A Tempest of Tea (Blood and Tea, #1)
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Read between April 1 - April 3, 2025
1%
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The streets of White Roaring grew fangs at night.
1%
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It was unfair for the masked Ram to see so much when the people of Ettenia couldn’t even see the face of the monarch that ruled them.
2%
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“Weapons?” the butler asked, palm outstretched. “No, thank you.” Arthie smiled. “I have my own.”
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There was a greed in his gaze, as if he feared missing the world by giving in to a blink.
2%
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“We all have our secrets or the world would be out of currency. Isn’t that right, darling?”
2%
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“Or is it a sin when it’s me and an achievement to be applauded when it’s those in power?
3%
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Arthie didn’t sell her goods for cheap. Secrets were meant to ferment; they aged well. The longer they sat, the higher their value.
3%
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She almost felt sorry for him, until he looked up at her and winked slowly, with vanity. “Every good love story starts with a bullet to the heart.”
4%
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After all, fear became hate when it festered long enough. The world always teemed with darkness, Ettenia had just given it a new name.
5%
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She was, simply put, a tempest in a bottle, tiny and simmering and ready to obliterate.
8%
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The one who draws Calibore free is our savior. The one who wields Calibore is Ettenia’s right and true leader.
8%
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She was still a child, but when you saw the cruelty of the world firsthand, you became a little cruel yourself.
8%
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They collected trophies for civilizing countries that had never asked for a redefinition of the word.
20%
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Flick shivered at the words carved into the architrave: mortui vivos docent. The dead teach the living.
24%
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Colonists, they called themselves. The Ceylani didn’t have a word for that yet because they’d never faced people like that before: kind on the outside, greed and devilry on the inside.
24%
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They wore scarlet uniforms, sharp and commanding, as if they were righting the world’s wrongs. Their weapons were the stuff of cowards, allowing them to kill from a distance, rifles firing faster than their enemies could run.
96%
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The Wolf of White Roaring knew what the world saw when they looked at Arthie Casimir: driftwood washed up on a faraway land, lone and assuming. They couldn’t have been more wrong.