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
A few days after the unforgivable, despicable slave massacre, Sorscha was finishing up a letter to her friend when there was a knock on her workroom door. She jumped, scrawling a line of ink down the center of the page.Levi popped his head in, grinning, but the grin faltered when he saw the letter. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, slipping in and shutting the door. As he turned, she balled up the ruined paper and chucked it into the rubbish pail.“Not at all,” she said, toes curling as he nuzzled her neck and slipped his arms around her waist. “Someone might walk in,” she protested, squirming out of his grip. He let her go, but his eyes gleamed in a way that told her when they were alone again tonight, he might not be so easy to convince. She smiled.“Do that again,” he breathed.So Sorscha smiled again, laughing. And he looked so baffled by it that she asked, “What?”“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.She had to look away, go find something to do with
Levi ’s skin was pasty and gleamed with sweat. “This is how he did it, isn’t it?”Benjamin nodded. “Ten years ago, with those three towers. They were all built years before so that this could happen precisely when his invading forces were ready, so no one could strike back. Your father’s spell must be far more complex, to have frozen magic entirely, but on a basic level, this is probably similar to what occurred.”“I want to see where they are—the towers.” Benjamin shook his head, but Levi said, “You’ve told me everything else already. Show me the damn map.”With a wipe of his hand, a god destroying a world, Levi knocked down a crystal, releasing the power. The ice melted, the water rippling and sloshing against the bowl. Just like that. Benjamin blinked.If they could knock out one tower … It was such a risk. They needed to be sure before acting. Benjamin pulled out the map Murtaugh had marked, the map he didn’t dare to leave anywhere. “Here, here, and here,” he said, pointing
“The leaders feared us and what we’d become. They thought the warriors or beasts would handle us, if we didn’t have each other to lean against. They were wrong.” His eyes glittered fiercely. “What they learned was that we love each other as true brothers. And there was nothing that we wouldn’t do, no one we wouldn’t kill, to reach each other. To save each other. We killed our way across the mountains, and made it through the Breaking—the worst of Ramiel’s three routes to the top—and we won the damn thing. We touched the stone in the same moment, the same breath, and entered the Carynthian tier of warriors.”Jane failed to keep the shock off her face. “And you say only twelve have become Carynthian … in five hundred years?”“No. Twelve made it to the mountain and became Oristian. Only three others, besides us, won the Blood Rite and became Carynthian.” His throat bobbed. “They were fine warriors, and led exemplary units. We lost two of them against Hybern.”Likely in that blast that
“I have a proposition for you.”Stomach muscles throbbing, legs aching, Jane stood before Clotho’s desk as the priestess finished writing on whatever manuscript she was annotating, her enchanted pen scratching along.Clotho lifted her head when the pen dotted its last mark and wrote on a scrap of paper, Yes?“Would you allow your priestesses to train with me every morning in the ring at the top of the House? Not all of them—just whoever might be interested.”Clotho sat perfectly still. Then the pen moved. Train for what?“To strengthen their bodies, to defend themselves, to attack, if they wish. But also to clear their minds. Help steady them.”Who will oversee this training? You?“No. I’m not qualified for that. I’ll be training with them.” Her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure why. “Vincent will be overseeing it. He’s not handsy— I mean, he’s respectful and …” Jane shook her head. She sounded a proper fool.Beneath the shadows of her hood, Jane could sense Clotho’s gaze lin
Vincent, former leader of the Consortium, Hand to the newly crowned Head of the Consortium , had discovered that he hated one sound above all others.Wheels.Specifically, their clattering along the planks of the ship on which he’d spent the past three weeks sailing through storm-tossed waters. And now their rattle and thunk over the shining green marble floors and intricate mosaics throughout the Kan of the Southern Continent’s shining palace in Antica.With nothing to do beyond sit in the wheeled chair that he’d deemed had become both his prison and his only path to seeing the world, Vincent took in the details of the sprawling palace perched atop one of the capital city’s countless hills. Every bit of material had been taken from and built in honor of some portion of the Kan ’s mighty empire:Those polished green floors his chair now clattered over were hewn from quarries in the southwest of the continent. The red pillars fashioned like mighty trees, their uppermost branches stre
There were two parts of her, Nasir supposed.The part that was now Captain of Consortium ’s Royal Guard, who had made a vow to her king to see that the man in the wheeled chair beside her was healed— and to muster an army from the man enthroned before her. That part of Nasir kept her head high, her shoulders back, her hands within a nonthreatening distance of the ornate sword at her hip.Then there was the other part.The part that had glimpsed the spires and minarets and domes of the god-city breaking over the horizon as they’d sailed in, the shining pillar of the Torre standing proud over it all, and had to swallow back tears. The part that had scented the smoky paprika and crisp tang of ginger and beckoning sweetness of cumin as soon as she had cleared the docks and knew, deep in her bones, that she was home. That, yes, she lived and served and would die for Consortium , for the family still there, but this place, where her father had once lived and where even her Consortium -bor