Fate & Furies (The Legends of Thezmarr, #3)

by Helen Scheuerer

‘Anything for the Shadow of Death and her right-hand men.’

Even as a young teenager, Malik was an immovable force, easily the tallest, strongest boy in their village. All the girls blushed when he came near, and the boys warred between hating him and wanting to be his best friend. But Wilder knew he was his brother’s true best friend. They did everything together. Which was why he didn’t understand why Mal was leaving now, why he was giving Wilder a look of resignation, seeming far older and wiser than he had any right to.

I love them ill cry

‘Come find me at Thezmarr, little brother,’ he said. ‘We’ll be Warswords together.’

I’ll CRY

‘Have I told you that I prefer you in writing? You’re more bearable in your letters than in person.’ The winged ranger put a hand to his cheek in mock offence. ‘You wound me.’ ‘I wish someone would.’

Why is wilder funny

‘You bringing anything to the table? Besides your mood swings and muscles, I mean?’

‘I miss my fucking cabin.’ Thea’s head snapped in his direction and she looked at him in utter disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious.’ ‘I’m deadly serious,’ he replied flatly. ‘We’re on the brink of war. We’re allying with shadow-wielding teenagers. Monsters with eight eyes and eight fucking legs are coming through the Veil, trying to kill us. And you miss your cabin?’ ‘I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,’ he told her. ‘Can you imagine the state of my plants? I bet Malik hasn’t watered a single fucking thing.’

‘You’re friends with the Son of the Fox?’

WHY IS KIPP FAMOUS

‘Say no more,’ Everard said. ‘You’re a friend of Kristopher’s. When it comes to that lad, we have a no questions asked policy.’

My boy kipp

‘If you only have a year left, then live it well, and live it with me at your side.’

Shadow-touched rangers, a Naarvian guerilla general, lost heirs of Delmira, Warswords, Guardians, alchemists of Thezmarr, a tavern owner, a wine merchant… and Gus, who was knitting silently in the corner.

Five reapers. One would-be Warsword. She liked those odds.

Althea Embervale was in pieces, and yet… And yet she stood, clutching the tiny blade in her one remaining hand.

Why am i crying

It was only in their ethereal presence that Thea remembered that their names weren’t known – that after all the legends told across the ages, their names had not lived on. They had not been honoured in title or individual esteem. Rather, the force of them had been reduced to a woman’s anger, a woman’s rage. The Furies.

‘No,’ she told them. ‘I carry myself like a Warsword.’

‘What are your names?’ she asked, her voice quiet yet firm. Their expressions mirrored one another, and told Thea it wasn’t often that the great Furies themselves were surprised. ‘That is not the question you came here with.’ ‘No,’ Thea admitted. ‘It’s not. But it is my question all the same.’ ‘No man who came before you asked such a thing.’ ‘I’m not a man.’

‘Because there is power in names,’ Thea replied. ‘And women whose might is etched in history deserve to have their names carved there too.’

Thea knew in her heart that whatever fate awaited her, she would rather live a single year with Wilder Hawthorne than face a thousand lifetimes without him.