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Back The Midnight Lie
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. EPILOGUE
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  58. Also by Marie Rutkoski
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  60. Newsletter Sign-up

I remember the people who once troubled me, who wrung my heart, who stitched me up tightly with little black threads of guilt, who made me wish and cherish and smile and weep.

I know they once touched me, but I no longer feel it.

Wonderful. It is almost as good as having no memory at all.

The Elysium bird on my shoulder, I walk through the stunned city. I stare back at the people who stare at me, daring them to cross me. None of them do. I wish they would. They call out questions as though it is evident by my face that I have the answers. Maybe they are not so stupid after all, yet none is worthy of my reply.

I make my way through them and into the Ward.

The Half Kith have come into the streets. They see me arrive and they are eager. Many of them know now what they are. I see Aden, sunlight dancing down his arms, ready to twist the light in his control and use it as he wills. I see Morah and Annin at the fringes of the crowd, how Annin starts toward me. Morah, wise to whatever expression is on my face, claws her back.

Even the god-blooded ones don’t approach me. And I am not interested in the others, like Morah and Annin, who might as well be made from sticks and cloth. There is no power in them, not like there is in me.

Finally a god-blood dares to approach me. It is one-eyed Sirah, creeping up on her feeble old legs. “Nirrim, child, look.” She holds out her hand. “I can make it rain.” A little thunderstorm erupts on her palm.

A nice trick, and it could be useful to me, but she is weak and worn. I need powerful allies for what I want to accomplish. I push past her.

“Nirrim,” she says, shocked, “who do you think you are?”

I say it loud enough for all to hear: “I am a god,” I tell them, “and I am your queen.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANK YOU TO MY STALWART writing group members, Marianna Baer, Anna Godbersen, Anne Heltzel, Jill Santopolo, Eliot Schrefer, and other dear friends who read drafts: Kristin Cashore, Morgan Fahey, Donna Freitas, Drew Gorman-Lewis, Sarah Mesle, and Becky Rosenthal. You gave vital suggestions and encouragement when things got hard.

This book wouldn’t have been possible without them, or without the kindness and generosity of Cassandra Clare and Josh Lewis. Many thanks also to Robin Wasserman for her ever-keen perspective, Holly Black for plotting with me while we wrangled with the Aga, Elizabeth Eulberg for not letting me die on a tiny, tiny plane, and Sarah Rees Brennan, who always had a ready answer for my worries and wrote alongside me in our bower until the very end. Many thanks also to Renée Ahdieh, Leigh Bardugo, and Sabaa Tahir for giving me advice when I needed it most.