GIVEAWAY: THE KINGMAKER BY NANCY SPRINGER EBOOK EDITION
Who: Untreed Reads
What: OBS and Untreed Reads are back this week in an all new giveaway, where we’ll be choosing one lucky reader for the opportunity to win an eBook copy of The Kingmaker by Nancy Springer. All you have to do is click on one of the options or on everyone of them for more possibilities to win!!
When: This giveaway will be running between April 4th through April 13th. Giveaway ends at at midnight eastern time.
About The Kingmaker:
The daughter of the High King has a regal name, but she is small and plain, so everyone just calls her Wren. As a mere girl, she is not her father’s heir; her cousin Korbye is. But Wren’s infallible sooth-sense tells her that Korbyn would make no good king. Nor is sooth-sense her only fate. Wren is the Kingmaker. When an ancient and dangerous ring of power finds its way to her, how should she use it? (Goodreads)
About author Nancy Springer:
As a child, I lived in Eden. I explored every inch of the fascinating brook that meandered crystalline amid wildflowers and willows to the swamp along the Passaic river where I discovered herons, hawks, muskrats, snapping turtles.
Coming home from school feeling bruised, I turned to the brook, the swamp, the fields of farmland and the deep forest on Riker’s Hill to comfort me. Until I was thirteen I ran like a freckled fawn where the owls lived, where the wild phlox grew, where sometimes frogs could be caught.
Then my family moved away. The place we left must have been the last remaining rural spot in Livingston, New Jersey. A year later we came back and I saw the trees bulldozed, the wetlands drained and the brook banished to a culvert, all for the sake of a housing development. I have grieved for Eden lost ever since.
Writing this, I realize for the first it might seem odd that, bullied in school, I turned to Mother Nature instead of my mother. I can say only that Mom and Dad were good people, but theirs was the old-fashioned farmhouse style of parenting. Dad worked to “bring home the bacon”; Mom painted pet portraits. They fed me, clothed me, and let me grow. Daily I did my chores, which included collecting warm brown eggs. Whenever a broody hen pecked my hand, I told my father, pointed out the culprit, then held her down while he chopped her head off. I watched her flap around, helped to pluck her feathers, and then my mother, gutting her in order to cook her, would show me the sand in her gizzard and the transparent egg she had not yet laid. We were matter-of-fact. No one cared about feelings, Education, yes.
It sounds interesting