Today, I have author H.L.Moore in the interview chair. We’re discussing her latest series release Death’s Embrace, a m/m fantasy romance. Don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter giveaway.
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1. Hi, H.L. First off, readers have an idea of the writer you but what about the everyday you? Can you share about your personal life?
H.L.: It’s definitely not as interesting as my online/writer life! I work full-time as a public servant in Sydney, Australia. I love long bushwalks, beach-going, and playing video games. I’ve managed to keep some potted succulents alive for the past two years, which I consider to be a greater success than writing two books. I do not have pets at the moment, but if I could keep a cat and a dog in my one-bedroom unit, I absolutely would. I’m currently at that stage in my life where I’m obsessed with making all of my furniture match. Thirteen-year-old me would be horrified.
2. I’ve been perusing your Goodreads page and see you are drawn to romance with death as the focus or even in the title. Can you share why? This is most interesting.
H.L.: I didn’t even realise this was a pattern! It’s probably a coincidence due to recent reading choices (I’ve signed up to do some book reviews), but I’m extremely amused, as it definitely fits with my taste in literature. I love genre-fiction with romance on the side – specifically, I love reading about the journeys of well-crafted characters, whose love lives are an addition to the plot. Often those journeys have a lot to do with danger and flirting with death, so to combine that with the hope and salvation of love, always makes for an enjoyable reading experience for me.
3. Your latest release is the Death’s Embrace series. Can you tell me what inspired you to create this series, and why?
H.L.: It was thematically inspired by a fanfic series I wrote in 2017 for the video game Dishonored. I’d just completed one of the stories when I was struck by the urge to create something of my own, something original, that evoked the same sort of emotional highs I received when playing the game and writing my fanfic based on the game. Obviously, Death’s Embrace is entirely original, from the characters to the setting to the plot to the romance. But the themes of loss, struggles against a corrupt system and personal atonement resonated so strongly with me that I found myself channeling them through my characters, and the story just took on a life of its own.
I was also inspired – or spitefully inspired? – after reading multiple m/m romance books where the characters had to deal with homophobia, or were shocked to find themselves attracted to the same sex, or where women were non-existent or completely sidelined in the narrative. I wanted to challenge those tropes in m/m novels by creating a world where queerness is entirely normalised; by following a main character who was completely comfortable with his own bisexuality; by immersing this m/m romance in a world where women are present in every aspect of their lives, and whose lives to do not revolve around the men. The Death’s Embrace books might follow a main m/m romance, but the series is very much for the queer community at large.
4. Can you share your writing process through both books?
H.L.: I always start off with a plan, but I seldom stick to it but for the broadest of strokes. Heart Of Dust started off with a half-baked concept, a handful of characters, and no world building whatsoever. I really just let the main character, Doran, take the wheel – I found that once I started writing him, the plot fell into place. I’m a character writer, first and foremost – so when I find myself in a spot of trouble with the planning, I set that aside and I create a new character to ‘solve’ the plan instead.
Soul Of Ash happened much the same way. I did have a “plan” for it, but that plan derailed very quickly when I became more familiar with Nathaniel’s (the other main character) voice.
That said, I don’t leave planning aside entirely. I have set things up in the first book, that won’t get paid off until more books in the series have been completed. I do have an overall plan… but the journey to the destination might take a few detours on the way there! It depends on where the characters lead me.
5. Which novel is your personal favourite in the series so far?
H.L.: Of the two, definitely the second book – while I loved the experience of writing Heart Of Dust, Soul Of Ash started with several important character and plot revelations already out in the open. I needed those already revealed in order to explore Nathaniel Morgenstern’s mysterious past more freely than I could in the first book, where the mystery was paramount to Doran’s journey. Soul Of Ash was in some ways a more difficult writing experience, but definitely a more rewarding one – it challenged me as a writer to develop my skills.
6. Let’s talk about the main characters for the series. What do you love most about Doran and what makes you want to shake him?
H.L.: Hoo boy. There is a lot I love about Doran. I love how utterly open Doran is – with his emotions, his words, his capacity for love and the depth of his compassion. I love that he isn’t perfect – he’s struggled in the past with bad decisions, addiction, and impulsive behaviour that’s gotten him into trouble in the past, and will continue to get him into trouble. But most of all, I love that he is a bisexual male character who is completely and utterly comfortable with his own sexuality. There is no shock when he finds himself drawn to Nathaniel, no questioning, no denial.
What makes me want to absolutely shake him is how dumb he can be sometimes. But that is, also, why I adore him.
7. The same for Nathaniel. What do you love most about him and what makes you want to shake him?
H.L.: The thing I love most about Nathaniel is how sometimes someone will ask him a question, and he will spend three or four paragraphs introspectively considering the question from an historical, personal, philosophical and moral point of view – then he’ll give them a one-word answer. I mean, there are a lot of other things I absolutely love about him (like how wry he is, both in dialogue and internal monologue), how tender and compassionate he is, but what makes me want to shake him is his seemingly endless capacity for self-punishment and suffering. Just let yourself be happy, Nate!
8. Without giving away any spoilers, what was your favourite scene to write for each book, and why?
H.L.: In Heart Of Dust, my favourite (non-spoiler) scene is in Chapter 2, when Doran wakes up in Nathaniel’s apothecary the morning after collapsing and bleeding all over the floor, and meets the man who saved his life properly. It isn’t love at first sight… but there’s an undeniable bond.
In Soul Of Ash, it’s probably any scene involving Gerald, Nathaniel’s 16-year-old assistant with an attitude. The boy is an absolute delight.
9. What makes the Death’s Embrace series different from other m/m fantasy romances?
H.L.: The importance of women. I was inspired to start writing thanks to C. S. Pacat’s Captive Prince trilogy, which I absolutely love, but I was also in some ways channelling my criticism of the sheer lack of female characters in that trilogy into my own writing. I often read m/m romances where everyone is male and every male is gay, but there will perhaps only be one or two (at the most) female characters in the background, and they are usually only there for the advancement of the male characters or adversaries to the m/m romance. I wanted to tell a story where the m/m romance did not come at the cost of women. We meet multiple complex women in the series, like Doran’s best friend Tsa Lien, who has a mysterious past of her own; Grace, Doran’s daughter, who whether the readers like it or not has a good reason for cutting her father out of her life. Doran’s late wife Rhian is the very catalyst for the story, and her presence, or lack thereof, is felt in every single page. Women are in the background and everyday scenes as miners, as fellow gang members, as city guards, as shop owners and customers, as important political players and as mere citizens. None of this detracts from the Doran/Nathaniel romance; if anything, I’d argue that it enhances how these two men find each other. They have rich lives outside of each other, and those rich lives include women – mothers, sisters, wives, daughters, friends, colleagues.
10. If a reader asked you why they should read the series, what would you tell them?
H.L.: I’d say… if you are interested in an accessible fantasy novel with compelling characters and a slow-burn m/m romance, featuring men with mysterious pasts and a diverse cast of women, POCs and LGBT+ representation, to consider giving the books a try.
11. You can only recommend one of your novels to a new reader. Which would you choose from the books you’ve written so far?
H.L.: Heart Of Dust, as Soul Of Ash can’t be read without it.
12. Which novel was your personal favourite to write?
H.L.: Soul Of Ash. While it took me a lot longer to figure out its direction, once it clicked into place, I couldn’t have been more excited to write it and share it.
13. What can we expect from you in the future?
H.L.: The third book in the series, currently titled Throne Of Lies (though of course, titles are always subject to change!) and a sci-fi series with a slow-burn lesbian romance.
14. What do you enjoy most about writing?
H.L.: The way it allows me to escape to a world of my own making, where I can interact with characters I love and explore situations and emotions I would never encounter in my day-to-day life.
15. What do you enjoy least about writing?
H.L.: The actual writing. Why can’t I just beam the story out of my mind into a document!
16. I enjoy doing random questions, so humour me:
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- What’s your favourite movie?
Just one?! All right… it’d have to be Hot Fuzz. - What book is currently in your e-reader?
Axiom’s End by Lindsay Ellis. I’ve been a fan of Lindsay since 2010, and I cannot wait to start reading her novel. - Who’s your favourite musical group?
ABBA. - What song puts a smile on your face?
Slow Hand by The Pointer Sisters.
- What’s your favourite movie?
17. Is there anything else you’d like to add?
H.L.: Just that I’m grateful for the opportunity to be interviewed. Thank you so much, and I hope I’ve made at least a few readers curious to check out Death’s Embrace!
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Doran had a problem, and it wasn’t that he’d been stabbed.
Doran Ó Seanáin, leader of the Black Lung Gang and former Foreman of the mines, is at war with Iole’s City’s tyrannical ruler for his brutal treatment of the miners. Doran is losing, badly, and he fears his relationship with his estranged daughter Grace will never heal following the death of his wife two years prior.
Nathaniel Morgenstern, an apotheker with a mysterious past to whom Doran owes his life, seems to offer salvation. But Nathaniel has secrets of his own that may just tear them apart before they have a chance to give in to each other.
The stories are best read in order.
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Book Title: Heart of Dust
Series: Death’s Embrace #1
Author: H. L. Moore
Publisher: Self- Published
Length: 59 000 words / 250 pages
Release Date: February 19, 2018
Genre: Fantasy M/M Romance
Trope: Slow Burn
Themes: Revolution, Addiction
Heat Rating: 2 flames
Doran had a problem, and it wasn’t that he’d been stabbed.
Blurb: Iole City is in turmoil. Doran Ó Seanáin, leader of the Black Lung Gang, is determined to bring the Lord Archon – Iole’s tyrannical ruler – down for his brutal treatment of the miners. But Doran has more to deal with than getting stabbed, a stalemate and city-wide lockdown that’s seeing his gang of ex-miners being slowly starved out of their base – his daughter Grace has turned against him, and the weight of his wife’s death two years prior haunts them both.
Things start to look up when he’s inexplicably drawn to Nathaniel Morgenstern, the apotheker with a mysterious past he owes his life to, but Doran is in way over his head. The fate of the mines hangs in the balance; the clock is ticking and the Archon is closing in. Doran’s plan to break the cycle may very well be his last.
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Everything hurt.
This wasn’t out of the ordinary; Doran was accustomed to waking up any given morning with his head aching, his body bruised, his feet swollen, his bones fractured and muscles torn. But this time he couldn’t move, not even to open his eyes. He dimly wondered if he was hungover.
He felt someone prodding at his body. He grunted and forced his eyes open, regretting it immediately at the resulting implosion of pain in his head.
The culprit was a young man – a child, really – who yelped and jumped backwards with wide eyes, clutching a bandage.
“Sir?” the boy called out, over his shoulder. Doran flinched, the sound reverberating through his skull, and clenched his eyes shut again. “Sir, he’s waking up.”
“Leave us.”
The boy’s voice responded. “But –”
“Gerald.”
A heavy sigh. “Yes, sir.”
He could hear murmuring somewhere in the background but he couldn’t focus on the words. Instead he let the subtle but heady scent of pinewood and elderflower calm his aching mind.
There were light footsteps – the boy, Gerald – shuffling indignantly up a staircase somewhere to the right, then there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing.
His mind was so sluggish that an eon and a half had passed by the time he felt a cool glass press gently against his lower lip. A strong hand moved under the back of his head to guide him up. He managed a few sips of sweet, crystalline water. It tasted like it was sent from Lady Sionann herself to soothe his parched and aching mouth.
Doran swallowed, then gulped. Water spilled from his hungry lips and the glass was pulled away. He protested, or tried to, but the hand supporting his head guided him back down.
He realised he was lying on a table. It wasn’t hard enough to be stone, or cold enough to be metal. He could feel the grains of smooth wood beneath the tips of his fingers and against his skin, and his head rested on something soft. A jacket, perhaps, or even a pillow.
Consciousness filtered back to him, not quickly enough for his liking. Finally he managed to pry his eyes open.
The man leaning over him couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Doran, in his early forties perhaps, but if Doran thought he carried his own age badly, this man outrivalled him.
The stranger’s brown hair was peppered grey, completely silver at the temples; his face was hard, weathered and lined from years of trauma or poor life choices. A scar extended from the corner of his right eye to the middle of his cheek, destroying any chance of symmetry. Doran couldn’t call him good-looking, not by a long shot, but there was something incredibly striking about his features, in an offensive sort of way.
Doran swallowed thickly. “How long…” he tried to say, the words coming out in a harsh whisper.
“All night.”
The man had a low, coarse voice, like a miner after years of inhaling cigarette smoke and coal dust, but his words were soft.
“Shit.” Doran pushed himself to a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Early, still,” the man replied, pressing his hand to Doran’s shoulder. His hand was bound in a black band of mourning, not unlike the one Doran wore around his upper arm. “Move slowly. You don’t want to tear those stitches.”
“Stitches –?”
Doran glanced down at himself, and his memory of the previous day flooded back in an instant.
His hand found his side, and instead of a gaping wound his fingers met a firm bandage. He also couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of blood and – apart from his underwear – clothing.
“…You helped me,” Doran said.
“You were bleeding all over my doorstep.”
“Ah. Apologies.”
The man grunted, though whether this was in dismay or to brush off the apology, Doran couldn’t tell. “Stab wounds do that. You’re lucky it wasn’t deeper.”
Doran thought of Rhian, bleeding to death in his arms while their daughter wept. “Yeah,” he echoed. “Lucky.”
The man moved away, then returned with a bowl of steaming broth and two slices of bread. Doran accepted the meal gratefully. The broth was hot but not enough to burn his tongue. He found himself draining the bowl with desperate gulps, then attacking the bread like a starving wolf. It was better than anything he’d eaten in moons. The bread was warm and fresh, and he used it to soak up the last of the salt and rosemary broth from the bowl.
The man offered Doran a bundle of clothes when he was done.
“These should fit you,” he said, passing them over. “I had to burn yours.”
Doran’s heart seized, a spike of pure panic gripping his body. His hand shot to his chest to clutch for the chain around his neck, calming only when his fingers curled around the locket. He exhaled.
The man’s head tilted at the sudden movement, a small frown creasing his brow as the flash of bronze caught his eye, but the locket vanished underneath the shirt Doran hastily pulled over his body.
“Thanks.” Doran swung his legs over the edge of the table, wincing when he moved too quickly.
“I’d tell you not to engage in strenuous activity for at least a week, but I doubt you’ll listen and the Archon won’t care,” the man said. “Try not to reopen the wound when you’re working the mines.”
That told Doran two things – there had been no revolution, and the mines were still open.
He swallowed his disappointment. “What makes you think I’m a miner?”
“Hands.”
Doran glanced down at his hands, the cuticles of his nails and the skin of his palms permanently stained black. He clenched his calloused fists together and tried to keep his tone non-committal. “I hear it’s a hard life.”
“One I don’t envy.”
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Book Title: Soul of Ash
Series: Death’s Embrace #2
Author: H. L. Moore
Publisher: Self- Published
Length: 59 000 words / 250 pages
Release Date: February 19, 2018
Genre: Fantasy M/M Romance
Trope: Slow Burn
Themes: Addiction, Dark Pasts, Atonement, Forgiveness
Heat Rating: 2 flames
You can run, but you will never be free.
Blurb: Half a year after the events of Heart Of Dust, Doran Ó Seanáin now finds himself trapped between two worlds while belonging to neither. Held in contempt by the upper class for the turmoil he caused during Archon Bryson’s reign and resented by the miners for selling out, Leonora Darkwater’s bid to purchase the mines from the crown may be his salvation. But the offer is far more complicated than it appears, and the only person Doran trusts is the same man who threw his life into chaos.
Haunted by his past, held hostage by his debt to the Archon, and a slave to the poison that keeps him alive, atonement feels perpetually out of reach for Nathaniel Morgenstern. Too much damage has been done and too much has gone unsaid for time alone to heal the wounds between him and Doran.
Unfortunately, time is the one thing they don’t have as their lives collide once more. There are vipers in Arajon; the mines aren’t finished with Doran, and the sand in Nathaniel’s hourglass is running out.
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He was led down a mining shaft illuminated by coal-lit lamps, until they began pushing through a crowd of murmuring men and women held back by other miners. As Lien and Nathaniel were permitted to pass, he heard a hoarse, slightly damaged voice murmuring reassurances beside a derailed dumper tractor raised off the ground by a few metal supporting bars.
“Just hold on,” he heard Doran saying, from where he knelt beside the tractor. “He’ll be here any moment –”
“Doran,” Lien said.
Doran turned.
The past few months had seen Nathaniel frequent the mines to deliver his wares or receive miners in his shop where he would be asked to render assistance. Trivial things, usually – scrapes and cuts, the occasional broken bone or beginnings of black lung. But since that day in winter, Doran himself had not returned to the shop, nor had Nathaniel seen Doran in the mines, no doubt by design.
“Good, you’re here,” Doran said when he saw Nathaniel. It was a warmer welcome than Nathaniel had expected or hoped for. “Can you help her?”
On the sooty ground, a woman, with half of her right leg pinned under the full weight of the truck, groaned.
If a woman’s leg been crushed under a truck in the glistening streets of the Bronze, the citizens would probably have thrown up or fainted or run away screaming. At the back of the cavern, the doctor was surrounded by men and women of the mines. They didn’t flinch at the horror scene that was her crushed leg; they’d seen worse. By the looks on their faces, most didn’t expect a happy outcome.
“I’d say good morning,” Nathaniel said as he too knelt beside the doctor, “but you don’t seem to be having one.”
The doctor had dark skin, betraying her as a member of the upper classes like the Harringtons, whose ancestors had emigrated not from the Valley but from the equatorial nations of Pontecorvo and Kedrossos, south of Vaison. She wore a circlet bracelet depicting the Lady Sionann, like many of the descendants of secular immigrants who’d made their fortunes did, embracing the culture of Arajon and generating both prosperity and poverty, while earning the disdain of the Valley population who clung to the old ways out of tradition or spite.
The doctor assessed Nathaniel as he set his bag down and pulled out the sterile cloths and alcohol.
“I don’t recognise this man,” she said to Doran, one hand braced against the tractor looming over her head, the other gripping the thigh of her right leg. Sweat beaded on her clammy forehead. “I know every person who has – nngh – passed through medicine at the Conservatorium. Who is this?”
“This is Nathaniel Morgenstern,” Doran replied. “He’s an apotheker in Methyr – the one who produces our remedies. He’s the closest thing to a healer we could find, given the urgency.”
“Morgenst— an apotheker?” the doctor spat. She arched her neck to glower at Doran through her tears of pain. “You’ve b-brought me some Helvetian herbalist! Are you mad? Those backwards fools didn’t even learn how to wipe their asses until a century ago!”
She was oddly coherent for a woman whose leg was currently crushed under a tractor.
“My mother had surgical training in Haderach,” Nathaniel said. “Her people discovered hygiene thousands of years ago. You’ll live.”
If anything, the doctor’s expression turned fouler. “A mev,” she muttered.
Doran’s hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
“Mr Morgenstern is here to save your life,” he said, tersely. “Adrian, bring Doctor Lancaster some water.”
The one named Adrian scurried away.
Nathaniel felt Doran’s eyes burning into his shoulders as he examined what he could of the crushed leg under the twisted metal of the tractor. He cut the pant fabric from around Lancaster’s knee, and prodded his finger into the exposed flesh of the leg just below the kneecap, avoiding the bone jutting out like shards. There was no return of blood to her dark skin, and the doctor didn’t jerk with pain.
No blood flow. No feeling. The leg below the knee was as good as dead.
“Well?” Doran asked quietly.
Nathaniel shook his head. Doran uttered a soft swear.
“It would be better if the truck could be lifted so I can remove the limb safely,” Nathaniel said. “This area isn’t sterile.”
“We tried,” Doran said. “It’s too dangerous. The whole thing could collapse on her and crush her in an instant. She needs to be freed first before we can safely dismantle it.”
“All right.”
“How long will the procedure take?” Doran asked.
Nathaniel tilted his head at Lancaster. “Forty-odd years ago, the barber-surgeons in the Helvetic would hold down a patient and hack off their limb in thirty seconds. This was before numbing agents had been introduced, of course – time was of the essence for the patients, to minimise the pain so they wouldn’t go into shock. The wound would then be cauterised with either hot iron or boiling oil.”
“You barbarian,” Lancaster choked, “don’t you dare.”
Barbarian. That was a new one.
Surgery wasn’t his forte. He hadn’t lied – he could amputate limbs. In his time, he’d successfully amputated both limbs and heads, though the appendages usually belonged to different people and certainly hadn’t been for the purpose of saving their lives. If one was strictly speaking about life-saving amputation, his mother had taught him the technique and guided his hand through the procedure.
On cadavers.
When he was twelve.
“I can do it that quickly,” Nathaniel said, “but you’ll either bleed to death or die of shock. Caution over speed is preferable. Do you want to be unconscious, or numbed?”
“Numbed,” Lancaster said. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”
“Six times.”
“How many of your patients died?”
Nathaniel pulled out Professor Kaufman’s tome on Human Anatomy and Physiology from his bag and opened it to the chapter on amputation techniques. “They were all already dead.”
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H.L. is an Australian writer of LGBT+ fiction. She holds a Master of Arts in International Relations (2015) and a Bachelor of Media in Communications and Journalism (2012), both from the University of New South Wales.
She is a lesbian of Jewish and Middle Eastern (Egyptian) heritage, and is an #OwnVoices writer. She has been writing stories since she was old enough to hold a pen. She is the author of M/M fantasy romance novels Heart of Dust and Soul of Ash, Books 1 & 2 of the Death’s Embrace series.
She has had two short stories published: “The Collector” in the 2014 Future Times Award Collection A Tick Tock Heart, and “Entente” in the 2020 Twisted Stories Award Collection Just Alice.
Find H.L.: Blog/Website | Tumblr | Facebook | Twitter | BookBub | Goodreads
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Maggie Blackbird 