Shadowsong: A Novel

By S. Jae-Jones

The conclusion to the gorgeous and lush Wintersong duology, Shadowsong by S. Jae-Jones.

Six months after the end of Wintersong, Liesl is working toward furthering both her brother’s and her own musical careers. Although she is determined to look forward and not behind, life in the world above is not as easy as Liesl had hoped. Her younger brother Josef is cold, distant, and withdrawn, while Liesl can’t forget the austere young man she left beneath the earth, and the music he inspired in her.

When troubling signs arise that the barrier between worlds is crumbling, Liesl must return to the Underground to unravel the mystery of life, death, and the Goblin King—who he was, who he is, and who he will be. What will it take to break the old laws once and for all? What is the true meaning of sacrifice when the fate of the world—or the ones Liesl loves—is in her hands?

“A maze of beauty and darkness, of music and magic and glittering things, all tied together with exquisite writing. This is a world you will want to stay lost in.”—Marie Lu, #1 New York Timesbestselling author

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781250129147

S. Jae-Jones

S. Jae-Jones (called JJ) is an artist, an adrenaline junkie, and the New York Times bestselling author of Wintersong and Shadowsong. Born and raised in Los Angeles, she now lives on the wrong coast, where she can’t believe she has to deal with winter every year. When not writing, JJ can be found working toward her next black belt degree, building her BTS shrine, or indulging her in her favorite hobby—collecting more hobbies.

Book preview

PART I

EVER THINE

I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all.

—LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN,

the Immortal Beloved letters

THE SUMMONS

Absolutely not, Constanze said, thumping the floor with her cane. I forbid it!

We were all gathered in the kitchens after supper. Mother was washing up after the guests while Käthe threw together a quick meal of spätzle and fried onions for the rest of us. Josef’s letter lay open and face up on the table, the source of my salvation and my grandmother’s strife.

Master Antonius is dead. I am in Vienna. Come quickly.

Come quickly. My brother’s words lay stark and simple on the page, but neither Constanze nor I could agree upon their meaning. I believed it was a summons. My grandmother believed otherwise.

Forbid what? I retorted. Replying to Josef?

Indulging your brother in this nonsense! Constanze pointed an accusing, emphatic finger at the letter on the table between us before sweeping her arm in a wild, vague gesture toward the dark outside, the unknown beyond our doorstep. This … this musical folly!

Nonsense? Mother asked sharply, pausing in scrubbing out the pots and pans. What nonsense, Constanze? His career, you mean?

Last year, my brother left behind the world he had known to follow his dreams—our dreams—of becoming a world-class violinist. While running the inn had been our family’s bread and butter for generations, music had ever and always been our manna. Papa was once a court musician in Salzburg, where he met Mother, who was then a singer in a troupe. But that had been before Papa’s profligate and prodigal ways chased him back to the backwoods of Bavaria. Josef was the best and brightest of us, the most educated, the most disciplined, the most talented, and he had done what the rest of us had not or could not: he had escaped.

None of your business, Constanze snapped at her daughter-in-law. Keep that sharp, shrewish nose out of matters about which you know nothing.

It is too my business. Mother’s nostrils flared. Cool, calm, and collected had ever been her way, but our grandmother knew how best to get under her skin. "Josef is my son."

"He is Der Erlkönig’s own, Constanze muttered, her dark eyes alight with feverish faith. And none of yours."

Mother rolled her eyes and resumed the washing up. Enough with the goblins and gobbledygook, you old hag. Josef is too old for fairy tales and hokum.

Tell that to that one! Constanze leveled her gnarled finger at me, and I felt the force of her fervor like a bolt to the chest. "She believes. She knows. She carries the imprint of the Goblin King’s touch upon her soul."

A frisson of unease skittered up my spine, icy fingertips skimming my skin. I said nothing, but felt Käthe’s curious glance upon my face. Once she might have scoffed along with Mother at our grandmother’s superstitious babble, but my sister was changed.

I was changed.

We must think of Josef’s future, I said quietly. What he needs.

But what did my brother need? The post had only just come the day before, but already I had read his reply into thinness, the letter turned fragile with my unasked and unanswered questions. Come quickly. What did he mean? To join him? How? Why?

What Josef needs, Constanze said, "is to come home."

"And just what is there for my son to come home to?" Mother asked, angrily attacking old rust stains on a dented pot.

Käthe and I exchanged glances, but kept our hands busy and our mouths shut.

Nothing, that’s what, she continued bitterly. Nothing but a long, slow trek to the poorhouse. She set down the scrubbing brush with a sudden clang, pinching the bridge of her nose with a soapy hand. The furrow between her brows had come and gone, come and gone ever since Papa’s death, digging in deeper and deeper with each passing day.

And leave Josef to fend for himself? I asked. What is he going to do so far away and without friends?

Mother bit her lip. What would you have us do?

I had no answer. We did not have the funds to either send ourselves or to bring him home.

She shook her head. No, she said decisively. It’s better that Josef stay in Vienna. Try his luck and make his mark on the world as God intended.

It doesn’t matter what God intends, Constanze said darkly, but what the old laws demand. Cheat them of their sacrifice, and we all pay the price. The Hunt comes, and brings with them death, doom, and destruction.

A sudden hiss of pain. I looked up in alarm to see Käthe suck at her knuckles where she had accidentally cut herself with the knife. She quickly resumed cooking dinner, but her hands trembled as she sliced wet dough for noodles. I rose to my feet and took over making spätzle from my sister as she gratefully moved to frying the onions.

Mother made a disgusted noise. Not this again. She and Constanze had been at each other’s throats for as long as I could remember, the sound of their bickering as familiar as the sound of Josef practicing his scales. Not even Papa had been able to make peace between them, for he always deferred to his mother even as he preferred to side with his wife. If I weren’t already certain of your comfortable perch in Hell, thou haranguing harpy, I would pray for your eternal soul.

Constanze banged her hand on the table, making the letter—and the rest of us—jump. Can’t you see it is Josef’s soul I am trying to save? she shouted, spittle flying from her lips.

We were taken aback. Despite her irritable and irascible nature, Constanze rarely lost her temper. She was, in her own way, as consistent and reliable as a metronome, ticking back and forth between contempt and disdain. Our grandmother was fearsome, not fearful.

Then my brother’s voice returned to me. I was born here. I was meant to die here.

I sloppily dumped the noodles into the pot, splashing myself with scalding hot water. Unbidden, the image of coal black eyes in a sharp-featured face rose up from the depths of memory.

Girl, Constanze rasped, fixing her dark eyes on me. You know what he is.

I said nothing. The burble of boiling water and the sizzle of sautéing onions were the only sounds in the kitchen as Käthe and I finished cooking.

What? Mother asked. What do you mean?

Käthe glanced at me sidelong, but I merely strained the spätzle and tossed the noodles into the skillet with the onions.

What on earth are you talking about? Mother demanded. She turned to me. Liesl?

I beckoned to Käthe to bring me the plates and began serving supper.

Well? Constanze smirked. What say you, girlie?

You know what he is.

I thought of the careless wishes I had made into the dark as a child—for beauty, for validation, for praise—but none had been as fervent or as desperate as the one I had made when I heard my brother crying feebly into the night. Käthe, Josef, and I had all been stricken with scarlatina when we were young. Käthe and I were small children, but Josef had been but a baby. The worst had passed for my sister and me, but my brother emerged from the illness a different child.

A changeling.

I know exactly who my brother is, I said in a low voice, more to myself than to my grandmother. I set a dish heaped high with noodles and onions in front of her. Eat up.

Then you know why it is Josef must return, Constanze said. Why he must come home and live.

We all come back in the end.

A changeling could not wander far from the Underground, lest they wither and fade. My brother could not live beyond the reach of Der Erlkönig, save by the power of love. My love. It was what kept him free.

Then I remembered the feel of spindly fingers crawling over my skin like bramble branches, a face wrought of hands, and a thousand hissing voices whispering, Your love is a cage, mortal.

I looked to the letter on the table. Come quickly.

Are you going to eat your supper? I asked, glancing pointedly at Constanze’s full plate.

She gave her food a haughty look and sniffed. I’m not hungry.

Well, you’re not getting anything else, you ungrateful nag. Mother angrily stabbed at her supper with her fork. We can’t afford to cater to your particular tastes. We can barely afford to feed ourselves as it is.

Her words dropped with a thud in the middle of our dinner. Chastened, Constanze picked up her fork and began eating, chewing around that depressing pronouncement. Although we had settled all of Papa’s debts after he died, for every bill we paid, yet another sprung up in its place, leaks on a sinking ship.

Once we were finished with supper, Käthe cleared the plates while I began the washing up.

Come, Mother said, extending her arm to Constanze. Let’s get you to bed.

No, not you, my grandmother said with disgust. You’re useless, you are. The girl can help me upstairs.

The girl has a name, I said, not looking at

Reviews for Shadowsong

[kamoorephoto · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

First of all, I want to fully appreciate the sentiments of the author’s at the very beginning of the book, about mental illness, and how S. Jae-Jones is writing the main character Liesl as a person with bipolar disorder. She makes a grand gesture by opening her book in this way, and by recognizing that self-harm and suicidal ideation are struggles that should be talked about, and that anyone who is depressed should not be alone.In turn, she’s acknowledging that while Wintersong may have been a bright mirror of having her voice heard and valued, Shadowsong is the dark one, and reflects another side of her. We all know that authors’ works are personal, but we immediately and literally feel that shadow. The writing and language is as beautiful as ever, but I will admit to sometimes finding myself bogged down and confused. I also had trouble getting invested in any character and Liesl, as the protagonist, because she struggles with her moods, it’s hard to support her ventures and forgive her misgivings, even though you know she needs ‘help’ with it all. Overall, it made the story take on a tone that is quite different from Wintersong and I’ll be interested to see how many fans see this part of the duology.

[cherylk_44 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I have not read the first book but I have eye balled it for a while. I know when it comes to this book I probably should have read the first book. However, I am not one of those readers that feels like I always have to read books in chronological order. In the case of this book, I honestly did not feel like I missed anything by not reading the first book. It was the opposite. I felt like was let down because there was nothing happening in this book. I understood the concept of Liesl being the Goblin Queen and leaving behind her love, the Goblin King. Yet, there was just hints of mention of him in this book. I was kind of hoping that he would make an appearance in this book. There was just a lot of conversation that didn't really seem to always make a point. The only truly great parts about this book that I enjoyed was the musical aspects of this story. As much as I may not have liked this book, I do plan to check out the first book.

[ecataldi-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I was very meh, about the first book (Wintersong), but I obviously had to continue because THE GOBLIN KING. Anything that is even remotely kind of like David Bowie in Labyrinth is worth at least one read through by me. I had to know! Unfortunately, this book was even slower and less exciting then the first in the series. Yes, it wrapped everything up, but no I didn't care. Especially since the goblin king played such a minor role in this. I needed more of him! A lot more! Also, Josef (Elizabeth's brother) is a whiny lil' bitch and I could care less what happened to him. The ending was predictable, and pretty much everything gets all wrapped up in a happy shiny bow. It was an alright attempt at a series, but not one I will ever re-visit. I would however, still want to read anything by this author, she has a way with words and one day I know she's going to write something that resonates with me and knocks the socks off me.

[herenya_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The sequel of Wintersong is about things starting with the letter M: Mother would say that our father drank to chase away his demons, to dull the maelstrom inside. His grandfather, Constanze’s father, drowned in it. Papa drowned in drink first. I hadn’t understood until I had demons of my own.Sometimes, I fear there is a maelstrom swirling within me. Madness, mania, melancholy. Music, magic, memories. A vortex, spinning around a truth I do not want to admit.I like the prose and the setting. I like the characters. I like the way Liesl’s siblings and music continue to be so important to Liesl. I like that the story takes Liesl’s struggles seriously and affirms that, even though she can be difficult and moody, she is still loved. I like its resolution.But I was not a fan of the way the plot unfolded. I wanted more sign-posting as to where the story was heading, or even just where where the story could be heading - I wanted to anticipate and then be surprised when the story took off unexpected directions. Some stories meander satisfyingly, but I just found it frustrating here. And the plot needed more clear direction, because part of what Liesl is struggling with is following through with her goals. It’d be a different story if she wasn’t - but then, this would quite literally be a different story.I’m left feeling disappointed... yet, at the same time, glad I made an effort to finish it?

[wagner5sarah35 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A strong continuation of Wintersong, this book has a tone of madness and darkness that overlay much of its plot. Lisel and her family are attempting to make ends meet at their small inn, but Lisel is struggling to move past her experiences in the Goblin King's realm. She struggles with depression for much of the book and questions her own sanity several times. Still, the freshness of the story (this is a fairy tale less familiar outside of Europe) and the dark emotional atmosphere make this book a very compelling read.

[muddyboy · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fantasy about a very musical girl and her brother. She writes the music and he plays it on his violin. There is an underworld with a goblin king and queen but it is all pretty murky to me. The dust jacket describes it as spellbinding and lyrical but to me it was way too abstract and I can see young adults struggling with this. I have two Masters Degrees and I struggled. A well written author's note explains that the novel is to an extent about suicide and its prevention and she gives help line phone numbers. I just don't see much of a connection between her goal and the novel's content.

[allison_s-802575 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

*INTENSE SOBBING*

[quondame · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It's not easy to tell a first person narrative about depression without the story dragging or the depression minimized, and this book doesn't so much manage it as hint at it. The resolution seemed to simple and bloodless, despite the high off-camera body count.