Spotlight on Griffin Brady, author of The Hussar’s Duty

 

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Poland’s most valiant winged hussar is called to fight in a campaign ripe for disaster. But he must also protect those he loves from jackals waiting to pounce. How does he choose between duty and devotion when death is on the line?

When Sultan Osman II sends Poland's envoy packing, the Commonwealth must prepare for war against one of the largest armies the Ottomans have ever assembled. Tasked with repelling the invasion is Grand Hetman of the Crown Stanisław Żółkiewski, and he knows who to turn to: Jacek Dąbrowski, the Commonwealth’s most valiant Polish winged hussar.

Jacek has been idle far too long, and the call to arms is a siren’s song he can’t resist. But he has built a life far from the battlefield with his wife, Oliwia, and their children. If he pursues his quest for glory, who will safeguard them?

Oliwia knows her husband is restless. In fact, she’s been sending Jacek on cross-country errands for years in the hopes of quelling his lust for battle. When she realizes her efforts are futile, she resolves herself to letting him go—after hatching a scheme to accompany him.

Honor. Obligation. Devotion. These forces push and pull Jacek in different directions. His country needs him, but so does his family. Where does his duty lie? His choice will cause catastrophic ripples no matter which path he follows … and could very well bring the loss of his loved ones or his life.

Will the cost of defending king and country prove too steep for this warrior?

This is a standalone continuation in The Winged Warrior Series.

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 FUN FACTS

Griffin Brady

I had no idea what or who the Polish-winged hussars were. I had never heard of them, nor had I ever delved into Polish history. One day, as I was researching daggers for a different historical fiction I had in mind, up popped a link to “Badass of the Week.” I couldn’t resist! When I clicked on the link, I landed on a page that lauded these 16th/17th-century shock troops and listed battle after battle where they were victorious despite incredible odds against them. I fell into that world and haven’t climbed out of it yet!

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My current novel features a specific battle that took place in present-day Romania in 1620, and the information on it was rather scant. As I don’t read or write Polish, my ability to delve into the research was even more limited. I reached out to a very helpful blogger who directed me to a 1970s chronicle that depicted the battle in wonderful detail. The entire thing, however, was written in Polish. It was such a rich resource, and it dispelled some of the other research I had gathered. I wanted accuracy for my story, so I rolled up my sleeves and spent weeks typing line after line of a 252-page book into an online translator. I learned that one typo had the potential to change an entire paragraph, and I often found myself laughing out loud at some of the interpretations.

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I was born in Japan, where my father worked for Pan American as a director of sales. When I was three, my family moved to Vietnam, and my parents put me in a French nursery school for a different experience (or, I’ve always suspected, to have a handy translator). I went on to attend an all-girls elementary school, where French—the national language of Vietnam at that time—was the only language spoken. English was spoken at home with my family, but it really became my second language. Once, when my mother woke me up for school, I could only speak in French—in my groggy state, I couldn’t recall my English words! While living in Vietnam, we went through several coup d'états that made life pretty spicy.

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During the Loma Prieta Earthquake in 1989, I was working in San Francisco, about a half hour from where I lived. I had taken the train that day rather than the bus because the World Series was taking place at Candlestick, and I wanted to avoid getting snarled in the highway traffic. My workday was over, and as I stood outside waiting for a bus to take me to the train station, the earthquake struck. Watching asphalt ripple, windows in high rises bow, and chunks of masonry fall from buildings was a surreal experience.

The bus never came, and a total stranger and I walked the many blocks to the train station, stepping over rubble as we went. When we reached the station, I discovered no trains were running. The tracks all had to be inspected. In those days, there were no cell phones, and none of the pay phones worked, so I had no way of finding out if my husband was okay and to let him know I was alive.

A bus that normally takes people back and forth to the casinos in Nevada pulled up. The entrepreneurial driver was heading south, in the direction where I lived, and for $15, one could climb aboard. I emptied my wallet and got on the bus while he still had room. He wasn’t familiar with San Francisco, and getting out of the city on a large bus was an adventure, especially since there were no working traffic lights.

The next adventure came when I got off at my “stop” on a main thoroughfare a few blocks from a quiet side street where I had parked my car. It was pitch black by then, and of course, there was no electricity and, therefore, no lights. As I walked toward the parking lot, a van with two men inside began following me, slowly rolling beside me and matching my gait. Heart in my throat, I hurried my steps. By some miracle, a police cruiser pulled up behind them and flashed its lights. Where that cruiser came from—especially given the pandemonium of that night—I have no idea, but I’m eternally grateful. I scurried to my car, locked the doors, and took off. The entire trek from the train station to home stretched over five hours. When I pulled into our driveway, my husband rushed out of our front door. I had managed to hold a stiff upper lip, but all my bravado evaporated, and I dissolved into tears.

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I moved out at seventeen after graduating from high school and landing my first job in San Francisco. I knew no one and was introduced by one of my new co-workers to a girl who was looking to move into an apartment with a roommate. We agreed to an arrangement, but she lost her job and started bringing home some unsavory characters. I eventually got my own place, and after I moved in, I noticed different people watching my new apartment. I thought I was being paranoid until my sister, who was helping me decorate the place, made a comment. The surveillance finally stopped, and the mystery was solved about six months later when I read in the paper that my ex-roommate had been arrested for armed robbery. Apparently, she had started her new “career” while she and I still roomed together, and detectives were watching to see if I was involved.

 

Griffin Brady

Griffin Brady is an award-winning historical fiction author with a keen interest in the Polish Winged Hussars of the 16th and 17th centuries. She is a member of the Historical Novel Society and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. Her debut novel, The Heart of a Hussar, was a finalist for the 2021 Chaucer Early Historical Fiction Award and a 2021 Discovered Diamond.

The proud mother of three grown sons, she lives in Colorado with her husband. She is also an award-winning bestselling romance author who writes under the pen name G.K. Brady.

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