Chapters (64)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Pronunciation Guide
- Prologue
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Part Two
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Part Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Part Four
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Epilogue
- Excerpt from The Sun and Its Shade
- The Night and Its Moon Playlist
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
She didn’t intend to wander away from her only means of escape from this wretched town. The sooner they could leave Stone and its ominous cliff, the better.
Odrin walked to what seemed to be a rather ordinary shopkeeper’s stall and made idle chatter while refilling his waterskins, talking to the vendor as if he were an old friend. Odrin and his blades, bows, and armor weren’t met with suspicion. The scarred, grizzly man drew no stares from the citizens. She wondered how often Odrin and his league of assassins made the trek to visit this village to have imprinted such a sense of ease in his presence. They hadn’t been well received at the last village, and his appearance at Farleigh had caused outright chaos.
Amaris searched for signs of familiarity in the faces of its citizens as the people milled about the town square. She was curious if she would recognize Mable’s family if she happened upon them in their hometown. Just yesterday morning, she’d looked into the gentle eyes of the friendly matron who’d handed her a cup of tea in the warmth of her bed. Now, she peered into the features of the woman selling goats, the man with crates overflowing with ears of corn, or the girl hanging shawls in the fabric stall, searching their qualities for the same slope of the nose, dimples, or traits that had been one of the few rays of kindness in Farleigh.
Odrin had told her not to wander, but she supposed a little nearby exploring wouldn’t hurt.
The honeyed smell of something brewing drifted from Stone’s inn, a lovely curiosity that required closer investigation. Her nose followed the sugar-sweet scent to the window. The inn in this small town was perhaps three times the size of the inn she had seen in the tiny village only one day prior. Merry sounds of a fiddle drifted through its open windows, an unfamiliar jig on its weathered strings. Honest, plump faces, loud belly laughs, and the thumping boots of uneven dancers too drunk to care about the tune or its steps colored the view beyond the glass. They seemed happy. Their lives looked so easy.
Amaris idled by the window but didn’t enter. She didn’t feel the joy the tavern’s music intended to elicit. It had nothing to do with the traumatic changes she’d undergone in the past night and day. Those feelings were something she’d shoved into a small, wooden box deep within her. It was an airless, impenetrable container with no perceivable latches and mechanisms—one that she refused to touch. She wouldn’t be able to function if she allowed herself to take them out, playing with her painful memories like toys from a treasure chest.
This morning’s particular brand of joylessness was entirely the fault of the mountain and its ever-present shadow.