By Carol Berg
All people in Navronne seems after Valen. there's the fanatical Harrower priestess, Sila Diaglou, who desires to raze the dominion. The Bastard Prince Osriel, who steals useless men's eyes. And the Pureblood Registry, made up our minds to maintain each pureblood sorcerer in thrall. Even beings out of fantasy, the Danae guardians, whose dancing nurtures the earth and whose recognition might turn out the costliest of all.
As Navronne sinks deeper into civil struggle and threatening wintry weather, Valen reveals himself a bargaining chip in a perilous standoff. Doomed to insanity by way of his habit to the doulon, and sure by means of oaths he refuses to desert, the younger sorcerer hazards physique and soul to rescue one baby, search justice for one other, and convey the sick land its righteous king. but nobody is who they appear, and Valen's look for therapeutic grace leads him from Harrower dungeons to the very center of the area. within the twilight of a legend, he at final discovers the not easy fact of the arrival darkish age and the fantastic, poor cost of the land's redemption...and his own.
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Extra resources for Breath and Bone
The holy spring that fed the abbey font had its source in the hills east of Gillarine--in the very pool where I believed Gerard's body lay. A glance across my cup revealed Nemesio glaring at me as if I were defiling a virgin. I had no idea what I'd done, but his shoulders sagged a bit as I lowered my cup. He snatched away the vessel and gathered the emptied cups from the others. "I'd best leave you gentlemen to your preparations," he said. "The guesthouse is yours for as long as you need, of course.
I clamped my arms about my aching middle. I would have given my two legs to be wrong. Translucent, blue-white cascades of ice ridged the vertical walls and sheeted the smooth ground. The pool itself lay unfrozen, dark and still, no matter the wind that whipped the heights, showering us with spicules of ice. Gerard floated on the glassy water, naked, bloodless. Rain must have washed his shredded flesh clean of blood and what scraps of his abbey garments the knives had spared. The thorough savagery could have left no blood inside him.
I pulled my arm from his hand. "Be well, Gram. " "Teneamus, Valen," he said. We preserve--the Aurellian code word of the lighthouse cabal. Gram's invocation of it expressed the sincerity of his concern for me. I had no answer for his kindness. " It was as well I chose not to further compromise my vow of submission. When Gram and I stepped from the cleft into the open air, Nemesio and the donkey waited with Gram's gray mare. Beside them stood Voushanti. Chapter 3 No argument of mine could persuade Voushanti that I'd no intent to run.