I am thrilled to be hosting a stop on the WOVEN IN MOONLIGHT by Isabel Ibañez Blog Tour hosted by
Rockstar Book Tours! Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
Title: WOVEN
IN MOONLIGHT
Author: Isabel
Ibañez
Pub.
Date: January 7, 2020
Publisher: Page
Street Kids
Formats: Hardcover,
eBook, Audiobook
Pages: 384
A lush
tapestry of magic, romance, and revolución, drawing inspiration from Bolivian
politics and history.
Ximena is the decoy Condesa, a stand-in for the last remaining Illustrian
royal. Her people lost everything when the usurper, Atoc, used an ancient relic
to summon ghosts and drive the Illustrians from La Ciudad. Now Ximena’s
motivated by her insatiable thirst for revenge, and her rare ability to spin
thread from moonlight.
When Atoc demands the real Condesa’s hand in marriage, it’s Ximena’s duty to go
in her stead. She relishes the chance, as Illustrian spies have reported that
Atoc’s no longer carrying his deadly relic. If Ximena can find it, she can
return the true aristócrata to their rightful place.
She hunts for the relic, using her weaving ability to hide messages in
tapestries for the resistance. But when a masked vigilante, a warm-hearted princess,
and a thoughtful healer challenge Ximena, her mission becomes more complicated.
There could be a way to overthrow the usurper without starting another war, but
only if Ximena turns her back on revenge—and her Condesa.
PRAISE
FOR WOVEN IN MOONLIGHT
“Isabel
Ibanez brings a modern story to an ancient world in her debut novel, WOVEN IN
MOONLIGHT. With immersive prose, original magic, and characters as rich as the
Bolivian culture that constructs the story, Ibanez delivers a wholly unique
book for the YA shelf.”
— Adrienne
Young, NYT Bestselling author of Sky in the Deep and The Girl the Sea Gave Back
“WOVEN IN
MOONLIGHT captured me on the first page. Ximena is a fierce and brave
heroine—one I have deeply come to love—and the world of Inkasisa is so
beautifully rendered I never wanted to leave it. Plot twists abound, the magic
is uniquely drawn, and intrigue illuminates the pages. Isabel Ibanez weaves together
a spellbinding, vivid debut.”
— Rebecca
Ross, author of The Queen's Rising and The Queen's Resistance
“A story
that glitters as bright as Ximena’s moondust, set in a wholly immersive world
that’s both whimsical and deadly. With its slow burn romance and simmering
intrigue, Woven In Moonlight kept me reading long into the night. Isabel Ibañez
writes pure magic.”
— Shelby
Mahurin, NYT Bestselling author of Serpent & Dove
“Woven in
Starlight is a lush, vibrant feast of a book, set in a world as colorful and
inventive as the fierce heroine’s magical tapestries. I could have remained
lost in its pages forever.”
— Margaret
Rogerson, NYT Bestselling author of An Enchantment of Ravens and Sorcery of
Thorns
“A
page-turning tale of revolution and love, helmed by a brave heroine with a big
heart and set against a vibrant tapestry of Bolivian culture. Isabel Ibañez
weaves magic in her debut novel.”
— Amélie Wen
Zhao, author of Blood Heir
Book
Trailer:
Excerpt::
Chapter 1
My banged-up spoon scrapes the bottom of a barrel that
should’ve held enough dried beans to last for three more months.
No, no, no.
There has to be more.
Sickness churns my stomach, and my
knuckles brush against bare wood as I coax a handful of shriveled beans into a
half-empty bag. I wipe dirty hands against my white trousers and ignore the
sweat dripping down my neck. The kingdom of Inkasisa is in the middle of her
stifling wet season. Even though it’s night, there’s no escaping the muggy
heat.
“Something wrong, Condesa?” asks the next person in line waiting
for their ration.
Yes, in fact. We’re all going to starve. Not that I can say
this out loud. It goes against everything I know to do as their leader: A
condesa should never show fear.
I school my features into what I hope is a pleasant expression,
then turn to face the long line of Illustrians waiting for their evening
portions. Drawn faces stare back at me. White clothes hang off gaunt frames,
loose and big like the tents the Illustrians sleep in next to the keep.
My whole life, I’ve trained for situations like this: manage
expectations, soothe people’s worries, feed them. It’s the condesa’s job.
We’re standing in the round storage building with the door propped
open, allowing for people to crowd around as I sort through the provisions.
Luna’s light casts rectangular patterns on the dozens of empty barrels piled on
their sides, while a rickety wooden staircase leads up to the armory housing
swords, shields, and bundled arrows. All we could carry when we fled for our
lives the day La Ciudad Blanca fell.
What would Ana, our general, want me to say? Manage them. You’re
in charge. Don’t forget what’s at stake. We need to survive until we can
take back the throne.
I glance at the door, half expecting to find Ana’s broad shoulders
leaning against the frame, moonlight reflecting off the silver wisps in her
hair. But she’s not there. Ana left four days ago on a mission to chase a rumor
about Atoc, the false Llacsan king—a rumor that, if true, guarantees our
victory.
She promised to be back by yesterday.
An arm brushes against mine. Catalina, silently reminding me of her
presence. The knot in my chest unwinds slightly. I forgot she was standing
behind me, ever helpful.
“Bring me the wheat, por favor.” I gesture toward the wall the
barrels of rations are lined against. “And the cloth bags over on that shelf.”
She obeys, grabbing the supplies
off the shelf first and handing them to me, her dark eyes lowered. Then she
darts toward the barrel.
“Condesa?” a woman asks. “Is this all that’s left?”
I hesitate; the lie waiting on the tip of my tongue tastes sour and
wrong. My gaze returns to the dwindling piles of food at my feet: husked corn,
a half-filled bag of rice, and an almost empty basket of bread. Not nearly
enough.
A lie won’t feed all these people.
“We’re short on some supplies,” I say with a tight smile. “No
beans, I’m afraid, but—”
Next to me Catalina stiffens, pausing in her attempt to drag the
wheat barrel to my side. Normally it takes the effort of two people, but
somehow she manages by herself. Which means this barrel isn’t full
either.
The woman’s mouth drops open.
“No beans? ¿No hay comida?”
“That’s not what I said.” I force my smile to remain in place as I
come to a split-second decision—our best and only option. “We have to be
careful with what we have. So here’s what’s going to happen: Starting
immediately, everyone will receive less than half their usual ration, per
family. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s either that or we starve,” I say
bluntly. “Your pick.”
Voices rise up.
“Less than half?”
“Not ideal?”
Another woman shouts, “How can there be no food left?”
A headache presses against my
temple. “We do have some food—”
But the woman’s words travel down the line, catching fire in the
dark, until fifty people clamor for attention, wanting answers, wanting their
rations. They wave their empty baskets in the air. Their loud cries boom like
thunder in my ears. I want to duck for cover. But if I don’t do something, I’m
going to have a full-blown riot on my hands.
“Reassure them,” Catalina hisses.
“I can’t offer what we don’t have,” I whisper. Catalina shoots me a
meaningful look. A condesa should know how to maintain control of any
situation. “I’m doing my job. You do yours.”
“Your job is my job,” she snaps.
The people’s cries swell, bouncing off the walls and threatening to
strike me down. “¡Comida! ¡Comida!”
The crowd stomps their feet and pushes in, hot breath brushing against my face
like heavy smoke. I fight the impulse to step back.
Someone in the crowd yells for El Lobo, and I tense, hoping no one
else sings that stupid vigilante’s praises. Every time something goes wrong,
someone inevitably brings up the man in the mask. The trickster.
“El Lobo can help us—”
“He steals from Atoc’s coffers all the time—”
“He’s the hero of Inkasisa—”
Oh, for goodness sake. He’s a man in a ridiculous mask. Even my niñera could prank that puffed-up idiotic
pretend king. And she was eighty the last time I saw her.
“We want El Lobo!” someone shouts.
“Lobo! Lobo!”
“That’s enough!” My voice rings out, sharp as the edge of a blade.
“No one speaks his name in my presence, understood? He’s a scoundrel who plays
pranks on the false king. That kind of reckless behavior could get us killed.
The vigilante is dangerous and not one of us.”
Someone throws a rock at a
window. Glass shatters, and moonlight-touched shards fly everywhere. Faces blur
as my vision darkens and I can only make out hints of mottled cheeks and
flailing arms as the crowd bellows for the vigilante. They press forward until
Catalina and I are almost backed against the wall.
“Condesa,” Catalina says, her eyes wide and frantic.
My mouth goes dry. The words don’t come. I glance at the empty
doorway, willing Ana to appear. But more people push into the building.
“I need . . . ” I begin.
“¿Qué? ¡Más fuerte!”
“I need you all to remain calm,” I say louder. “Shouting or
throwing rocks won’t fix the—”
Their protests grow louder and
louder until I can’t distinguish what they’re saying. My legs wobble, and it
takes every ounce of will left in me just to remain upright. It’s not supposed
to be like this. Ten years ago my people were the aristócratas of Inkasisa. But
our way of life, our culture, is gone, like pages torn from a book. No
more visits to the plaza to hear live music while strolling with friends in our
long skirts and fancy leather shoes. Or walking Cala Cala, the prettiest path
overlooking La Ciudad, where you can pick figs and peaches while enjoying the
vista. Birthday fiestas are a thing of the past, existing only in my memory,
but sometimes I can still taste my abuela’s torta de nuez, a rich walnut cake
smothered in creamed coffee and dulce de leche.
Another rock sails toward a window, jarring me from my thoughts.
Shards of splintering glass ring in my ear. My nerves threaten to eat me from
the inside out. An empty feeling in the pit of my stomach makes my head spin.
Catalina touches my arm and steps in front of me. “What the condesa
means is that we have a plan to get more food underway. For now we have plenty.
Everyone will receive the usual amount.”
I cut her a warning look, but Catalina ignores me. So does everyone
else. Her words work like a balm over a blistering wound. The crowd quiets and
holds out their baskets, mollified, shuffling around her like chickens clucking
for feed.
“Why don’t you all step back in line and I’ll sort out the food?
Have you on your way so that you can put your children to bed, and have
something to cook for your families tomorrow, all right?”
They file into a straight line
like obedient schoolchildren. I step away from Catalina, my shoulders slumping.
They don’t want me or the bad news I carry. I can’t give them what they need,
so I give them what they want instead—Catalina. Their friend.
Something I can’t be as their supposed queen.
She knocks the lid off the barrel at my elbow and scoops up a
handful of wheat. “Who’s first?”
Catalina distributes heaping portions of wheat and bundles of
husked corn until only a smattering of provisions remain. Then she reaches for
the barrels that contain the last of our supplies—for emergencies only.
I stand off to the side, my fists clenched and my mouth shut. I
can’t manage a polite smile even if I try. Ana normally leads undercover raids
to La Ciudad to steal food, but since she’s not back, who knows how long it’ll
be before we get more supplies? At the rate Catalina’s giving out rations, we
have mere days left. And just who does she think they’ll come after when
everyone discovers how close to starving we are?
Certainly not to their friend.
Catalina spares me a brief glance, then she picks up a small bowl
by her feet filled with a handful of dried beans, ground wheat, and an ear of
corn. Her own ration she set aside earlier. She hands it to the next person in
line.
“I need air,” I say curtly.
Without looking at her, I head toward the door. The remaining crowd parts so I
can pass. Glass crunches underneath the soles of my leather boots. I avert my
gaze from their watchful eyes, but I feel their disappointment anyway.
The condesa has let them down.
About Isabel:
Isabel
Ibañez was born in Boca Raton, Florida, and is the proud daughter of two
Bolivian
immigrants.
A true word nerd, she received her degree in creative writing and has been a
Pitch Wars
mentor for three years. Isabel is an avid movie goer and loves hosting family
and
friends
around the dinner table. She currently lives in Winter Park, Florida, with her
husband,
their adorable dog, and a serious collection of books. Say hi on social media
at
@IsabelWriter09
Giveaway Details:
3 winners will win a finished copy of WOVEN IN MOONLIGHT, US
Only.
Tour
Schedule:
Week
One:
1/6/2020
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Excerpt
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1/6/2020
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Review
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1/7/2020
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Review
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1/7/2020
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Review
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1/8/2020
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Excerpt
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1/8/2020
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Review
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1/9/2020
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Review
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1/9/2020
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Review
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1/10/2020
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Review
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1/10/2020
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Review
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Week
Two:
1/13/2020
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Review
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1/13/2020
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Review
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1/14/2020
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Review
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1/14/2020
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Review
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1/15/2020
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Review
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1/15/2020
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Review
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1/16/2020
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Review
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1/16/2020
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Review
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1/17/2020
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Review
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1/17/2020
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Review
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