Master of Crows (Master of Crows, #1)

by Grace Draven

“You have done an unwise thing, Martise of Asher,” he said softly. “You’ve caught my interest.”

Theirs was a silent strength, bred of powerful souls never broken. Martise, with that bleak, imperious stare, reminded him of the Queens.

“It’s also said I raise the dead, talk to the dead, and eat the dead.” He tilted her chin with a fingertip so she must look at him. He was so close she saw the fine lines fanning out from his black eyes and the hollows beneath his cheeks. His sensual mouth curved into a mocking smile. “What do you believe?” “I believe in learning for myself instead of relying on the hearsay of others.” A glimmer of approval darted through his eyes

“You spoil him. I now have a mage-finder who spends his days lolling with the swine and begging caresses from a woman.” Gurn snorted into his tea cup, and Silhara raised an eyebrow. “Not that I blame him for the last.” “I’m confused, Master. Do you speak of the failures of men or dogs?” He almost choked on the second piece of orange and spat it onto the floor. Martise’s face blurred as his eyes watered. Gurn chuckled. His apprentice watched him, her copper gaze steady. For a moment Silhara caught a gleam of teasing humor in her eyes before it vanished. “Does it matter? We’re often one and the same.”

She screeched in surprise when her ladder thumped against its supporting branch. Leaves rustled and parted, revealing Silhara’s sharp, dusty features. His eyes were wide with astonished horror. He’d climbed her tree and balanced on a thick limb just below her. His height put him at eye-level with her, and she blushed at the appalled look on his face. “What in Bursin’s holy name is that?” he snarled.

mercy softened his voice. No remorse colored his tone. “Don’t fret, boy,” he said. “No one will notice it if you fuck in the dark.”

He was the storm. As lethal as the lightning and just as unpredictable. She stood before him utterly enthralled.

“I know what I see,” he breathed into her ear and thrust against her palm. “Know what I hold. This is what you do to me.”

“I’ve a mind to see all of you, Martise, and not much patience to wait. How badly do you want to save this garb?”

“I don’t need you on your back for anything, Martise, unless you want to go star-gazing with me.”

awake. “What will protect me from you?” He pulled her hard against him and nipped her shoulder. "Nothing."

“Did I please you?” Silhara raised his head slowly to stare at her. High color flagged his cheekbones. His pupils swallowed the lighter black of his eyes. “Please me? You’ve vanquished me.”

He’d once seen her as plain. No longer. In the red-rimmed shadows cast by the low flames, she was more beautiful than anything he’d ever beheld.

old Coastal, his name meant Unconquered, and the man who bore the name lived up to it in every sense.

The folds of her leine muffled his chuckle. “Can you give me salvation?” The strange question sent another bolt of dread through her. “No.” “Then tea will do.”

Corruption down with me.” She bowed her head. “I wish you loved me,” she said in a small voice. “Maybe then I could make you halt this madness.” Her statement almost brought him to his knees. It was because he loved her that he followed this path,

“My own Zafira. You have condemned me.”

“I cursed the day you came to Neith.” He turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm. “And cursed the day you left.”

He loved her to the point of madness, to obsession and even sacrifice.

Silhara smiled a grim smile. “I am your ruin and your executioner.”