Night of Masks and Knives (The Broken Kingdoms, #4)

by L.J. Andrews

Those were the nights when a poor boy and a forgotten girl dreamed aloud of the new lives they’d live far across the sea. Of good kings and gods’ magic. Tales where they were not hunted, where they were not afraid. The sort of tales where heroes never died, and pain did not exist. Those were nights when the girl told the boy he was valiant and steady like a raven, and he said she looked as pretty as a rose. The boy whittled them, a raven and rose, then tied the raven to her neck, the rose to his, and told her he’d always keep her secrets. Always.

Your hair looks like the sunset, Mallie. Yours looks like dirt. But the good kind of dirt. What the hells is the good kind of dirt? You’d know it if you saw it, Kase. But there is. There just is.

With two fingers, Ivar drew the runes he’d use to cast Malin’s face from my mind on my forehead. My grip tightened on the rose. I closed my eyes. He could warp her face, my thoughts, but I prayed to the fates—if they existed at all—that he would not touch where she lived in my heart. Even if it was hidden from my mind, let my heart hold tight to her. I loved Malin Strom. I’d lived my life loving her. If asked, I’d die loving her.