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Back Heir to Sevenwaters Save as PDF
Chapters (22)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. CHAPTER 1
  6. CHAPTER 2
  7. CHAPTER 3
  8. CHAPTER 4
  9. CHAPTER 5
  10. CHAPTER 6
  11. CHAPTER 7
  12. CHAPTER 8
  13. CHAPTER 9
  14. CHAPTER 10
  15. CHAPTER 11
  16. CHAPTER 12
  17. CHAPTER 13
  18. CHAPTER 14
  19. CHAPTER 15
  20. CHAPTER 16
  21. CHAPTER 17
  22. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I’m immensely grateful to the three editors who have worked on the book: Brianne Tunnicliffe at Pan Macmillan Australia, Anne Sowards at Roc, and Stefanie Bierwerth at Tor UK. Heartfelt thanks to Gage Godfrey-Nicholls for her beautiful Sevenwaters family tree. A special thank-you to my Australian copyeditor, Julia Stiles, for an excellent job. Cate Paterson at Pan Macmillan has continued to be a source of great support.

My agent, Russell Galen, has assisted me during the planning and writing of this book with his usual blend of professionalism and common sense.

Heir to Sevenwaters is dedicated to my mother, who died in mid-2007. Mum, thank you for reading my handwritten childhood sagas with such patience, and for always saying nice things about them! Thank you for teaching me the value of storytelling. You encouraged me to dream.

CHARACTER LIST

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

My fingers numb with cold, I fastened a length of gold-embroidered ribbon around the hawthorn and murmured a prayer to whatever spirits might be listening. “When it’s time for the baby to be born, please don’t let my mother die.” Another ribbon, higher up in branches burgeoning with spring’s fresh green. “And please let the child be healthy.” A third, slipped between twigs that scratched my skin, drawing bright blood. “And if you can, make it be a boy. Mother wants a son more than anything in the world.”

I thrust my hands back into my sheepskin mittens and closed my eyes a moment to gather my thoughts. The lone hawthorn, which stood in a clearing within the great forest of Sevenwaters, was hung about with many offerings: ribbons, laces, scraps of wool and strings of wooden beads. Such solitary thorns were known to be gathering places for spirits. Until my mother had grown so heavy with child that she could no longer walk here safely, she had come every day with a token to place on the tree and a prayer that she might at long last be granted a healthy son. Now I carried out the ritual in her place.