More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Her knobbly beech wand was notched into the groove—and why wouldn’t it be? She wasn’t a prisoner. She was a Bloodmoon. She was one of their own.
So much blind faith in the loyalty brand. The arrogance.
The pride of his languages gave him a subtle glow, a half smile, so at odds
Non-magical violence was considered highly derogatory. It said, without words, You are not worth draining my well for.
Of winning. Of how it felt to be so thoroughly outplaying your opponents that nothing short of tragedy could strike you down now. As she lowered the lid of the trunk, a slow smile spread over her face.
“I’m not tragic. Don’t think of me like that.”
