On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (The Wingfeather Saga, #1)

by Andrew Peterson

family. The cottage was rather plain, except for how comfortable it was, and how nicely it had been built, and how neatly it was kept in spite of the three children who lived there, and except for the love that glowed from it like firelight from its windows at night.

“Lad, it’s one thing to be poor in pocket—nothing wrong with that. But poor in heart—that’s no good. Look at them. They’re sad in the eyes, and it’s a sadness no amount of money could repair. Why, they hardly remember what it’s like to laugh from the belly anymore.”

“You have to think hard about the very thing before you, dear. Nothing else. To think too long on what might happen is a fool’s business. Right now, for your Podo, the thing before him is to find Leeli, not to think about how it happened or who’s to blame. And the thing before us is to wait in this old cottage without giving up hope. Even if hope is just a low ember at night, in the morning you can still start a fire.”

Janner wished his hands were unbound, not so he could run but so that he could embrace the ones he loved.

Just trust me, boy, and do as I say.

“You see, in Anniera, the kingship is passed over the eldest son. For as long as there have been rulers in Anniera, the position of highest distinction is that of protector. Too many kingdoms have fallen because of envy, greed, and lust for power. So the second-born wears the crown.” She looked at Tink. “Your brother is the rightful heir to the throne.” Tink blushed and averted his gaze from his mother’s placid eyes. Janner felt an unwelcome shiver of envy in his belly. “But a great honor is bestowed on the eldest,” Nia continued, taking Janner’s hand. “The eldest son, upon the birth of the younger, becomes the protector of the king. It is his life’s duty to serve and defend the younger from all harm. He is trained in battle, and his name is praised in every home in the kingdom.”

“It is no small thing to be a Throne Warden of Anniera. They have been sung about by bards for a thousand years and are accorded a place of honor like no other kingdom—like no other king—in the world—not because they’re lords, but because they’re servants. There were many days when your father wished he were a Throne Warden and not the High King.”

Remember this: You are an Annieran. Your father is a king. You are his son. This is your land, and nothing can change that. Nothing.