Robin Kirk - The Bond

The Bond is imaginative and fresh, and Dinitra is my new hero. What a beautifully tense, wistful, creative, and genius story! Karla F.C. Holloway, Ph.D.,A Death in Harlem and Gone Missing in Harlem

Fans of The Handmaids Tale and Never Let Me Go will devour The Bond. Lisa Williams Kline,One Week of You

An adventure and a masterful exploration of what it means to be a human being. Constantine Singer,Strange Days

The Bond is a riveting dark post-apocalyptic romp that hooked me from its very first line. Katya de Becerra,What the Woods Keep and Oasis

Kirk brings the reader into an intricate, well-imagined world a landscape so credible it instantly feels like a classic. Beth Kander, the Original Syn Trilogy

A rollicking adventure story whose underlying questions make for a read that is as thought-provoking as it is highly entertaining. Carolyn ODoherty,Rewind

In this dynamic sequel to The Bond, Kirk takes readers on an intricately-plotted journey as warrior Fir leads his brothers to escape servitude and finds himself faced with a decision with potentially devastating consequences for those he loves the most. Readers will revel in the lush world-building and carefully woven plot. The Hive Queen delivers on every level! Kate Pentecost,Elysium Girls

Robin Kirk has once again blown me away with her vision of a dystopian future where women rule and men are considered the enemy. Tammy Sparks, Books, Bones & Buffy

A dark apocalyptic thriller that will leave readers transported to a completely different world and a story like none theyve ever read before. Jessica Higgins, Write-Read-Life

The intricate world-building, the cast of characters, and the engaging and imaginative story made for an entertaining read from start to finish. Plenty of action, love, and some twists to keep you on your toes! Im very curious to see where the final book will take us! Jessica, Goodreads reviewer

The Mothers Wheel is a work of stunning originality, deep poignancy, and non-stop action. Kirk seamlessly blends the dystopian and science fiction genres, creating a world in which the reader cant help but empathize with the drafts who have been bred to serve the Sowers will. The determination and bravery of the storys narrator, Sil, keeps us turning the pages, wondering where Kirks vivid imagination will take us next. There are battles, adventures, and struggles for power galore. But ultimately, The Mothers Wheel is a haunting, heartfelt meditation on love, loss, and what it means to belong to a family. Emily Colin, New York Times bestselling author of The Memory Thief and award-winning author of The Seven Sins series

The Bond

The Hive Queen

The Mothers Wheel

Righting Wrongs: 20 Human Rights Heroes Around the World

More Terrible Than Death: Massacres, Drugs and Americas War in Colombia

The Monkeys Paw: New Chronicles from Peru

The Shining Path: History of Perus Millennial War, by Gustavo Gorriti, with a forward and translated by Robin Kirk

Peculiar Motion, a poetry collection

The Bond

Book One of The Bond Trilogy

Robin Kirk

To Frances and Ray,

my best work,

and my own ferocious 12,

RoZee

Love often takes the form of menace, and safe havens are reached, if they are reached at all, only after terrifying adventures. Stephen Greenblatt,My Brothers Book

All that will remain of us is what is written down. Robert Harris,Dictator

Brave

M y gray is for the fog that oozes over the Black Stairs: ash and egg-white binder. My purple is eggplant skins and vinegar, steeped for a week.

I brewed the paints special to paint Astas gift. By the Mother's breath, if I don't finish soon, Ill be a hank of hair sticking from a block of ice because of this freeze.

My hair: walnut shell. Ice: mica bound with pounded chalk.

I make fists, wiggling my fingers to warm them. The boulder does double duty as a seat, table, and something to hide behind. Collegium students arent supposed to be on the green on graduation day, especially so near the Moorings.

No other spot has this view. Plus the boulder has a crack where I wedge my paints. The crack is stained from all the times Ive painted here. Most important of all: Asta and I first met here nine years ago. She was the one who told me the mountains are called the Black Stairs.

For the billionth time, I inspect them. The peaks arent so much pure black as gray-black, when coals burn to ash. I dab in a bit of green for the trees covering the lower slopes. Once the paintings dry, Ill hide it in Astas trunk, among her shifts and socks. Shell discover my gift when she unpacks in her new home tomorrow. Its my way of telling her how much I love her. How much I already miss her.

Ill never finish if I blubber.

We were six years old on our first day at the Collegium. The professors told us we could wander only as far as the boulder and definitely not beyond, into the pines encircling the green like spiky armor. I wanted a better view of the Collegiums high black walls and turrets. Close up, Id noticed how each stone precisely fit to the others around it, as if the Mother herself chiseled them. As young as I was, the stones filled me with wonder. I wanted to fit, to belong, just like my Sower intended.