The Falconer’s Daughter

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An exciting new novel set on Waiheke Island, which tells the story of a young teen, an injured hawk and a quest for truth……


An exciting new novel set on Waiheke Island, which tells the story of a young teen, an injured hawk and a quest for truth……

This book delivers a new take on the mystery/fantasy genre, and will keep the reader glued to the pages until the last word is read ! Ideally suited to the adolescent female audience – The Falconer’s Daughter will inevitably hook adults in too, so spread the word around the family when you’ve read it !

We don’t want to give away any spoilers with this one – just get hold of a copy any way you can and see for yourself how much you’ll enjoy reading this well-written local book.

Maddie Prescott is a fourteen year-old schoolgirl living on Waiheke Island with her dad. She has no memories prior to her fourth birthday when her mother died.

Maddie’s mother had built a gothic tower on the island. In the tower Maddie finds a mysterious medallion and an unfinished manuscript of her mother’s novel called The Griffin Trilogy. The final book Return of the Griffin was never completed. When Maddie starts to read it, she finds disturbing parallels with her own life and that of the main character Skyla – a time travelling shapeshifter.

With the support of her best friend Jess, Maddie secretly decides to train an injured hawk that she finds, naming him Weaver after Skyla’s hawk in the novel. Then strange things start to happen – someone else is visiting the Tower……or is it more than one person ?

With Jess’s help, Maddie gradually uncovers the appalling truth of her mother’s death and embarks on a journey of self-discovery every bit as bizarre as Skyla’s fictional one!


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Author Bio

N.K.Ashworth lives on Waiheke Island in New Zealand’s beautiful Hauraki Gulf. She shares her quirky Tower home with her teenage daughter, a cat called Gypsy and Jester – an exuberant bearded collie pup !

N.K.Ashworth, known locally as ‘Sam’, is a self-professed hermit with a life-long fascination with mysticism and all things to do with falconry. She has used traditional falconry techniques to help rehabilitate injured Australasian harrier hawks on Waiheke Island.

She has a BA in Art History and is also a painter and sculptor of evocative fantasy themes. The Falconer’s Daughter is her first novel.

Editorial Reviews

My copy of The Falconer’s Daughter arrived in the post on Saturday and I finished it yesterday morning – I couldn’t put it down ! A supernatural thriller is not what I would normally go for, but that was enthralling !

— Dorothy Barraclough, UK

The Falconer’s Daughter held me spellbound from the first to the last page !
I found it mystical with the mention of shapeshifters, intermingled with the past and its secrets and accompanied by authentic descriptions of hawk rehabilitation ! It will read well to differing age groups and will no doubt transport you to other points in time, whilst moving between the two islands of Waiheke in New Zealand and Anglesey in Britain. I hope there’s a sequel planned !

— Kim Ward, UK

A delightful new book that will entertain young readers with its numerous layers of history, mysticism and falconry – all woven into a beautiful and touching story. I couldn’t put it down once I begun reading !

— Liz Eastmond – Tivoli Bookshop and Artspace, Waiheke Island

Complimentary First Chapter

Start enjoying the first chapter while you wait for your copy to be delivered.

The Falconer’s Daughter first chapter (pdf opens in new window)



that’s what I read on Google last night. I wasn’t actually looking up the word penis. It was yarak. My mother used the word in her novel. The one she never finished because she died. But that was ages ago now and it really doesn’t bother me. I mean about my mother dying and all, not the fact she left her book unfinished. Anyway, according to the internet, yarak is also a falconry term used by Arab falconers. ‘A hawk in yarak describes a certain fearless and aggressive state; an extreme readiness to kill.’

So I’m sprawled out across my desk at school, day dreaming as usual – after all, it is maths – when I become aware that the teacher, Mr Manfield, is yelling out my name.

“Well, Miss Prescott?” he thunders. Judging from the sour ex- pression and the sheer volume of the yell, this is at least his second call.

“What… I mean, pardon?”