Probably Amalia, because then I could ask her to show me around Raverra, especially her favorite libraries and places to eat. I’d love to meet Zaira, too, but I suspect she’d think I was pretty boring!

Lastly, we have to ask: if you could have any superpower, what would it be?

I’d want to be able to shapechange into any animal, because that way I can get a whole bunch of powers for the price of one: flight, stealth, super senses, super climbing and jumping, you name it. Plus, I think it would be really fun to get to try out different shapes and see what they were like. If that’s cheating and I have to pick only one animal to change into, well, it probably won’t surprise anyone that I happen to think falcons are pretty cool.

A Preview of The Defiant Heir

if you enjoyed

THE TETHERED MAGE

look out for

THE DEFIANT HEIR

Book 2 of the Swords and Fire Trilogy

by

Melissa Caruso

CHAPTER 1

It seemed a shame to burn a place so green.

The tiny island floated in the path of the prevailing current from the Serene City, and trash collected along its curving inner shore. It was a mere mound of rock and sand, a navigational hazard without even a name. But flowering bushes edged the narrow strip of beach on which we stood, giving way to an improbable clutch of young trees and brush in the center. A salty breeze off the lagoon coaxed sighs from the spring leaves.

The whole place appeared far too flammable. Not that it mattered much, with balefire.

I calculated angles and took three steps across the sand. It couldn’t hurt to stay upwind. This might be a training exercise, but it could still kill everyone on the island if things went wrong.

Zaira lifted her brows beneath the windblown tangle of her dark curls. “Are you done dancing around? We’re not here to practice the minuet.”

I judged the space between us. Three feet, perhaps. Not nearly enough for me to make it to safety if she lost control.

But I nodded. “All right.”

“I won’t set you on fire,” Zaira promised. “This time.”

“I trust you.”

She cast a glance at Marcello, who waited a good fifty feet away along the gray stretch of sand. He stood at apparent ease, his black curls loose against the collar of his scarlet-and-gold uniform, the Mews looming watchfully over his shoulder across the calm lagoon waters. But his hand, hooked so casually into his belt, touched the grip of his pistol. Just in case.

“Are you ready?” Zaira called.

Marcello nodded.

Zaira held out a hand to me, palm up, as if she expected me to put something into it. The jess gleamed golden on her stick-thin wrist.

My mouth went dry as blown sand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”