BooksBarbecue
Back Into the Dying Light
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

She held herself still, ignoring every instinct that told her to attack, even when Illya reached out and took her wrist in his hand. Her skin burned beneath his touch.

“The Pale Hand is just another in a long string of those who seem to have power but are truly weak inside,” Illya said. “A killer who can raise the dead, who can bring back a god, but doesn’t even know how to heal.”

His eyes met hers, his expression unchanged as he tucked his thumb beneath the slender Godfire cuff around her wrist, pressing against her pulse for the barest second.

“She never learned how. Ironic, isn’t it?” He dropped her wrist and turned back to the Hierophant.

Ephyra didn’t breathe.

“That’s a shame,” the Hierophant replied, sounding almost amused. “Though I suppose we all have our weaknesses.”

His bright gaze lingered on Illya for a half second longer, and when he flicked his eyes back to Ephyra she scrambled to smooth her expression into something like fear, or fury, instead of the helpless confusion churning through her mind. Her pulse pounded where Illya had touched her.

Because once again, she had underestimated him. Once again, he had tricked her, pulled the wool over her eyes and ripped the floor out from beneath her. How many lies had he told her, starting from the first time they’d met, here in Pallas Athos? She didn’t even know. He was a liar; she’d always known that.

And he had just lied to the Hierophant.

4

JUDE

Anticipation thrummed in Jude’s chest as he ducked inside the slyhouse, steeling himself against the sweet-smelling smoke and perfume. In the front room, the slyhouse’s workers slunk around in gauzy shifts, perching on the cushions and low couches spread out around tables. Just inside, a courtesan held court with a small group of well-dressed men, their laughter loud and raucous. Behind them, a boy plucked the strings of an instrument Jude didn’t recognize, playing a lilting tune.

A girl with a serving tray sidled up to Jude. “See something that catches your eye?”

“I’m here to see Zinnia,” Jude replied.

The girl narrowed her eyes, the look of cloying welcome sliding off her face. “She doesn’t take walk-ins. Appointment only.”

“I have an appointment.”

The girl looked unconvinced, but she just said, “Have a seat.”

She handed her tray off to another server and disappeared behind the curtain.

Jude sat stiffly on an open cushion.

“Hi there,” a voice said to Jude’s left.

He turned and saw a boy sprawled languidly beside him, dimpling a smile at Jude. He looked a little younger than Jude, with fair hair and hazel eyes, a pearl glittering in one ear.

“You waiting on something?” the boy asked, leaning toward Jude. The sweet scent of jasmine teased Jude’s nose. “I can entertain you while you wait, if you like.”