Thaumaturges...
Q:
They came at the end of the long night, when the manufacturing dome had not seen sunlight for almost two weeks. (c)
Q:
He’d just stopped questioning every thought that flickered through his brain. He had just begun to hope that he would not be chosen. (c)
Q:
Z balled up his blanket between his fists and tried to pour all his fears into it, and then release them all at once. He had to do it three times to keep from hyperventilating. (c)
Q:
Since he was a little boy, he had been raised to expect a visit from the queen’s thaumaturges during his twelfth year, and knew if he was deemed worthy, he would be conscripted into the new army she was building. It was a great honor to serve his crown. It would bring pride to his family and his sector. (c)
Q:
As it is expected that henceforth you will have no more contact with your biological family, you may now say your good-byes. (c)
Q:
When his peers practiced mind control on one another or an instructor prodded him with thoughts of obedience, it felt like a new idea being etched into his brain. It was recognizable and, often, he found that with enough focus he could defy it. (c)
Q:
He would wake up improved. ...
He dreamt of needles burrowing into his skin. He dreamt of pliers gripping his teeth. He dreamt of hot ashes and smoke in his eyes. He dreamt of a white tundra, a cold he had never known, and a hunger barely satiated by dripping meat in his jaws.
Mostly, he dreamt of howls in the distance. Forlorn cries that went on and on and on. (c)
Q:
Twenty-six days, gone, while his DNA melded with that of a white wolf, while nameless doctors and scientists turned him into a beast to serve his queen. In that time, the sun had come and gone, plunging the great city of Artemisia into another long night. (c)
Q:
We all know you’re Alpha—you don’t have to bully every twelve-year-old kid who comes in here to prove it. (c)