Sara Kipin’s illustrations grace nearly every page of this collection, and I am grateful for each bold brushstroke and surprising detail.
Many wonderful people at MCPG and Imprint worked tirelessly to bring this project to life—particularly my magical editor Erin Stein; Natalie Sousa and Ellen Duda, who gave this book its beautiful cover and guided the design of its interior art; my genius publicists Molly Ellis and Morgan Dubin; the relentlessly creative Kathryn Little; Raymond Ernesto Colón, who helped manage the complicated production process of a two-color printing; Caitlin Sweeny; Mariel Dawson; Lucy Del Priore; Tiara Kittrell; the entire Fierce Reads team; Kristin Dulaney; Allison Verost; and, of course, Jon Yaged, who keeps indulging me for some reason. Thanks also to Tor.com for publishing the three Ravkan tales that appear in this book and to Noa Wheeler who edited them so thoughtfully.
I somehow landed in the field of clover that is the New Leaf Literary family. Many thanks to Hilary Pecheone, who always finds a way to deliver on the impossible; Devin Ross; Pouya Shahbazian; Chris McEwen; Kathleen Ortiz; Mia Roman; Danielle Barthel; and, of course, Joanna Volpe, who nurtured the dream of this collection from the start.
Endless gratitude to my army of witches and queens who give generous feedback and ferocious support: Morgan Fahey, Robyn Kali Bacon, Rachael Martin, Sarah Mesle, and Michelle Chihara. Along with Dan Braun, Katie Philips, Liz Hamilton, Josh Kamensky, and Heather Joy Rosenberg, they also helped name this collection. That nice lady at the party helped too. I think she was a landscape architect. It was a team effort all around.
Sarah Jae-Jones advised on musical terminology. Susan Dennard educated me on marine biology and the existence of moon jellyfish. David Peterson helped me name my mermaids and my knives. Marie Lu, Sabaa Tahir, Alex Bracken, Gretchen McNeil, Jimmy Freeman, and Victoria Aveyard kept me laughing. Rainbow Rowell sustained me with joyful teas and sound advice. The Golden Patties kept me in glorious shade. Hafsah Faizal delivered elegant graphics in a snap, as did Kayte Ghaffar, who has been known to dabble in sorcery. Hedwig Aerts helped me sort Nachtspel revelry, and Josh Minuto puts up with texts that begin with things like, “Hi, how are you? I have a funny pain in my chest. Should I go to the hospital?”
As always, I want to thank my family: Emily, Ryan, Christine, and Sam; Lulu, who let me read whatever I liked so long as I was reading; and my grandfather, who never tired of telling me the story of the monster at the door.
And a special thank-you to my readers, who were willing to follow me into a thorny wood.
About the Author
Leigh Bardugo is a #1 New York Times–bestselling author of fantasy novels and the creator of the Grishaverse. With over one million copies sold, her Grishaverse spans the Shadow and Bone Trilogy, the Six of Crows Duology, and The Language of Thorns—with more to come. Her short stories can be found in multiple anthologies, including Some of the Best from Tor.com. Her other works include Wonder Woman: Warbringer and the forthcoming Ninth House. Leigh was born in Jerusalem, grew up in Los Angeles, graduated from Yale University, and has worked in advertising, journalism, and even makeup and special effects. These days, she lives and writes in Hollywood, where she can occasionally be heard singing with her band. You can sign up for author updates here.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Back in 2012 during the lead-up to the release of my first novel, my publisher asked if I would write a prequel story for Shadow and Bone. I was game, but the idea that came to me had little to do with the characters of that book. Instead, it was a tale that the characters might have heard when they were young, my own take on a story that had troubled me as a child—“Hansel and Gretel.”
My favorite version of that particular story was the creepily titled Nibble Nibble Mousekin by Joan Walsh Anglund, and it wasn’t the cannibal witch who bothered me. It wasn’t even the selfish stepmother. For me, the real villain was Hansel and Gretel’s father, a man so weak-willed, so cowardly, that he let his wicked wife send his children into the woods to die twice. Don’t go back, I would whisper as we approached the inevitable final illustration—happy father reunited with children, evil stepmother banished—and I was always left with a feeling of unease as I turned the last page.
In many ways, that unease has guided me through these stories, that note of trouble that I think many of us hear in familiar tales, because we know—even as children—that impossible tasks are an odd way to choose a spouse, that predators come in many guises, that a prince’s whims are often cruel. The more I listened to that note of warning, the more inspiration I found.
There were other influences, too. The horrible legends of Tarrare’s polyphagia found their way into Ayama’s first tale in far gentler form. The childhood trauma visited on me by The Velveteen Rabbit and the distressing idea that only love can make you real took a different shape in “The Soldier Prince.” As for my mermaids, while Hans Christian Andersen’s original tale served as a point of departure, it’s worth mentioning that Ulla is the Swedish diminutive of Ursula.
I hope you enjoy these stories and the world they populate. I hope you read them aloud when the weather turns cold. And when your chance comes, I hope you stir the pot.