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Back We Are Blood and Thunder Save as PDF
Chapters (32)
  1. PROLOGUE
  2. ONE
  3. TWO
  4. THREE
  5. FOUR
  6. FIVE
  7. SIX
  8. SEVEN
  9. EIGHT
  10. NINE
  11. TEN
  12. ELEVEN
  13. TWELVE
  14. THIRTEEN
  15. FOURTEEN
  16. FIFTEEN
  17. SIXTEEN
  18. SEVENTEEN
  19. EIGHTEEN
  20. NINETEEN
  21. TWENTY
  22. TWENTY-ONE
  23. TWENTY-TWO
  24. TWENTY-THREE
  25. TWENTY-FOUR
  26. TWENTY-FIVE
  27. TWENTY-SIX
  28. TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. TWENTY-NINE
  31. EPILOGUE
  32. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Justice was standing on the battlements, off to one side of the riot below. He had a good view but was protected against the rage of the people, able to direct the squalls of arrow fire from a position of safety. He stood alone, a drift of storm cloud at his feet, flickering green, and Lena fancied it was marking him out as an enemy. As she stepped up the final stair, the wind blustered with an unexpected force, and magic tugged at her from within. The feeling was like a strange kind of homecoming—bittersweet, sad, joyful. She shut her eyes, feeling the movement of the huge storm all around her and the little storm’s heart inside her own. It wasn’t under her control, and yet…

The guard pulled Lena closer.

“Sir,” he said, “we’ve found the cryptling. She was among the rioters.”

The Justice turned, and Lena found herself pinned by his steely blue gaze. The heat of her hatred felt so intense she was surprised he didn’t burst into flames. This man had condemned her—and worse, he had condemned Vigo, who was innocent and had tried to protect her. He had left the old man’s bones to the dogs, the ultimate insult, so Vigo would never join the Ancestors he had revered in life.

A silver gauntlet on the Justice’s hand glinted as he clenched his fist. She wondered why he didn’t wear a second. His other hand was black-gloved.

“At last, some good news,” he growled, his voice barely audible over the roar of the angry crowd. “I see no reason to delay execution. Fetch the houndmaster and tell him to bring his hungriest dogs. The hounds shall feast today,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, and turned—but as he did, Lena caught sight of a movement down the staircase. A purple spark shot through the spinning cloud and suddenly the guard stopped short, clutching his chest.

The young guard fell, toppling over the edge of the battlements into the courtyard with a nasty crunch that turned her stomach inside out.

A figure climbed the stairs, and Lena started at the sight of the brass mask she remembered vividly from the night of her escape. Instead of a rich purple gown, the masked lady now wore plain, functional hunting clothes, and her hair was loose and wild out of its tight, high bun.

She raised her cane and shot an attack at the Justice, a purple flash illuminating the storm cloud like another kind of lightning.

TWENTY-TWO

Stolen Magic

Lena shrank to one side. Constance’s first shot had found its target, but the Justice appeared unaffected. He raised his hand and the gauntlet spat red magic—a flurry of sparks showering the battlements.

Lena stared at him. “You’re … a mage?”