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Chapters (64)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  6. Pronunciation Guide
  7. Prologue
  8. Part One
  9. One
  10. Two
  11. Three
  12. Four
  13. Five
  14. Six
  15. Seven
  16. Eight
  17. Nine
  18. Ten
  19. Eleven
  20. Twelve
  21. Thirteen
  22. Part Two
  23. Fourteen
  24. Fifteen
  25. Sixteen
  26. Seventeen
  27. Eighteen
  28. Nineteen
  29. Twenty
  30. Twenty-One
  31. Twenty-Two
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Part Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Part Four
  47. Thirty-Six
  48. Thirty-Seven
  49. Thirty-Eight
  50. Thirty-Nine
  51. Forty
  52. Forty-One
  53. Forty-Two
  54. Forty-Three
  55. Forty-Four
  56. Forty-Five
  57. Forty-Six
  58. Forty-Seven
  59. Epilogue
  60. Excerpt from The Sun and Its Shade
  61. The Night and Its Moon Playlist
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. About the Author
  64. Back Cover

Amaris dipped her head below the bath’s surface and submerged herself entirely, running her fingers through her hair as the bathwater washed off the sweat, dirt, and grime. When she broke the bath’s surface, she looked into the mirror she had mounted on the opposite wall. She’d found the reflective piece in the fortress in a stock room nearly two years ago, and though she’d inquired, none of the men claimed to have needed it. She smiled at the young woman who looked at her in the mirror, loving the muscles, the bruises, and the prominent pink scars that tattooed her stance for freedom.

She would never be able to thank the goddess for the way Odrin had been like the divine intervention of holy lore. The father figure may as well have been the All Mother, arriving in the flesh when needed most. Thanks in large part to Odrin and the swift intervention of his healing tonics, the scars from her fateful morning at Farleigh had healed as beautiful, clean lines. They were little more than pink tattoos to mark her otherwise frosted features.

She blew a few bubbles in the water and thought absently of Ash, their exchange still fresh on her mind. Her sparring partner was dauntless with his endless, teasing offers to take her to bed. He’d had no trouble bedding many of the enthusiastic young women of Stone in his treks down the mountain for nights in the tavern. He’d become a good-natured, albeit incorrigible flirt. His amiable advances had made beating him in the ring all the more delectable. Nothing was quite as satisfying as rejecting a man and then kicking his ass.

Why not take him to bed?

She blew disinterested bubbles in the soap water, continuing to scrub at her body. She wasn’t saving herself—not as the matrons had hidden her away, keeping her safe and untouched like the finest of decorative, porcelain teacups. Perhaps a roll in the sheets would be something worth experiencing just to be done with it. It would be the final straw in breaking the efforts the matrons had taken to trap her behind tempered glass.

Whether or not to take Ash up on his offers one of these days was a question she had asked herself on more than one occasion. He was impishly handsome, roughly her age, and her physical match in nearly every way. She was extremely fond of him and struggled to imagine life without his steady, lovable presence.

Amaris understood why she would continue to rebuff his advances, as amusing as they were. It stemmed from a deep, unspoken agreement between herself and the keep. They shared blood in their oath for a reason. They were family.