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The tears of a fairy from a wood so deep. The fig of a vorgrath from his mate’s keep. The scale of a selkie burnished gold. The bone of a wood witch a century old. The midnight sliver of a Shade Queen’s horn. The sacrifice of two lovers torn.
Haven Ashwood had a horrible habit of flirting with death.
“And not just any royal Shade Lord. The Lord of the Netherworld. Of all the beasts in the land.”
She’d stabbed a Shade Lord. He knew she was responsible for his Shadowling’s deaths. Runes, she’d stabbed a Shade Lord! Not a Shadowling. Not a common Noctis. But a Shade Lord, the most dangerous and powerful kind of Noctis. Unfortunately for her, this particular Shade Lord was also the dark ruler of the Netherworld, and husband of the Shade Queen’s daughter—if the myths and Bell’s tomes were to be believed.
Archeron Halfbane, bastard son of the Effendier Sun Sovereign, was a slave.
Still, when Haven held the runestones, she could feel something. A connection, an emotion, as if an invisible thread ran from the stone connecting her to the Nihl—which was, for her, impossible.
In fact, the only Solis she’d ever met had stolen her from her family and sold her into slavery. This Sun Lord, pretty as he was, would be no different.
Haven turned up her chin. “All Solis are pretty and equally worthless. I’d rather have his horse.”
Maybe it’d been so long without a noble lightcaster that the Shade Queen had forgotten the cruel Curseprice for the murder of her daughter at the hands of a mortal prince.
“Told you I’m quite useful. When I want to be.” She brushed by him, whispering into his ear in rough Solissian as she passed, “I think that solidifies our deal, no, pretty Sun Lord?”