Cover art by Geoff Taylor shows a dragon smashing a tall ship to pieces far out to sea. In the foreground a man wrestles with the tiller of a small boat. A woman is trying to save an unconscious man about to fall into the foaming waves.

Some opportunities ought to come labeled ‘too good to be true’. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I. 
The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript traveling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special— unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?
Cover art by Geoff Taylor shows a dragon smashing a tall ship to pieces far out to sea. In the foreground a man wrestles with the tiller of a small boat. A woman is trying to save an unconscious man about to fall into the foaming waves. Some opportunities ought to come labeled ‘too good to be true’. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I. The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript traveling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special— unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?
Cover art by Geoff Taylor shows a dragon smashing a tall ship to pieces far out to sea. In the foreground a man wrestles with the tiller of a small boat. A woman is trying to save an unconscious man about to fall into the foaming waves.

Some opportunities ought to come labeled ‘too good to be true’. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I. 
The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript traveling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special— unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?
Cover art by Geoff Taylor shows a dragon smashing a tall ship to pieces far out to sea. In the foreground a man wrestles with the tiller of a small boat. A woman is trying to save an unconscious man about to fall into the foaming waves. Some opportunities ought to come labeled ‘too good to be true’. Of course, ten years of living by my wits should have taught me how to spot them. You would have thought so anyway; so would I. The night this particular opportunity came to wreak havoc in my life, I was sitting comfortably full of good dinner in front of a roaring fire, and listening to the wind tearing at the snug inn. I was wearing my usual nondescript traveling clothes and, with any luck, the other patrons in the tap-room would have been hard put to decide my age, sex or business. Being unremarkable is a talent I cultivate: middling height, middling build, nothing special— unless I choose differently. Feet up on a stool and hat over my eyes, I may have looked half-asleep, but mentally I was pacing the room and kicking the furniture. Where was Halice? We had been due to meet here four days ago and this unplanned stay was eating into my funds. It was unlike her to be late for a meet. On the few occasions it had happened before, she had always got a message through. What should I do?
In the background of this image is a lush, poisonous-looking garden of deep green leaves and red and black berries. Near the top of the image is this text: Really, if she’d known how much protocol was involved in being a famously wicked queen, she might never have overthrown her uncle in the first place.
Beneath that text is the beautiful blue British cover of Wooing the Witch Queen, by Stephanie Burgis. The illustration shows a man in a cloak riding headlong through the night towards an ominous castle with an illuminated, crowned female figure in its doorway and bats flying overhead in the moonlight. A potion vial surrounds that central image and is further framed by leaves and branches. Crows sit on the branches, and a tagline reads: Love can be a witch. A blurb from Sangu Mandanna reads: ‘Warm and lovely’.
In the background of this image is a lush, poisonous-looking garden of deep green leaves and red and black berries. Near the top of the image is this text: Really, if she’d known how much protocol was involved in being a famously wicked queen, she might never have overthrown her uncle in the first place. Beneath that text is the beautiful blue British cover of Wooing the Witch Queen, by Stephanie Burgis. The illustration shows a man in a cloak riding headlong through the night towards an ominous castle with an illuminated, crowned female figure in its doorway and bats flying overhead in the moonlight. A potion vial surrounds that central image and is further framed by leaves and branches. Crows sit on the branches, and a tagline reads: Love can be a witch. A blurb from Sangu Mandanna reads: ‘Warm and lovely’.
In the background of this image is a lush, poisonous-looking garden of deep green leaves and red and black berries. Near the top of the image is this text: Really, if she’d known how much protocol was involved in being a famously wicked queen, she might never have overthrown her uncle in the first place.
Beneath that text is the beautiful blue British cover of Wooing the Witch Queen, by Stephanie Burgis. The illustration shows a man in a cloak riding headlong through the night towards an ominous castle with an illuminated, crowned female figure in its doorway and bats flying overhead in the moonlight. A potion vial surrounds that central image and is further framed by leaves and branches. Crows sit on the branches, and a tagline reads: Love can be a witch. A blurb from Sangu Mandanna reads: ‘Warm and lovely’.
In the background of this image is a lush, poisonous-looking garden of deep green leaves and red and black berries. Near the top of the image is this text: Really, if she’d known how much protocol was involved in being a famously wicked queen, she might never have overthrown her uncle in the first place. Beneath that text is the beautiful blue British cover of Wooing the Witch Queen, by Stephanie Burgis. The illustration shows a man in a cloak riding headlong through the night towards an ominous castle with an illuminated, crowned female figure in its doorway and bats flying overhead in the moonlight. A potion vial surrounds that central image and is further framed by leaves and branches. Crows sit on the branches, and a tagline reads: Love can be a witch. A blurb from Sangu Mandanna reads: ‘Warm and lovely’.
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