Genre: YA Historical Fantasy
Word Count: 84,000
I am seeking representation for my 84,000 word YA historical fantasy, THE RED AND THE SCARLET, which is Les Miserables meets Mulan with a bounty-hunting Jo March as a heroine.
In 1811, 18-year-old Fyr fights racism, looming disaster, and for bloody revenge on Vladyslav, a charismatic politician.
As children, Fyr and her brother Asaan escaped racial massacre enacted by their divided motherland. But devastation may return: every five hundred years, supernatural foreigners, known as “the Blue People,” arrive on the coast for war.
Thanks to their own discord, Fyr’s countrymen forgot the deadly cycle. Fyr, determined not to relive her past, puts aside her personal quest to slaughter one of the massacre’s young participants, and sets out with sickly Asaan to alert her squabbling country.
But Vladyslav, the man Fyr wants to kill, arrests the siblings, halting their plans. But instead of prosecuting, he invites them into his world for his own dark political purposes.
Trapped in the nobility’s glittering society, Fyr, with her criminal dreams, controversially conservative host, and her whistleblowing on corruption and “Blue People,” is soon slandered as scandalous. As her reputation plummets, so does the worth of her word. She must fight self-doubt, discrimination, and a dangerous new affection for Vladyslav if she is to keep Asaan alive and safe, and escape before the Blue People attack.
When Fyr was struck, and Vladyslav scarred, the world was shivering.
Clouds blanketed the nations. Chill dragged into bones. Under spinning snow rode Vladyslav’s regiment to slaughter "savages.”
In their village, the “savages” were oblivious. Fyr, eight, watched shrieking children run to catch flakes in outstretched fingers and dark lashes among the heads of decapitated travelers, raised on pikes as a warning to future trespassers. She poked her toes past the edge of her people’s territory, glancing at the heads in defiance, and balancing her infant brother on her hip.
While the other children held the bodiless things in fearful reverence, Fyr was grateful to them. From the heads had come the book in her brother-free hand.
Together they gazed in fascination at the falling snow, and Fyr whispered the poem that opened her book.
But the moment ended. The riders appeared on the horizon, warped shadows coming in the name of heads and vengeance.
They broke upon the settlement faster than it could panic, their blazing guns clogging the still air with black smoke and dying screams. In the midst of the cold and chaos, the little girl ran in a forest of belt buckles, clutching her wailing brother and the battered book.
She had to keep him alive.
Suddenly, she collided headlong into a wall of gray uniform and staggered to the earth. Fyr stared up at the young soldier’s blue eyes, full of dismay, at the blood blackening his coat, the musket in his fingers.