Sixteen-year-old Joan Sands is a gifted craftswoman who creates and upkeeps the stage blades for William Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men.
We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from young adult fantasy That Self Same Metal by Brittany N. Williams, out from Amulet Books on April 25.
Sixteen-year-old Joan Sands is a gifted craftswoman who creates and upkeeps the stage blades for William Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men. Joan’s skill with her blades comes from a magical ability to control metal—an ability gifted by her Head Orisha, Ogun. Because her whole family is Orisha-blessed, the Sands family have always kept tabs on the Fae presence in London. Usually that doesn’t involve much except noting the faint glow around a Fae’s body as they try to blend in with London society, but lately, there has been an uptick in brutal Fae attacks. After Joan wounds a powerful Fae and saves the son of a cruel Lord, she is drawn into political intrigue in the human and Fae worlds.
Joan paused in front of the closed door to Master Shakespeare’s private room and knocked. It swung open under her hand, revealing a disheveled and distracted Shakespeare on the other side.
“The house is clear.” Joan raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you ready?”
He grinned at her, indolent as a cat with a mouse. “I’ll be there anon.”
“Will,” a smooth voice cooed from within, “is it you or Burbage who plays the fairy king in Midsummer?”
“Ah, that would be me, fair youth.” He winked at Joan. She caught sight of a glowing brown face and ropes of dark decorated hair behind him before Shakespeare closed the door on her.
The same beautiful man—Fae—from earlier, the one Burbage had been cozied up with outside the tiring-house. She frowned.
The two elder players’ friendly rivalry never came to blows, but Joan thought they took it too far all the same. She was sure their long line of shared conquests would agree with her, especially if they realized their business was far from private.
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That Self Same Metal
Actors—
She had no idea how either of their wives dealt with them.
Joan shook her head and headed back down the hall to the prop storage area. She leaned Bia and Alke against the wall and wrestled her mass of hair into two long braids, twisting them into a knot at the back of her head. She held them with one hand as she tugged the green ribbon from around her head and used it to secure her hair.
She hoped it wasn’t too crooked. It was always easier to use a mirror, but she’d forgotten to ask James to help her fix her hair before coming down.
No matter now; it was pulled back out of her face and that was good enough for this moment.
She snagged another performance blade from the storage barrel that held them between shows, did a quick count to make sure the other thirteen were still there.
She wasn’t putting Bia in the hands of either Shakespeare or Burbage again if she could help it. They didn’t have enough self-control.
She headed toward Master Burbage’s room but caught sight of him as she passed the large double doors that opened onto the stage.
He stood center stage, looking like a king as he peered out into the empty theatre, thick arms akimbo as he surveyed the silent space. He cut an imposing figure even without his elaborate costumes and in just his shirt and trousers. It made it difficult to order him around sometimes.
But this was her job, and she’d be damned if she let one of them injure themselves because she found Burbage intimidating.
She took a steadying breath.
“Master Burbage,” she called, “thank you for indulging me.”
He whipped around. “Sands. I didn’t mean to mess up what you taught me, lass. I swear it.
“I know, Master Burbage.” Joan tossed Alke to him. Bia vibrated in her hand. “I think I know what’s wrong. Once Master Shakespeare gets here, we’ll run it twice through and be off to Yaughan’s.”
“Excellent,” Shakespeare said as he strolled out onstage. He smoothed his black hair back down into a low ponytail, his shirt tucked haphazardly into his trousers.
Burbage squinted at the other man before turning to Joan. “With the lines, lass?”
Joan’s grin broke across her face but her heart thumped hard in her chest. “Aye, with the lines. It would help both of you to show one expertise this day.”
How could she say no to a private performance by Shakespeare and Burbage?
Burbage’s broad laugh echoed through the empty playhouse, and Shakespeare grinned at her as they moved to their starting positions.
“Go half speed this first time.” Joan placed her sword at her feet and girded up her skirt, tying the loose fabric at either side of her waist on the chance that she’d need to demonstrate some moves. You could never be sure with these two.
But Joan kept that thought to herself.
She snatched up Bia again and stepped toward the back of the stage, digging the sword’s point into the wood floor. She laid her hands across the hilt. “To give you a chance to fix yourselves before I do it for you.”
Both men snorted and squared off with each other. They held gazes for a long moment doing nothing, the air between them seeming to suddenly spark with a dangerous energy.
Joan frowned. “You can begin. Don’t you want to get to the alehouse?”
“Come on, sir,” Burbage said.
“Come, my lord,” Shakespeare replied.
He swung for Burbage’s neck—an opening move that Joan did not remember teaching them. Burbage leaned back, the blow whistling through the air where his neck had been before striking out with his own sword.
Shakespeare spun out of the way a second too late. Joan saw the split in his sleeve slowly turning red with blood.
“One,” Burbage said. What was happening?
“Hold,” she shouted. “None of this is what I taught you.”
Burbage stabbed his sword at Shakespeare. Joan watched it catch the taller man along the stomach, ripping his shirt but not splitting the skin.
“Judgment,” Burbage shouted, speaking Hamlet’s lines even as the two men fought in earnest.
“Hold!” she yelled. “Both of you, hold!”
Shakespeare ripped his blade along Burbage’s arm. More blood drawn.
That was enough.
Joan lifted Bia and ran toward the two men. She slipped between them, knocking their swords away with two heavy blows.
“What’s the matter with you? Hold means stop, or have you forgotten!”
Burbage stumbled a bit then stared straight at Joan. She tensed. His eyes shone like they had during the show, held a deadly glint he’d never aimed at her before today.
She glanced over at Shakespeare and saw a matching sharpness in his gaze.
So it hadn’t been Bia pushing them after all.
Joan shifted her stance as they each took a step toward her. “Let’s say that’s enough for today.”
Burbage charged forward, rushing into her space before she was ready. Joan dropped to one knee as his blade sliced the air over her head. She pivoted, swinging her blade up to parry his blow. The strength of it rattled her bones and sent her tumbling backward.
Shakespeare appeared above her as she hit the stage, his sword raised over his head. She threw herself to the side as the blow rang against the stage behind her.
“God’s crown!” She scrambled to her feet, holding her sword out in front of herself and trying to keep both men in sight. “I said stop!”
“Judgment,” Burbage said again.
“A hit,” Shakespeare said, “a very palpable hit.”
They rushed her, suddenly working in sync. She parried Shakespeare’s cut, knocking his blade against Burbage’s. She kept moving, rolling along Shakespeare’s back and dancing out of range.
Burbage jerked forward, swiping at her wildly. His steps landed clumsily as he tried to keep up with her faster footwork.
Joan dodged a heavy blow; felt her heels slip off the edge of the stage and threw herself forward to keep from falling down into the dirt. She dove over a wild swing from Shakespeare and tucked her head, rolling across the stage. She let the movement push her to her feet smoothly and caught a glimpse of a slim man standing half obscured by one of the painted columns, his dark brown skin glowing.
“You,” she growled, glaring at the Fae man. “How are you doing this?”
The Fae grinned at her and ran his fingertips over his lips. “A gift of my kiss.”
Joan felt that sudden lightness in her chest again.
Not now.
She breathed deeply.
And just a moment too long. She twisted away from Shakespeare as Burbage’s sword glanced along the back of her dress. It caught the ribbon securing her hair, sending her braids flopping down her back. She stumbled forward and watched the green pieces flutter to the stage.
Enough. She couldn’t play defense forever, not with that Fae driving both of these men to kill her.
Joan spotted her opening as Burbage lunged toward her and tried to ignore the feeling growing in her chest.
She braced her feet as her sword slammed into Burbage’s, put all her strength into blocking his blow. She surged forward, sliding her blade along his. She spun her sword around his and used Bia to lock Alke under her arm. She rammed her palm into the flat of the blade just above the guard. Burbage lost his grip and tumbled backward as she slammed her shoulder into his sternum.
Joan tilted her sword back and let Alke slide down into her left hand. She spun, crossing her swords to catch Shakespeare’s in the air. She grunted and forced his blade up higher, leaving his belly open for an attack. She shoved her foot against his gut. His hand went limp as the air rushed out of his lungs. Joan tossed his sword to the floor as soon as he let go.
“That’s enough,” she said between gasps. “I’ll not be forced to harm you.”
That Fae stood ready to watch Burbage and Shakespeare murder each other. To murder her. That couldn’t stand.
Joan felt as if her chest had suddenly filled with chilled air. She could hardly focus over the feeling of it. Her head went fuzzy, her vision darkening and narrowing around the edges.
She watched her body move as if from some far-off place. She tossed Alke high into the air. An iron spike formed in her free hand; she barely felt the cool flow of metal rush to her palm.
Things seemed to happen slowly and quickly at once, totally out of her control. She flung the iron spike forward then caught the falling sword before it hit the ground.
The Fae in the shadows threw himself to the side and the spike caught him across the cheek, opening a bloody gouge across his face. He screamed.
Joan jerked back as her head suddenly cleared and the cold lightness disappeared from her chest.
Where had that—
Had he been any slower, it would’ve struck between his eyes.
An instant kill.
Her stomach dropped to her feet.
James ran out from backstage, eyes widening as he spotted the Fae.
“Why is there screaming? I thought this was a mere practice?” Master Phillips strolled into the space and froze.
Joan turned back to where the Fae still stood.
He touched a hand to his bloody cheek then looked at his fingertips in wonder.
“We had a problem,” Joan said, willing her voice not to shake because what had just happened? “But I’m handling it.”
“Iron,” the Fae mumbled. He rubbed his fingers across his wound again and again, sending blood oozing down his face. “The girl— controls iron—”
His eyes lifted to Joan’s.
A chill ran through her bones and settled at the base of her neck. Her spine stiffened as a rushing sound clogged her ears.
And suddenly she was watching her body from some dark nothing place, far away. She screamed but had no voice. Tried to claw her way back out of the darkness.
What was happening?
“Enjoy your freedom now, faerie”—the words came from her mouth but in a deep voice, a man’s voice—“before I return things to their proper order.”
Joan gasped and stumbled as she fell back into herself. The roaring in her ears cleared.
She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t been the one to level the threat.
That had been Ogun. The Orisha had come through, possessing her to deliver his threat.
She glanced up at the Fae.
He watched her, his face ashen. “So you command his power—” He rubbed his bloody cheek again and stepped toward Joan.
She shifted Bia and Alke in her grip, sent iron flowing from her hand and out over Bia’s steel blade.
The Fae froze at the glint of it.
Steel would hurt for a moment, but iron was deadly to the Fae.
They both knew that.
He bared his teeth at her. “You’ve spoiled my fun today, but you’d best hope we don’t meet again, girl.” Then he dropped down through the wood of the stage, almost as if he’d been made of water.
Joan rushed to where he disappeared and found nothing but the iron spike Ogun had used her to throw. She picked it up with shaking fingers.
Ogun had taken over control of her body. She’d seen this sort of thing happen to her mother, her father, other elders in their religion, but never, never had it happened to Joan herself.
She shivered and turned, her eyes searching for James. Her brother watched the spot where the Fae had disappeared before meeting her gaze. She glanced past him to Phillips, whose face was carefully blank.
Damnation.
“Why in God’s name am I on the floor?” Burbage growled.
“Zounds,” Shakespeare said, “am I bleeding?”
“You got a bit too energetic in your practice and some true wounds were given in jest.” Joan jogged over to where they both were slowly stumbling to their feet. “But we’re done, gentlemen. What say we go for that drink?”
She hoped they’d read the shaking in her voice as exhaustion. That they wouldn’t see through her lies. That Phillips would play along.
That Ogun wouldn’t feel the need to steal her control again.
Burbage laughed. “Indeed, lass? Told you I knew what I was about.” He grinned at Shakespeare. “What’s a bit of blood between we two greats, Will? To Yaughan’s!”
Burbage threw his arm around Shakespeare’s shoulders and the two wandered off together.
James held back for a moment before approaching Phillips, who turned his gaze to Joan, lips pressed together in a frown.
Joan stared back. She gripped Bia and Alke but refused to pull back the iron until Phillips turned away. Though he’d seen much of what had happened, there was no need to tell him more.
“Come along,” Phillips said. “Armin’ll be deep in his cups by now.”
He turned and strode off, his glowing form disappearing back into the tiring-house. James glanced at Joan then jogged off after the old man.
Joan let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She untied her skirt and shook it out as she moved toward the doorway to backstage.
She froze.
Something was there. She felt it like eyes on her back.
Fingers brushed against her neck and squeezed the tense muscles.
Joan spun, Bia screaming through the air behind her.
Nothing.
She stood alone in the empty playhouse.
Excerpted from That Self Same Metal, copyright © 2023 by Brittany N. Williams.
