The Queen's Rising (The Queen’s Rising, #1)

by Rebecca Ross

Art. Music. Dramatics. Wit. Knowledge.

Magnalia was a place for a girl to become an arden—an apprentice student. She could choose one of the five passions to diligently study beneath the careful instruction of a master or mistress. When she reached the height of her talent, the girl would gain the title of a mistress and receive her cloak—an individualized marker of her achievement and status. She would become a passion of art, a passion of wit, or whichever one she was devoted to.

Reminds me of Kuchiel’s Dart but with cloaks instead of tattoos, and slightly different topics of study…

gabled headdress of black velvet,

Tudor hood?

I always reminded myself that my soul was young and Cartier’s was not. He was far more experienced and educated, most likely the product of a childhood cured too soon. Whatever his age, he held a vast amount of knowledge in his mind.

air. “Do you agree?” “Of course, Master.” “Your eyes never lie to me, Brienna. You should learn better composure when you fib.” “I shall take your advice to heart.”

I decided not to answer, and my pause provoked him to look at me. I felt his blue gaze touch the crown of my head, my flowers, then along my jaw, down my neck to my aching waist. I imagined he thought me beautiful and then reprimanded myself for entertaining such an absurd fancy.

Geez, the slow burn tension is so good.

His hand took my elbow before I could stray, as if he knew words were not enough to keep me there. And then his fingertips slowly traced down the inside of my bare forearm, exploring all the way to my palm, to catch the curve of my fingers. He held me there before him on the grass—steady, resolute, celestial. It reminded me of another time, long ago, when his fingers had encompassed mine, when his touch had encouraged me to stand and earn my place in this House. When I was but a girl, and he was so far above me I never thought it possible to catch him.

“Brienna.” His thumb brushed my knuckles. I knew he wanted me to open my eyes, to look at him, to acknowledge what was unfolding between us. He is breaking a rule, I thought. He is breaking a rule for me, and I let that truth gild my heart as I drew in a deep breath. I opened my eyes;

“Don’t you know that daughters are far more precious and revered than sons?” he returned, his brows cocked but his eyes still gentle. “That fathers are, yes, content with a son or two, but it is daughters they truly want? And as such, a father would slay any who even dare to think of threatening her?”

a drawing of a great oak, encompassed in a circle.

“I cannot tell you what to decide, what is best,” he stated. “That is for your heart to choose, Brienna. But I will say this: no matter which path you choose, I will follow you, even unto darkness.”

He kissed me in the quiet shadows of his house, in the sweetest hour of afternoon, when light desires to surrender to evening. His fingers trailed down my back, touching every star he had given me. And I let the wonder cascade around us as I tasted each of his promises, as I woke the fire that he had long tempered in wait for me.

I wondered if I could truly do this, if I could build the first House of knowledge in Maevana, if I could inspire the passions in a land of warriors.