To Queen Morgana
Last year, on my birthday, I was sitting at a café in the South of France
by myself, eating blackberry cake I hadn’t ordered and fielding
frantic phone calls from my mother.
A year ago today, I was running for my life from the Fey trying to
murder me. I got kidnapped by my ex-boyfriend, Raphael, and taken across
the English Channel to Avalon Tower. I spent the journey terrified,
bewildered, and totally unprepared for what came next. With no idea I’d
survive training at Avalon Tower, let alone that I’d become the Lady of the
Lake.
A year ago today, I discovered I had hidden magic, that I was half Fey.
And this year?
This year, I’m not alone. This year, I have friends who would bleed for
me, and I’d do the same for them. A family carved out of chaos. A mom
I’ve left behind in Camelot to finally learn how to look after herself.
Today, my birthday takes place on a mossy island of rambling ruins and
ancient Fey magic.
As I polish the crystal glasses, my gaze roams over the castle’s carvings
—the triple spirals above each arched doorway that hum with magic
whenever I pass beneath them. Already, musicians are setting up in the
banquet hall, a drummer, a lyre player with shimmering silver hair, and a
lutist.
Aisling bustles in over the sun-dappled floor of cowslips, violets, and
rue. She sets out a crystal tray of buttered chanterelles with apple slices.
“So, Brados said to me, like he was serious, ‘We control the kingdom now.’
A republic. Can you imagine such a thing? He ran a bloody tavern, pulling
pints of goat piss for mead, now he’s overseeing a bloody kingdom with
some backward farmers? Not that I’m judging the country types, but in my
experience, they don’t know their arses from their elbows. Of course, most
of the Fey who stayed in Brocéliande seem to be happy. My
Last stand of a bride who does not want to be married
“Right, then.” Griflet hands us each a hot, steaming mug of tea. “A
royal wedding. Customarily, the gods demand a sacrifice of a dozen wild
boars and the release of five hundred white pigeons. I don’t have any of
those on hand.” He drops down into a wooden chair across from us. Next to
him stands a rough-hewn table strewn with papers.
Talan leans back, utterly relaxed, and drapes one arm over the back of
the sofa. Even seated, his powerful presence dominates the room.
Sometimes, I get the sense that the whole world exists for his entertainment.
“We don’t have time for the boars and birds.” Talan’s deep voice thrums
over my skin. “My father means to arrange for my marriage tomorrow,
whether I’m there or not.”
I clear my throat. Here’s my chance for a delay. “On the other hand, we
can’t afford not to. If Auberon realizes we skipped the boars and the
pigeons, he could pronounce that we aren’t truly married. Surely we want to
follow the ancient traditions for members of the royal family.”
“Five hundred pigeons?” Talan narrows his eyes at me. “Do you have
any idea how long it would take to organize that?”
“Lady Nia is quite right,” Griflet says, gripping his little leather bag like
his life depends on it. “Of course, this is all quite symbolic. We could try to
perform the ritual with something symbolizing the pigeons and the wild
boars.”
“Like what?” Talan asks.
“Well, the intent is a sacrifice. We could, for example, sacrifice some
finely baked biscuits and release a chicken from my coop.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Griflet nods wildly. “Yes, yes. I’m always serious when it comes to the
gods. The ancient texts permit me some leeway. It’s about the intent, you
see.”
“Excellent.” Talan runs his tongue over one of his sharp canines. “Let’s
sacrifice the biscuits.”
Griflet
Bu yaz yanınızdan ayırmak istemeyeceğiniz kitapları sizin için bir araya getirdik.
💬 Siz olsanız bu listeden hangisiyle başlardınız?
Magic Guadience with the enemy
“What are you talking about?” Raphael stares at me. “Why are you
hitting me with this wall of anxiety?”
“I thought you were going to tell me to leave.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
I swallow hard. “Good. Because I could actually be quite good at this,
you know.” I say this with much more confidence than I feel.
“I know. That’s why I want you here. I’m not shocked you’re behind the
others. You’ve only just joined and already missed two weeks of training. I
didn’t recruit you because I thought you’d be an amazing fighter. You’re
here because you’re a Sentinel. But we only have a few months before the
Culling. And while you have teachers who will teach you to master the
basics of fighting, spycraft, and Fey lore, there’s no one to teach you how to
use your magical powers. Nivene, the only other Sentinel, is too busy in the
field to offer you instruction.”
I swallow. “So, what will I do?”
“I’m going to teach you.”
“You?”
His expression is impossible to decipher. “Our personal feelings toward
each other are irrelevant. As a spy, your feelings in general are irrelevant,
and you should ignore them. Only facts matter.”
I nod. “You’re lucky not to be cursed with feelings.”
“We need a Sentinel, and you need training,” he goes on. “And I’m the
best person to do it.”
I take a deep breath. It’s a relief to know he’ll be able to ignore his
hatred of me. “Fine.”
Leaning down, he lifts a wooden box off the floor. He places it on the
desk, and the hum I’d been hearing grows louder. He tips the box so that its
contents face me. A shimmering mist whorls inside the box, its colors
constantly shifting. Within, I can barely glimpse the silhouette of something
spherical. A ball, perhaps.
Let's go Free them
She’s holding the pistol wrong. Even I know that. It’s too big for her, made of shimmering black metal, with a barrel nearly a foot long. Better suited to a trained soldier rather than a shivering, slight teenage girl. A soldier, I realize with cold clarity. A Silver. It’s the same kind of gun a Sentinel shot me with, so long ago in the cells deep beneath the Hall of the Sun. The bullet felt like a blow from a hammer and went straight through my spine. I would’ve died if not for Julian and a blood healer under his control. In spite of my ability, I raise my hands, palms open in surrender. I’m the lightning girl, but I’m not bulletproof. But she takes this as a threat instead of submission, and tenses, her finger itching too close to the trigger.
“Don’t move,” she hisses, daring to take another step toward me. Her skin, the dark, rich color of blackwood bark, offers her perfect camouflage in the forest. And yet, I see the red bloom beneath, and the tiny scarlet veins webbing the whites of each eye. I gasp to myself. She’s Red. “Don’t bleeding think about it.”
“I won’t,” I tell her, tipping my head. “But I can’t speak for him.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. She doesn’t have time to be afraid. Shade appears behind her, solidifying out of thin air, and wraps her up in an expert military hold. The gun falls from her grasp, and I snatch it before it can hit the rocky ground. She fights, snarling, but with Shade’s arms firmly locked behind her head, she can’t do much more than sink to her knees. He follows, keeping her firmly in hand, his mouth set in a grim line. A scrawny girl is no match for him.
The gun feels foreign in my hand. It’s not my chosen form of weapon—I’ve never even shot one before. I almost laugh at that. To come so far without even firing a gun.
“Get
Sayfa 291
Maybe a Mutation
“Fascinating,” he murmurs, reading something off another metal contraption I can’t name. He says it measures electrical energy, but how I don’t know.
I brush my hands together, watching them “power down,” as Julian calls it. My sleeves remain intact this time, thanks to my new clothing. It’s fireproof fabric, like what Cal and Maven wear, though I suppose mine should be called shockproof. “What’s fascinating?”
He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to tell me, like he shouldn’t tell me, but finally shrugs. “Before you powered up and fried that poor statue”—he gestures to the smoking pile of rubble that was once a bust of some king—“I measured the amount of electricity in this room. From the lights, the wiring, that sort of thing. And now I just measured you.”
“And?”
“You gave off twice what I recorded before,” he says proudly, but I don’t see why it matters at all. With a quick dip, he switches off the spark box, as I’ve taken to calling it. I can feel the electricity in it die away. “Try again.”
Huffing, I focus again. After a moment of concentration, my sparks return, just as strong as before. But this time they come from within me.
Julian’s grin splits his face from ear to ear.
“So . . . ?”
“So this confirms my suspicions.” Sometimes I forget Julian is a scholar and a scientist. But he’s always quick to remind me. “You produced electrical energy.”
Now I’m really confused. “Right. That’s my ability, Julian.”
“No, I thought your ability was the power to manipulate, not create,” he says, his voice dropping gravely. “No one can create, Mare.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. The nymphs—”
“Manipulate water that already exists. They can’t use what isn’t there.”
“Well, what about Cal? Maven? I don’t see many raging infernos around for them to play with.”
Julian
Sayfa 135
The Cike
“I recommended you to the Cike. And I did it for you, child.” Irjah
fixed her with a level gaze. “The rivalry between the Warlords has never
completely disappeared, even since their alliance under the Dragon
Emperor. Though their soldiers might hate you, the Twelve Warlords
would be very eager to get their hands on a Speerly. Whatever division
you joined would gain an unfair advantage. And whatever division you
didn’t join might not like the shift in the balance of power. If I sent you
to any one of the twelve divisions, you would be in very grave danger
from the other eleven.”
“I . . .” She hadn’t considered this. “But there’s already a Speerly in
the Militia,” she said. “What about Altan?”
Irjah’s beard twitched. “Would you like to meet your commander?”
“What?” She blinked, not comprehending.
Irjah turned and called to someone behind the door, “Well, come on
in.”
The door opened. The man who walked through was tall and lithe; he
did not wear a Militia uniform but a black tunic without any insignia. He
carried a silver trident strapped across his back.
Rin swallowed, fighting a ridiculous urge to sweep her hair behind her
ears. She felt a familiar flush, a heat starting at the tops of her ears.
He had gained several scars since she’d last seen him, including two
on his forearm and one that ran ragged across his face, from the lower
right corner of his left eye down to his right jaw. His hair was no longer
cropped tidily as it had been at school, but had grown unruly and wild,
like he hadn’t bothered with it in months.
“Hi,” said Altan Trengsin. “What was that about losers and rejects?”
“How on earth did you survive the firebombs?”
Rin opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Altan. Altan Trengsin. She tried to form a coherent response, but all
she could process was
