We are currently seeking representation for our novel, THE CITY OF GOLD AND FIRE. If you have any questions or if you’re interested in a copy of the synopsis, please contact us directly at email@example.com.
THE CITY OF GOLD AND FIRE is a multi-POV flintlock epic fantasy complete at 128,000 words with series potential. The story would appeal to both older YA and adult fantasy readers of SIX OF CROWS, EMBER IN THE ASHES, and THE BLADE ITSELF.
Two types of people exist in the city of Rykon: the Pures and the Branded, who are infused with magical energy and forced to bend to the whims of their Pure masters. Magic bestows great skills, yet carries the risk of injury or even death to all who use it.
One of the most celebrated Branded dancers in Rykon, Dahlia Vessa has spent her life in chains and dreams of only increased fame, for she’ll never be free. But when Dahlia’s masters purchase Astara DiRel, who confidently spouts off about friendship, freedom, and the women who rule her people on the mountainous southern continent, Dahlia realizes her masters bought more than a tiny Branded bodyguard—they bought her hope for the future.
When the two women’s magic reacts and Dahlia is accused of murdering a Pure noble, she’s thrown in prison. Fearing for Dahlia’s safety, Astara sets out on a rescue mission to save her. But within the prison walls, Dahlia encounters Kaine, who seeks to use her enhanced magical powers to exterminate the city’s Pures. Caught amidst an underground war to free the Branded, Astara must save Dahlia before she reluctantly joins Kaine to gain her freedom, or worse—she’s executed for her crimes.
Quick 60-word Pitch
In a city where magic is forced on slaves as a means of control, two women’s powerful connection to their magic attracts the attention of secret factions that seek to free all the city’s slaves: one through political subversion and clandestine operations, and the other by exterminating the masters.
Astara’s first instinct was to buckle, to let her weak knees collapse and her body slap against the stone bricks under her feet—to let the Ministers of the Arcane Order lop off her head for her disobedience. But instead, she shuffled forward, one bare foot after the other, and lumbered after the procession of dirt-covered, skeletal captives.
A mocking sliver of dawn yawned over the city’s roofs and drenched her pale, soiled skin a hazy shade of rose. She squinted and gritted her teeth, momentarily blinded by the bright light. Her sharp finger nails, dirt like black crescent moons jammed under their length, bit into her palms when she clenched her fists.
The sun might greet her this morning, but she did not expect to see it set.
Two Ministers of the Arcane Order, floor-length robes brushing the ground and telltale silver masks cloaking their features, marched her and the line of captives into the center of the square. Astara shifted her eyes to glance up at one, to stare at the strange, otherworldly foreigners that covered their entire bodies in leather or cloth. But she dare not twist her head. She’d learned already that any sign that the fight or flight had not already been beaten out of her would be met in more pain. The deep, crusted lashes on her back were evidence, and of the dozen or so captives, Astara’s were the only ankles encased in thick iron shackles.