Unseelie
Author – Ivelisse Housman
Genre – Young Adult Fantasy
Release date – January 3rd, 2023
Excerpt
chapter one
On the night the faerie world collides with ours, anything can happen and wishes come trueโand right now, Iโm wishing I had stayed home.
I struggle to keep up with my twin sister as we push our way through the crowd. Revelnox is summerโs closing act, when day and night balance perfectly on the edge of the world. In the smaller villages, where people lead calm, productive lives in predictable patternsโback home, I think, with an ache in my ribsโthis means that children stay up late, bonfires are built in the middle of town, and offerings are left on the edges of the fields to prevent unwanted faerie mischief. There are special cakes, and the liquor flows freely, but all the merriment is a thin muzzle over the sharp teeth of the truth. You donโt go anywhere alone, and you donโt go into the forest.
Not if you want to come back, at least.
But here in the cityโAuremore, the shining jewel between the forks of the Harrow Riverโhere, itโs something else entirely.
I have to fight not to lose my sister in the crowd of faces and languages blending into a waterfall of color and sound. Children call to each other in the streets, even though it canโt possibly be safe for them to be out alone on this of all nights. But theyโre not really alone: it seems like everyone in the city is out, despite the late hour. The ever-present sound of voices crashing over each other is even louder tonight, volume rising with peopleโs spirits (and the amount of spirits theyโve consumed). Music threads through it all, sparkling and twanging in the air.
The bonfires are the same here at least, adding their roar to the commotion. Each city district has its own, and here in the center of Market Square, everything is golden and cheerful, surrounded by dancers and the sweet smell of candies for sale. Here, they welcome the Seelie, the faerie realm of good intentions, of order and politenessโor, at the very least, neutrality. Pouches of herbed salt meant to ward off evil swing from the torches that keep the darkness at bay and paint the whole block in brilliant amber.
I seriously doubt that the faeries of the Unseelie Court will be scared off by what is essentially steak seasoning, but itโs a nice thought.
We squeeze past a man wearing an elaborate mask with goat horns curling around the back of his head. Thatโs the other thing about the Revelnox celebrations here: everyone is masked, and no one dares to utter their own name. For just this one night, faeries walk among usโand the less power they can claim over you, the safer you are.
Itโs all fun and games for the faeries, whose visits to the Mortal Realm are usually limited to one human at a time, in remote forest glens or moonlit crossroads. For changelings, the not-quite-human-but-definitely-not-faerie in-betweens, walking among mortals is less of a novelty. We grow up with humans, hated for being almost like them but not enough. Most of us find our way back to the faerie realms by adulthood. Iโve never felt that pull, though. My magic and I have what you could generously call a troubled history, and if Revelnox is the closest I ever get to the faerie realms, itโll be more than close enough.
Alsoโand on a potentially unrelated noteโitโs my twinโs seventeenth birthday.
I canโt exactly say that my twin and I have the same birthday, since Iโm not sure if changelings even have birthdays. I donโt think anyone actually knows where we come from. For all I know, my essence might have been floating around in a cloud of faerie dust for centuries.
Or maybe I formed out of thin air the moment a faerie lifted Isolde from her cradle, stiletto fingernails digging into her soft, honey-colored skin, to exchange her for me.
I donโt know.
What I do know is that ever since our parents adopted me, Isolde and I share a birthday every year. Back before it was just the two of us on the run, we always had a homemade cake and presents, and we would all sit outside in the grass and watch the stars come out. It was usually uncomfortable, near the end of summer when everything turns sickly sweet and starts to crumble, but that didnโt matter.
It was still my favorite day of the year. And often, that day happens to fall on Revelnox.
The man in the goat mask meets my eye, flashing white teeth at me before turning sharply and disappearing into the crowd of disguised faces.
I shiver, clinging tighter to my sisterโs hand.
โToo loud?โ Isolde murmurs, pressing close to my side. She wears all-black, as usual, from the tips of her scuffed boots to the roots of her glossy black hair.
I shake my head. It is loud, but in a weird way the overwhelming sensations are soothing. My boots feel more solid on the cobblestones, my body more real and alive than ever. Even the heatโof all the bodies, the radiant glow of the fire, the last warm breezes of summerโmakes me feel strangely at ease, instead of just sticky and miserable.
No. If I seem on edge, itโs thanks to the buzz of magic in the air, a living hum that I donโt hear so much as feel, like a mosquito hovering at the back of my neck. I donโt think Isolde can sense it.
Magic is technically a part of me, fizzing in my faerie blood, and this is the one night when it isnโt considered dangerous and wrong. One night when itโs safe to be the thing I have to be every day. But maybe thatโs exactly why Iโm so terrified of itโbecause Iโve seen firsthand what magic does.
I stop short, jerking Isoldeโs arm back, as a woman with a small reddish dragon draped over her shoulders cuts in front of me, obliviously strumming a stringed instrument and belting out a song that would make the most seasoned escort blush.
My sister smashes into me, and we both pause to make sure our masks are still in place. Theyโre the cheapest we could find, a simple painted covering of the eyes and cheekbones held in place by a fraying ribbon. Iโm pretty sure theyโre made of rowan wood to protect against faeries, because mine is starting to itch abominably. Itโs a familiar itch, and for a second, Iโm ten years old again, being held down by a clump of other ten-year-olds while they take turns pressing charms of rowan bark and iron to my skin to watch it blister.
The moment passes, and I somehow maintain the willpower not to rip the mask off my face.
As I slide it back into place, my fingers twitching nervously over the surface, I pull Isolde closer. I lower my voice, even though itโs so loud in the streets that no one could possibly hear me anyway. โAre you sure this is a good idea?โ
โItโs Revelnox,โ Isolde reassures, her easy grin slipping back onto her face. โThe manor is empty, and everyone will be too drunk to even notice us. Weโll be long gone by the time they even realize we were there. Trust me, Seelie.โ
This is the part where I pause to say I know itโs an unfortunate nickname consideringโฆwhat I am. I wish that my parents had thought of that before Isoldeโs toddler tongue bumbled Iselia so many times that it stuck.
I hesitate, but Iโve never been good at saying no to my sister. The fight goes out of me with a rush of air before I straighten my shoulders and squeeze the soft, worn fabric of my favorite dress in my fist. โLetโs make it quick, then.โ
โQuicker than lightning,โ Isolde promises.
I glance up nervously at the clear, dark sky as glittering orange sparks drift up from the bonfire, dancing on the breeze.
As we wind our way upriver, the world flashes by in vignettes of chaos.
People push through the crowds in chains with their friends, arms linked, songs in the air colliding with the louder instrumental music. Some wave flags or toss flowers into the air. Yapping excitedly, a small dog chases at the heels of a group of kids who canโt be older than thirteen. The normally drab buildings are draped in garlands of rainbow-hued flowers and tiny pennant flags.
And then there are the faeries.
Even though faeries are an expected part of tonightโs festivities, they slip through the mortals almost unnoticed. But Iโm not quite human, either, and I keep finding my eyes wandering to balls of light floating over the crowds, or catching the smell of a meadow in the breeze of someone running past. I accidentally make eye contact with a woman wearing a feathered mask that covers from her cheekbones up to the crown of her head, then realize with a start that it isnโt a mask.
She winks, her blood-red mouth curving into a smile. Then she turns and blows a kiss towards a pair of revelers sitting at a wobbly wooden table in a brewerโs booth. Theyโre deep in the conversation of close friends, hands wrapped around their cups and separated by exactly the right amount of distance so their knuckles donโt brush. When the faerieโs breath washes over them, the speaker doesnโt seem to notice at first.
The listener, on the other hand, stiffens noticeably, something strange and hungry coming over their expression.
My heart stops. Faerie magic is dangerous, and I donโt know whatโ
Then the listener, without a heartbeatโs space to think, surges forward, crashing their lips into their friendโs.
I wince. Not deadly magic, at least.
Still dangerous.
The speaker freezes for a second, mouth still open in the shape of whatever word was cut off by their friendโs lips. Then they melt into the kiss, eyes closing blissfully.
I turn away, blushing hot enough that I worry my mask might burst into flames. The pair will probably regret this tomorrow. They donโt need my invasion of their privacy on top of it.
The feather-faced woman is still staring at me with wide, owlish eyes. Then she turns, and her eyes flash red like a catโs in the night. If I hadnโt been sure that she was a faerie before, I am now. That gleam in the darkness is the one thing faeries canโt change about their glamours.
The one thing that reveals a changelingโs true nature.
A cold breeze rushes over my skin, trailing chills as we let the scene fade behind us.
Isolde releases my hand, adopting an exaggerated drunken swagger. She crashes into someone with gold leaf painted over their cheekbones and lips and stops, slurring apologies and patting the personโs shoulders.
I roll my eyes as she falls back into step with me. โCanโt you at least save it until we get there?โ I mutter, barely moving my lips.
Isoldeโs hand slips out of her pocket, withdrawing a silver-plated compact mirror that she definitely didnโt have a few seconds ago. โWhereโs the fun in that?โ
โYouโre not here to have fun. Youโre here to get into the house, grab as much as you can, and get out, ideally without getting us arrested.โ I know my voice is coming out too harsh, but I donโt know how to fix it, so I settle for nudging her in the ribs with my elbow.
Isolde looks at me sideways for a moment, as if sheโs just now remembering the seriousness of our situation, before stuffing her loot back into its hiding spot with a chastened sigh.
I am not a pickpocket.
I donโt mean that in any kind of morally superior wayโthe truth is that even if I wanted to be a pickpocket, I donโt have the talent for it. Not like Isolde.
Isolde steals, grifts, pickpockets, and pawns. I keep us fed. We donโt need to be wealthy. We just need to survive until we can scrape together enough to reunite, to start over in a place where no one knows my face.
The noise of the festival fades as my fingers drift to the vial on a leather cord around my neck.
Our parentsโMami, a midwife, fierce and tough, with her homemade remedies for everything from a cold to stubborn zits; Papa, gentle and strong and always coming home from his studio with clay under his nails. They wouldnโt want this life for us. Theyโre good people. Honest people.
And they arenโt safe as long as Iโm around.
So we left three years ago to run from city to city, to steal and cheat and lie and scratch out a living, telling ourselves it would be justified. It would all be worth it when we had enough to make our family a new home. When I could walk down the street without flinching every time someone looked at me a little too long, worrying theyโd seen my face on a wanted poster somewhere.
Weโre coming up to the bridge now, boots pounding an uneven rhythm on the cobblestones as the crowd around us thins. The streets are too choked tonight for horses or wagons to force their way through, leaving extra space on the wide bridge. The sour smells of warm human bodies pressed together and beer subtly ebb away with every step.
This side of the bridge is plain, a smooth transition into the arch of stone over the sluggish water. Weeds poke up through the mortar and along the muddy banks. On the other side, garlands of golden paper flowers curl around the gleaming brass streetlamps, and an enchanted ball of light changes color every few seconds.
โLast chance to back out,โ I mutter, as a woman dressed in sky-blue silk passing from the opposite direction stares at us for just a second too long.
โYou worry too much.โ Isolde catches the woman staring and meets her gaze with a brilliant smile.
I move a half step faster, trying to look casual as the dazzling sights of Gilt Row come into view.
Gilt Row is less of a row and more of a blob-shaped tangle of streets draped in more opulence and wealth than anyone knows what to do with. The houses, like the rest of the city, are pressed tight together, tall and narrow, but here theyโre all white stone and pastel-painted brick, with gardens out front and just the right amount of emerald ivy crawling up their fronts.
Entire eight-story houses, each for just one family. Itโs hard to imagine what the buildings might look like insideโand I pride myself on my colorful imagination. And presiding over it all, flanked by iron gates and a perfectly manicured lawn, Wildline Manor looms three times the size of any of the others. Itโs huge, imposing, andโsince Leira Wildfall is sponsoring Gilt Rowโs Revelnox celebrationsโtotally empty. They might as well have painted a glowing target on it.
I havenโt spent much time in this part of the city. Among the perfectly maintained streets populated by well-dressed, respectable families, Isoldeโs and my rags stick out like thistles in a bouquet of exotic flowers. Someone who looks like we do canโt just walk around, without someone rich assuming theyโre up to no good and signaling the city guard.
To be fair, most of the time we are up to no goodโฆbut they have no way of knowing that.
But tonight is different. I can feel it in the air, smell it in the spaces between smoke and sugar and expensive perfume. Tonight, anyone could be a faerie in disguise, and everyone receives equal respect.
Well, besides a few wrinkle-nosed looks from people who think I canโt see them.
Despite that, the crowd we melt into on the other side of the bridge is still almost entirely made up of people dressed in dazzling garments of violet chiffon, tangerine velvet, indigo silk, pure white linenโevery color you could imagine and some you couldnโt. Gold gleams on throats and wrists and fingers, in embroidery along skirts and cuffs. Each mask is more impressive than the last, each custom-made and totally unique. Servants, dressed a bit more simply but still wrapped in the decadent midnight-blue velvet of Wildline Manor, mill around serving snacks and drinks.
I couldnโt possibly feel more out of place, with my plain mask, my simple slate-blue dress, my dusty brown boots. For someone like me, thereโs no point in throwing away money on a gown that would only be worn for one nightโno matter how enchanting it is.
My sister looks even more at odds with our surroundings than I do, but her aura of confidence doesnโt waver, even as tiny beads of sweat trickle under her mask. Isolde is the sweatier twin, but thatโs more because she wears layers of all-black every day, no matter the weather, than because of any innate dampness.
Even though weโre identical, I canโt remember a time that we could be mistaken for each other. It seems laughable that the fair folk thought leaving me in her place would be an equal trade. Our olive skin and dark brown eyes are exactly the same, but her wavy hair never falls any longer than her shoulders before she chops it off, and I keep mine in a thick braid tied off neatly at the small of my back. Our identical heavy eyebrows look bold and dashing on her face but almost always seem troubled on mine.
I can feel them bunching into that concerned twist now. โDo you know where youโre going?โ My fingers twist in my apron, fidgeting as always. Weโve been planning this for weeks, but weโre not exactly criminal masterminds. Once Isolde sneaks in the servantsโ entrance, I donโt think thereโs much of a plan beyond grabbing anything that looks shiny.
โRelax,โ she replies, taking a flower from a girl dressed in petal-pink handing out bunches to everyone who passes. โJust stay on the lookout, and try to enjoy yourself. This isnโt the kind of party you get to see every day, you know.โ The flower twirls between her fingers before she drops it, leaving it to get crushed underfoot.
We follow the trickle of people towards the center of the district and their bonfire. Itโs getting late now, and most of the children have been sent to bed.
Which means the party is really getting started.
โWho hereโsss tryโnโa getโฆa wisssh granted?โ shrieks a faerie, so drunk on Leira Wildfallโs liquor that they donโt even bother hiding the shimmering wings sprouting from their shoulder blades. A shout ripples through the crowd around them. Then thereโs a flash of pearly light, and when it fades, the faerie is gone. A stack of gold coins remains where the faerie had been standing, and I donโt know if they intentionally vanished or were banished back home by some Seelie rule about not getting drunk off your ass and offering wishes to mortals.
As people frantically dive for the coins, I lean to speak into my sisterโs ear. โThose coins are super cursed, right?โ
โOh, incredibly cursed. For sure.โ She squeezes my hand and chuckles. โYou know what youโre supposed to do, right?โ
I groan. My job, of watching the servantsโ entrance and drawing the attention of any guards who might get suspicious, was supposed to be easy. โHow can I possibly top that distraction? What goes on around here? Thereโs something wrong with rich people, Sol. That would have ended the night across town.โ
Well, across the bridge. All the way across town, in the Twilight District, Iโve heard rumors that they celebrate the holiday with much more unsavory magic, and a few cursed coins would probably be the least of their problems.
โYouโll figure something out.โ Isolde grins, slipping away from me. โSee you in an hour.โ
Then she turns her drunken saunter back on with all the ease of the highest-quality actor and stumbles into the crowd, ready to dip her hands into their gilded pockets.
Excerpted from Unseelie by Ivelisse Housman, Copyright ยฉ 2023 by Ivelisse Housman. Published by Inkyard Press.
Where to buy?
Bluebird Bookshop: https://www.bluebirdbookstop.com/product-page/pre-order-signed-copy-of-unseelie
Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/unseelie-ivelisse-housman/18423458?ean=9781335428592
Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781335428592
Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9781335428592?AID=10747236&PID=7310909&cjevent=4ea4f71d821211ed80998de50a82b82a&cjdata=MXxOfDB8WXww
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1335428593/keywords=fiction%20for%20teens?tag=harpercollinsus-20
About the author
Ivelisse Housman is a Puerto Rican-American author and illustrator. At all seven schools she attended throughout her childhood, she was infamously โthat kid who gets in trouble for reading during class, but refuses to stop.โ She was diagnosed with autism at 15, which made everything make a lot more sense. When she isn’t writing, she can be found making soup or tending to her houseplants. She lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains with her high school sweetheart/archnemesis and their two rescue dogs.
Author links:
Author website: https://www.ivelissehousman.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ivehousman/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ivehousman
