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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 other three passages were equally empty, and she felt exhaustion settle on her, as cloying as the thick blanket of dust and cobwebs smothering the Ancestors. The network of tombs and passages extended for miles, deeper and deeper into the mountain, which was as hollow as honeycomb. Don’t lose faith, she willed herself. She would search again tomorrow, this time in the upper town. As she removed the mask and turned to leave, two bright lights flashed at her from the gloom, and a hiss broke the silence. She spun to face it. Illuminated by her mage-light was a huge ginger cat with a dead rat at its feet, glaring at her as if to say, “You are not meant to be here.”

“Neither are you!” she hissed back, her heartbeat slowly calming. The cat grabbed its dinner and slunk off into the shadows, acknowledging her superiority. Constance stood up straight and smoothed down her skirts.

She walked upstairs and into the great hall, setting her glowing cane on the stone floor while she lifted the heavy doors back into place.

She hadn’t really expected success on her first night of searching. No. That would be far too easy. It’s possible that it isn’t even down here anymore, she thought glumly.

Suddenly she caught sight of movement in the gap under the door to the courtyard—a pair of feet. In shock, she dropped the trapdoor the last couple of inches, a loud boom reverberating through the silence. She winced, quickly extinguished her light, and stood very still in the darkness. Maybe she’d made a mistake—maybe she hadn’t seen anything at all.

Quick footsteps retreated outside. “Jurah’s tits,” she cursed, and hurried to unbolt and open the door softly, peering out into the night. But whoever had been there, the storm cloud had swallowed them.

Her mouth was dry, her heartbeat shallow and rapid. Someone must have pressed their eye against the gaps in the old wooden door or looked through the defunct keyhole. Someone had seen her. And whoever it was, they’d seen her emerging from the forbidden crypts with her cane glowing. They knew she was a mage. They knew she was a heretic.

Once she’d unjammed the servants’ doors, she picked up her cane and stepped out into the dying night, heading for her room. She tasted salt on her tongue and realized that she was biting her lip so hard it was bleeding.

SEVEN

The Temple

The carriage thumped as it hit the ground, the wheels instantly rattling over the cobblestones. The noise was unbearable—a brain-shaking roar, ridiculously loud after the smooth passage through the air. They hit a pothole at a gallop, and Lena pitched to the side, glad of the straps holding her steady as the horses slowed to a canter, a trot, a walk.