Welcome, friend! Today I am chatting with author Hayley Reese Chow about her book, Time’s Orphan. Let’s welcome her and learn more about the book!

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Get to know the author: Hayley Reese Chow

Welcome Hayley! Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!

Hey Kriti! Thanks so much for having me! I’m a mechanical engineer by day, an author by night, and a mom of two small wild boys 24/7. Time’s Orphan is the last book of my young adult epic fantasy series, Odriel’s Heirs, and I also have a young adult science fiction adventure, Into the Churn, coming from Whimsical Publishing April 4^th! I’m a multi-genre author, but in most of my books you’ll find fast-paced action, high stakes, danger, and usually a side of sweet, slow-burn romance.

What inspired you to write this book?

This book has been a long time in the making. I started the Odriel’s Heirs series back in 2012 after I graduated college. I suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands and reading a TON of books, but I couldn’t quite find the story I was looking for. I wanted a fast-paced, epic fantasy adventure full of monsters, magic, hordes of the undead, and a sweet rivals-to-lovers romance. I wanted a book where magical powers weigh heavily on our heroes, where magic is difficult, and where the encroaching darkness is scary. So I wrote it! Although I imagined it as a series from the start, I honestly thought I’d only write that one book, but then the world completely sucked me in! I told my husband if even one person liked that first book, I would write the entire series. And now here we are!

How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?

If we’re truly starting with the first inkling, then we’d have to start with the creation of Time Heirs in 2012 in the first book of Odriel’s Heirs. But from when I wrote the first word to the last word of the first draft, it took me 60 days. Then from the first word to the publishing date will be around 11 months. This is actually the eigth book I’ve written, so I’ve streamlined my process a lot since that first one!

What makes your story unique?

When I first wrote Odriel’s Heirs, I wanted to bring the undead to high fantasy. Because they’re totally my favourite. But I also wanted to give a grimmer reality to the magical chosen ones—here, their powers physically exhaust them, they’re under a ton of pressure, and the responsibility has a way of stealing their childhood while also isolating them from their peers. I also wanted to write a series with stand-alone entries, where each adventure focuses on a completely different kind of magic and a different main character after large time gaps, so that each book has a very unique feel to it. Time’s Orphan is particularly fun in that it reads like a post-apocalyptic novel in a fantasy world. Throw in a dose of time travel, and things get really interesting!

Who would enjoy reading your book? 

I write for anyone looking for fast-paced young adult adventures that don’t flinch away from darkness, danger, or death, but prefers it with a PG-13 rating (as well as a side of sweet romance, of course.)

What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?

A running theme throughout many of my books is that we’re all stronger than we believe. That despite incredible odds, fears, and limitations, we can do so much more than we first imagined. That we can fail, and still try again. So, I hope readers will take away a little more faith in themselves and perhaps try to scale something they previously thought insurmountable.

Time’s Orphan is the third book in the Odriel’s Heirs series. Can you tell me about the series and your experience of writing standalone novels for it?

The idea for a series of standalone novels spanning generations started when I read Juliet Marillier’s The Sevenwaters Trilogy in high school. I loved how the time skips really showed the massive scale of the legends, and I also loved getting to see how my favourite characters from the first two books grew up and turned out. Then when I started the first book of Odriel’s Heirs and dove into the lore of three Heirs with very different gifts and personalities, I knew I wanted to write a book for the Dragon Heir, the Shadow Heir, and the Time Heir. I started the series with only a vague idea of each book, so I was really nervous about ending on the Heir of healing since they seemed less suited for epic battles, but honestly, in the end, I couldn’t have planned it any better than it turned out.

Do you have a favourite quote or scene in the book that you find yourself going back to?

Ooh. Bellaphia was a surprise favourite character of mine from Time’s Orphan, and I love this moment of hers:

“And when the moment comes to take the next step, you must remember we only have the choices we are given. Once you make your path, it cannot be unmade.”

I feel like we’re all constantly second-guessing ourselves, so I love the thought of making peace with our past so we can move forward.

What is something you have learned on your author journey so far?

I think one of the biggest things I’ve learned is that this isn’t a solo journey. I’ve made so many friends and learned so much from other authors, editors, proofreaders, book bloggers, audiobook narrators, artists, and now a small publisher… It really does take a village to publish a book, and I’m so grateful for all of their help and support.

What’s the best piece of advice you have received related to writing?

One of my favourite pieces of advice someone once told me was something like: “Writing is 90% thought and 10% getting it down on the paper.” As a mom with a full-time job, this totally revolutionized writing for me. Now instead of bemoaning the time I’m not at my laptop typing up words, I can really take advantage of all the in-between minutes of my day for “thought-plotting.”

If you could give a shout out to someone(s) who has helped in your writer journey, please feel free to mention them below!

Big shout-out to my critique partners, Caleb Bryant and Kayleigh Hahn, who have been huge pillars of support throughout this journey and who have helped me grow immensely as a writer. I think we’ve been swapping manuscripts for almost three years now, and I honestly don’t think I would’ve made it this far without them!

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Book Excerpt from
Time’s Orphan

5
THE LOST

The Rastgol crossed the flat, golden plains at a blistering pace, and yet, with few breaks and little sleep or food, the days passed slowly. The Rastgol hunted striped gazelbra and brush hares with impeccable bowmanship, and with every expert kill, Emara’s hopes of escape sank a little deeper. 

Weakened by fatigue and hunger, her mother’s words echoed in her mind over and over: No matter what happens, you must survive. At all costs. It had been Emara’s last promise to her, and the one that had kept her going throughout the endless horror of running and hiding—never quite able to resist the urge to heal those she could, even as it drew the monsters to them. But now that Faveno had fallen, she was running out of places to flee to. If she managed to escape the Rastgol and joined the Dragon’s army at Gyatus, would she be a blessing or a curse?

She’d always convinced herself she was helping people. Doing what she could. Fighting the darkness the only way she knew how. She thought of the headless girl staining the grass scarlet. But was she really making a difference? And if she wasn’t… then what did she do now?

Shad was her only solace, telling her snatches of stories when the Rastgol were too far away to hear—tales of the magi, the Heirs, and even the Dead King himself. He told her of how the magi, the original twelve denizens of Okarria blessed with yanaa and long life, had once shrouded the world with yanaa in a powerful yanai barrier. And how they all went into hiding after a human murdered Ivanora’s beloved sister, Bellaphia. He told her of how Idriel had shattered the yanai barrier and plunged the world into darkness. Of the human necromancer, Lord Valente Conrad, that had raised his own undead army, and how Ivanora, twisted with grief and hatred, had lent her power to his cause.

There seemed to be nothing he didn’t know or hadn’t seen, and even though Emara had little energy to contribute, his soft, measured voice comforted her through the long days and chilly autumn nights. When the cold seeped into her tattered cloak and breeches, he pressed his small warm body closer with the reassurance that help was on the way. But the days stretched into weeks, and on the fifteenth day they crossed Blackerd’s Canyon into the lands of the Dead King.

Emara’s heart sank as the canyon’s wooden bridge shrank into the distance behind them, and the southern tip of the Naerami mountains stabbed into the blue sky, which didn’t even have the courtesy to look bleak. They were officially in the Dead King’s land, and the chances that whatever help Shadmundar could muster would make it this far were almost zero. 

In a single night, a thick, almost palpable tension wound its way through the caravan. The Rastgol snapped at each other now, fighting and scuffling over nothing, and kicking and slapping her to go faster whenever they had an excuse.

But they were no longer the thing that Emara feared most. It was only a matter of time before the real monsters found them.

On the second day in the Dead King’s land, they stopped at a clear brook streaming down from the mountains along the edge of a forest. The sky had clouded into a gray sheet overhead, promising a dark, starless night, and intensifying the dread ever-prickling on Emara’s skin. 

First there was her familiar fear of the darkness—that the Dead King would rise whole and their sun, battered as it was, would never limp over the horizon again, leaving them to face the jaws of the Lost in the blackness. Then there were the newer, sharper fears pressing in. She wondered what would get them first here in these haunted lands. Would it be the Lost, or some man-eater of dark yanaa that had escaped its cage of Carceroc forest? Would one be better than the other?

She dismounted, weaving on her unsteady feet as she took in the changing colors of the tree’s leaves—hues of fiery red and honey gold mixed with vibrant fuchsia and deep mulberry.

A hard smack across her cheek sent her to the leaf-covered forest floor, her vision sparking with pain.

“Hurry t’up. We move fast t’here.”

Emara nodded, quickly moving to fill her flask and relieve herself. At least the skin beneath her wrists had toughened under the ever-present bonds. She was scrubbing the cold creek water over her neck when Shad’s hiss drew her eye to a nearby bush. “Here, Emara, quickly. You can eat these.”

The mention of food almost pained Emara, but she crawled over to the black cat amid the orange-leafed shrubs. “Where?” Her voice came out in a rasp, hoarse from disuse.

Shad dug into the damp soil with his small paws. “The roots. They’re tough, but you can eat them raw.”

Wasting no time, Emara drove her fingers down into the muddy loam, pulling up what looked like a long, purple carrot. “This? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Hurry, there’s more.”

Emara chanced a glance back at her captors before digging further, pulling up three more and stuffing them in her shirt before a hand seized her by the back of the neck.

“Stop wallowing in t’dirt.” With a rough shove, Baros sent her sprawling into the grass.

“Are we sure t’twig is worth all t’effort?” said another while Emara scrambled to get back on her horse. “Why don’t t’we just kill her already and say t’dead’uns did it?”

Baros pulled his blade, pointing it at the offender. “Then t’Dead King t’would blame us for losing her and send t’dead’uns after us. Besides we have—”

A wailing keen cut through the air, followed by another, and another, until the air practically swam with the high-pitched screams. Emara’s blood ran cold, her body stiffening. It was a sound no one ever forgot. The call of the hunting Lost.

And they were close.

“Mount t’up,” Baros bellowed.

Panic shot through Emara as she searched wildly for Shad. What if they left him behind? Emara flinched as his dark form leapt from the shadows into the saddle bag, and she sagged with relief—but only for a moment.

“We’re going t’try t’outrun t’em,” Baros said, the other Rastgol now gathering around him. 

“There’s not t’enough time,” the other called, angling his horse toward Emara’s, his eyes flat and cold. “Leave t’twig. T’fresh meat t’will draw them off.”

Still on foot, Baros slapped the flat of his blade against the advancing horse, and it snapped at him. “I’ll leave your fresh meat t’if you don’t—”

The pack of Lost barreled through the trees, shrieking with skeletal arms outstretched. Emara had heard that years ago the Lost had been but shambling skeletons with only half a brain, but with the Dead King’s growing power, they’d morphed into something else entirely. These Lost often started out as Hunters, the living Lost controlled directly by Lord Valente Conrad, the Dead King’s necromancing commander, before going astray or dying. Their bodies rotted slower, and they held more intelligence in their black pit eyes. Though their strength and speed weren’t quite a match for a human, they could wield weapons with a sort of clumsy accuracy and tended to clump in groups, destroying everything in their path. Beheading or burning were the two surest ways to kill them, but a strong blade through the eye could work with good aim. Which was rarely a problem one on one, but en masse, they were a nightmare.

These Lost wielded the short swords once favored by Austerden soldiers, threadbare clothes still hanging to their half-rotted bodies while the green mist of yanaa coiled around their exposed bones. They waved their blades with another piercing screech, mobbing the Rastgol in scrabbling throngs. Five leapt onto Baros, burying him beneath their collective weight as they hacked and clawed at any part of him they could reach. Another two on foot went down just as easily, but the mounted Rastgol fared better, separating Lost heads from shoulders with their long, curved swords.

As the creatures raced toward her in the chaos of yells and shrieks, Emara snatched the knife from her boot. The moment she’d waited for had come, but she had to be fast. In a breath, she sliced through her wrist bindings and cut her mule’s halter free from Baros’s lead. 

With the Lost charging toward them, she barely had to touch her heels to its sides before it took off through the melee, retracing the way they’d come. A surge of hope churned through Emara as they passed a Rastgol being dragged from his horse. With the clear road just ahead of them, they could head for the mountains and—

A knot of Lost dashed from the trees directly in front of Emara. Their blackened teeth jutted out of their unhinged jaws as they released an ear-piercing cry, and the mule reared with a primal scream. Emara fell from the animal with a yelp, rolling out of the way before the poor beast fell back, and the Lost dove onto it, their swords, teeth, and nails digging into its belly.

“Shad!” Emara cried out, searching desperately for him amid the crush of bodies.

A small black streak darted past her. “Don’t wait. Run, Emara!”

Needing no further encouragement, Emara scrambled to her feet, running blindly away from the carnage… and straight into a sneering Rastgol.

His scarred hand encircled her throat, closing off her windpipe. “So you thought t’you could get t’away.” Scrabbling for air, Emara stabbed at his arm weakly with the small knife, and he batted the blade away, lifting her off her feet. “Here you are, dead-uns. Here’s t’sweet meat t’you’ve been looking for.”

Black edged Emara’s vision as she thrashed and struggled, clawing at his scarred hands, but the Rastgol’s iron grip did not waver. He raised his blade, smile widening. “T’Time Heir’s been lost for years. Why don’t t’we keep it that t’way?”

Pure, unadulterated fear coursed through Emara as her lungs burned, and her limbs flailed wildly in the air. She kicked out one last time, her strength fading, and all she could think was that she hoped Shad had gotten away.

The sword whistled as it sliced through the night, but Emara didn’t even have the breath to scream. She closed her eyes, bracing for the blow, and with a rush of air, the clang of metal on metal rang through her instead.

The hand at her throat loosened, and Emara opened her eyes to see the blade hovering a hand’s width above her head, the Rastgol’s ruddy face contorted in confusion.

“What’s—”

He didn’t finish his sentence before a red line slashed across his throat, and he crumpled to the ground. Emara fell to her knees along with him, wide-eyed and gasping as she pried his fingers from her neck.

What in the skies?

A roar from the tree line drew her gaze to what looked like a huge bear with a wolfish head running upright like a man in breeches and boots. With another howl, he swung a broadsword through the failing light. The massive weapon cleaved through the Lost three at a time, their bodies crumpling to the ground. More growls echoed through the night, as more of the hulking man-beasts charged out of the trees and into the fray. They attacked Rastgol and Lost alike, their great furry bodies moving with the grace of warriors and the speed of predators. And yet, the Lost seemed to fall even faster than the beasts moved. Heads rolled off shoulders nowhere near the man-beasts.

Thoughts sputtering with relief and panic, Emara tried to edge away from their cruel efficiency—something about them strangely familiar. Luminescent green eyes shone above their wolfish muzzles and triangular ears twitched atop their heads, but the dexterity of their furred fingers was undeniably human-like. What… or who were these things?

One Lost broke free of the shadowy carnage, its ragged, skeletal fingers clawing for Emara. She dove to the side, her heart in her throat as she picked up the dead Rastgol’s blood-slicked blade. Heaving it in a huge arc, she buried the edge into the side of the Lost’s skull with a sickening thud, and the body fell to the ground.

In another jerk, she freed the blade, searching for her next assailant, but the wooded path had suddenly gone quiet. The great man-beasts stood around her, three of them all staring. Raising the blade, she started to edge backward, the horses either dead or scattered. Were these one of the murderous monsters of the cursed Carceroc forest? They would certainly overpower her in an instant, but could she outrun them? Had she just traded one death for a worse one?

But where was Shadmundar? Was he still alive? She couldn’t just leave him. “Shad,” she called, her voice cracking under the beast’s stares. “Where are you?”

But instead of Shad, a different voice, low and breathless, answered her instead. “That’s a question I’ve been asking for the last ten years.”

A woman blinked into the air before her, a bloody dagger in either hand, and a belt of knives running across her chest. Black leather armor covered her from boots to neck, and her dark hair coiled in a high knot on her head. She stared at Emara with hard, hazel eyes, a ragged scar running down her pale cheek like a tear stain.

Although this woman oozed death and confidence from every pore, Emara felt strangely unafraid. A tingle of recognition ran through her, as if remembering a forgotten dream. “Who are you?”

“My name is Aza Thane.” She took a step forward, her blades wet and gleaming with the rising moon, and the beasts behind edging closer. “And I’ve been looking for you.” 

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Interested?

Thank you for hanging out with us today. Find Time’s Orphan on Goodreads, Storygraph, IndieStoryGeek and Amazon . Connect with Hayley on Twitter, Instagram, her website, Goodreads, Amazon, TikTok.

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