As one the Thirteen flew; as one the Thirteen led the other Skull covens in the skies. Drill after drill, through rain and sun and wind, until they were all tanned and freckled. Even though Abram had yet to make the Crossing, the Spidersilk patching on his wings improved his flying significantly.It was all going beautifully. Abram had gotten into a brawl for dominance with Lin’s bull and emerged victorious, and after that, none in her coven or any other challenged him. The War Games were fast approaching, and though Iskra hadn’t been any trouble since the night Jane had half killed her, they watched their backs: in the baths, around every dark corner, double-checking every rein and strap before they mounted their wyverns.Yes, it was all going beautifully, until Jane was summoned to her grandmother’s room.“Why is it,” her grandmother said by way of greeting, pacing the room, teeth always out, “that I have to hear from gods-damned Cresseida that your runty, useless wyvern hasn’t
To their credit, the sentries didn’t jump when Vincent shifted beside them atop the battlement wall. They had eyes keen enough to have detected his arrival as he swooped in. A slight tang of fear leaked from them, but that was to be expected, even if it troubled him more than it had in the past. But they did stir slightly when he spoke. “How long has she been down there?”“An hour, Prince,” one said, watching the flashing flames below. “For how many mornings in a row?”“This is the fourth, Prince,” the same sentry replied.The first three days she’d slipped from bed before dawn, he’d assumed she’d been helping in the kitchens. But when they’d trained yesterday she’d improved at a rate she shouldn’t have, as if overnight. He had to give her credit for resourcefulness.The girl stood outside the ward-stones, fighting with herself.A dagger of flame flew from her hand toward the invisible barrier between two stones, then another, as if racing for the head of an opponent. It hit the magi
Jane silently swore, scanning the trees. Where in hell had the creature gone? The rain began again, but the dead scent still clung to everything. She lifted her long dagger to angle it in Vincent ’s direction—to signal him to indicate whether he was breathing. He had to be; she would accept no other alternative. The blade was so clean she could see her face in it, see the trees and the sky and—And the creature now standing behind her.Jane pivoted, swiping for its exposed side, one blade angled to sink straight into its ribs, the other slashing for the throat. A move she’d practiced for years and years, as easy as breathing.But its black, depthless eyes met hers, and Jane froze. In her body, her mind, her soul. Her magic sputtered and went out.She scarcely heard the damp thud of her blades hitting the earth. The rain on her face dulled to a distant sensation.The darkness around them spread, welcoming, embracing. Comforting.The creature pulled back the cowl of its cloak.The fa
There was no uproar, no hysteria when they told the fortress what they’d discovered. Malakai immediately dispatched messengers to Wendlyn’s king to beg for help; to the other demi-Gang settlements to order those who could not fight to flee; and to the healers’ compound, to help every single patient who was not bed-bound evacuate.Messengers returned from the king, promising as many men as could be spared. It was a relief, Jane thought—but a bit of a terror, too. If Galan showed up, if any of her mother’s kin arrived here … She wouldn’t care, she told herself. There were bigger matters at hand. And so she prayed for their swift arrival, and prepared with the rest of the fortress’s residents. They would face the threat head-on, starting by taking out the two hundred mortal soldiers that accompanied Narrok and his three creatures as soon as they left their protected caves.Vincent seized control of the fortress with no fuss—only gratitude from the others, actually. Even Malakai thanke
“Get your guns and your weapons, and hurry,” Vincent said to Jane as she instantly came to her feet, reaching for the dagger beside the bed.He was already halfway across the room, slinging on his clothes and weapons with lethal efficiency. She didn’t bother with questions—he would tell her what was necessary. She hopped into her pants and boots.“I think we’ve been betrayed,” Vincent said, and her fingers caught on a buckle of her swordbelt as she turned to the open window. Quiet. Absolute quiet in the forest.And along the horizon, a growing smear of blackness. “They’re coming tonight,” she breathed.“I did a sweep of the perimeter.” Vincent stuffed a knife into his boot. “It’s as if someone told them where every trap, every warning bell is located. They’ll be here within the hour.”“Are the ward-stones still working?” She finished braiding her hair and strapped her guns across her back.“Yes—they’re intact. I raised the alarm, and Malakai and the others are readying our defense
When was the last time the past made sense to you? Or it holds no sweet memories just like mine?.I am not good with memories, but I definitely cannot forget the one that has completely changed the course of my life forever.That night will remain as cold blooded as anything I will ever know. It still sends cold waves to my entire body.That night, I sat in my old, worn-out armchair, deep in thought. The dimly lit room echoed with silence, as I cast my mind back on the events that had molded my life…Not for good.Once, there was a time when my family was whole and complete, a loving unit bound by unbreakable bonds. It was impossible not to feel the warmth of my mother's embrace, the sound of my father's laughter, and the mischievous adventures shared with my only brother, Jadon. We were inseparable, a family filled with endless joy and happiness. I used to wonder if Jadon and I were actually siblings, because we behaved like two lovebirds who would rather prefer death than be separat
Trumpets announced his arrival. Trumpets and silence as the people of Olive crowded the steep streets winding up to the white palace that watched over them all. It was the first sunny day in weeks—the snow on the cobblestone streets melting quickly, though the wind still had a final bite of winter to it, enough so that the Avalon and his entire massive party were bundled in furs that covered their regalia.Their gold and crimson flags, however, flapped in the crisp wind, the golden poles shining as brightly as the armor of their bearers, who trotted at the head of the party. She watched them approach from one of the balconies off the throne room, Aiden at her side running a constant commentary about the state of their horses, armor, weapons—about the Avalon himself, who rode near the front on a great black warhorse. There was a pony beside him, bearing a smaller figure. “His sniveling son,” Aiden told her.The whole castle was miserably quiet. Everyone was dashing around, but sil
Vincent lifted his chin. “I have a friend. He is to be Lord of Anielle someday, and the fiercest warrior in the land.”She doubted Aiden would like that claim, but her cousin remained focused down the table. She wished she’d kept her mouth closed. Even this useless foreign prince had friends. The pounding in her head increased, and she took a drink of her water. Water—always water to cool her insides.Reaching for her glass, however, sent spikes of red-hot pain through her head, and she winced. “Princess?” Quinn said, always the first to notice.She blinked, black spots forming. But the pain stopped.No, not a stop, but a pause. A pause, then—Right between her eyes, it ached and pressed at her head, trying to get in. She rubbed her brows. Her throat closed up, and she reached for the water, thinking of coolness, of calm and cold, exactly as her tutors and the court had told her. But the magic was churning in her gut—burning up. Each pulse of pain in her head made it worse.“Princes