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Back We Are Blood and Thunder
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

Emris waved at the driver, who tipped his hat, and then knelt beside the front wheel of the carriage. He had formed a little braid of a few materials in the carriage—the feathers, leaf, and strings—and he appeared to be weaving it between the spokes of the wheel. The horses seemed restless, throwing their heads and snorting, pawing the hard-packed earth. Despite the hour of the day, the crossroads was still and silent.

Behind the carriage, a gray-green smudge on the horizon was the only evidence of Duke’s Forest. She felt a tug in her heart, like a cord pulled tight between her and the home she had left behind. An image flew unbidden into her mind: Vigo’s bones, bare and chewed. The image lingered, mixed up with the last time she had seen the old man, the calm determination on his face as he’d told her how to escape.

Sweeping the image aside, she jumped the last step, her feet planted in the center of the crossroads. And all of a sudden she felt a thrill of power, a jolt of static. The sensation shocked her; she stumbled backward, hand on the carriage for support.

Emris looked up at her, his face unreadable in the bright sunlight. “Spells work best in transitional areas—crossroads, coastlines, the mouths of caves. Here, the boundaries between Order and Chaos are frayed, and magic thrives. Can you feel it?” He observed her closely. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes. “No, I can’t feel anything. I’m fine,” she lied, willing it to be true. Emris returned to his work. But she felt something, all right: she felt as though she might laugh or scream or be violently sick, or as if some creature might burst out of the hollow place above her stomach—a feeling of … potential.

She reached for the butterfly in her pocket, breathing deep as she stroked its wings—something she knew, something ordinary and comforting. The sick sensation calmed down and settled in the slight dip between her lungs, below her breasts. Holding her other hand over the area, she pressed down and breathed deep again, and gradually the feeling passed. What was wrong with her? Was this magic?