More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The girl with no voice and no witch’s marks. The so-called Seer. Raina Bloodgood.
I remind myself that Raina has long been a woman, not a girl. A woman whose face lingers in my mind when it has no reason to.
Something must always be lost if you’re ever to gain. Don’t fear this. You will never move forward if you never leave things behind.”
A little light-haired boy appears at my feet—a halfling child who’s likely been taught to fear me yet is too young to understand why. Smile bright and green eyes shining, he tugs on my boot, uprooting precious memories that take over my rational thought. Before I can decide better of it, I dismount, grab the little one, and whirl him in the air as though I’m a father and he’s my son. It’s a foolish action. The most foolish.
The villagers gawk as confusion twists their expressions, but their glimpse of the real me quickly dissolves from their minds.
green, I see Raina again. It’s impossible to turn away.
“We’ll meet again, Keeper,” he mutters. “And when we do, I’m going to drive that knife into your heart and inhale your pathetic little soul.”
At least the last thing I will ever lay my eyes upon in this long life is a powerful woman of both beauty and fury. A soul delicate yet wild and so deeply moving—even if she does wish me dead.
In another life, I would’ve tried to know her. I would’ve admired her and read her poems written by my own hand. I would’ve walked with her through fields of stardrops, danced with her in the stream.
If I could speak, I’d tell her I came here to help her. To help us all. I’d tell her that I’m not evil. That I’m not entirely good, but I never meant to bring her sorrow. I’d tell her I’m terrified of what my death means, and that I’m worried about leaving her alone, because she doesn’t realize how alone she might truly be or what evil is yet to come.
A deep voice meets my ears. “Come, little beauty,” it whispers, and I’m dimly aware of being carried away,
One by one, the Witch Collector casts petals into the unhurried current where hundreds of blossoms float away to the river. “A stardrop for every soul,” he says, whispering the words like a prayer. It isn’t lost on me that he’s performing a ritual of my people.
Mother used to say that grief always strikes when we least expect it, and that we rarely realize how those we love inhabit even the most seemingly inconsequential parts of our lives. It’s in those moments that the pain of their absence strikes so much deeper, because the time we took for granted suddenly shines in sharp relief.
and with a dip in the clear water, washes my face with a tender touch. “Shhh. There now, don’t weep. It’s over. You’re safe.” His voice is still so warm, so gentle.
Gold for life magick, red for healing magick, silver for common magick—like the protective magick we build at the wood’s boundary. The violet must be for Sight.
“How do you feel, Raina? Listen to your misery. Listen to your rage. If you’re angry, let it boil. If you’re heartbroken, let your heart shatter.” His lips graze my ear, sending a rogue chill down my spine. “And if you hate, hate with the fire of a thousand suns.”
I swallow and build my song, focusing on the silver strands of my magick, blending it with the words he’s still reciting against my hair. But then his mouth touches my ear. “Think the words. Carry the song in your heart. Hear it. Don’t let it fall silent.” An involuntary shudder ripples through me, but I cling to the words, even as Alexus’s fingers thread with mine, stilling my fingers.
Alexus’s smile brightens, and a dimple dips deeply into his left cheek, unobscured by his beard. I bite my lip and silently damn him, because that smile is a lovely sight that I want to hate but somehow can’t.
Again, he smiles, and it’s irritating how devastating it is, even with a busted lip. His lone dimple makes an appearance, too, making matters even worse. It’s hard to despise someone who lights up the world when they smile. Damn him to the Nether Reaches.
I’m Alexus’s first thought upon waking.
Lowering my hands, I notice that Alexus’s eyes are fixed on me, unblinking, as if I’ve bewitched him. His lashes flutter, and he clears his throat. “What?” I slip my hands back to the warmth under my arms. “Nothing,” he replies with a small shake of his head. “Your magick is just really beautiful.”
Raina smiles. Really smiles. The kind of smile that brightens her whole face. It’s a rare thing, and the sight makes my heart squeeze, almost painfully. Gods. She is so beautiful.
Alexus slides until his back is against the stone behind us, and I fit myself between his legs. As if it’s the most natural thing to do, he folds me in his arms, covering me with the blanket,
“Close your eyes, you little rebel.” A smile tugs the corner of his mouth, and when the dim lamplight casts a shadow in his dimple, maybe a grin tugs my lips too.
I’m also not in my bed with Mother. I’m on the chilly ground, folded up inside the Witch Collector’s arms, covered by his blanket. My head is nestled firmly against his muscled chest, my arms tight around his waist. Even our legs found their way to one another in the night, weaved like we’ve slept together for years.
The God Knife hides a few feet from my hand, but I can’t imagine using it to harm Alexus now. We aren’t anything like strangers anymore, and certainly nothing like enemies. Compassionate like friends. Tender like lovers.
I’m learning the shape of his body. How he sleeps. The sound of his breathing. And I’m thankful for all of it—the gentle way he runs his hands along my thighs to build heat inside me, the way he clasps my hands and holds them against his chest when they tremble, how he nuzzles his lips into the crook of my neck when he needs to warm them. It doesn’t bother me. Instead, it feels oddly right, like we fit together in every way.
Trust is earned, and though he hasn’t had very much time to do so, he’s only proven himself as unfailing. If I had to imagine what his palm would tell me, it would be that. Unfailing. When I’m grieving, he provides comfort. When I’m angry, he lets me rage but tempers my fury. When I’m frightened, he’s right there beside me, facing whatever comes my way. And sometimes tossing pebbles to scare me. I stifle a smile. My mind is in tangles over him.
Though we’re only inches apart, I move closer to him. I enjoy the story, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also enjoy the soothing sound of his voice. “Go on,” I insist, tugging the blanket tighter around me.
Alexus Thibault is Un Drallag. The sorcerer who forged the God Knife. An Eastlander from the Tribe of Ghent. A three-hundred-year-old man.
I meet Alexus’s gaze, tears rolling from my eyes. “I will come for you,” he promises. “Trust me, Raina.” General Vexx kneels between us, glancing from Alexus to me, unsheathing the God Knife. “Somehow,” he says, “I think he’s wrong.” The last thing I see before oblivion takes me is Vexx, driving the God Knife into Alexus’s heart.
Slowly, I turn a glance over my shoulder and wipe a half-frozen tear from my cheek. In the pale light of early morning, one of the bodies moves. With his long, dark hair and shredded tunic, the Witch Collector pushes his hulking form to his knees. He struggles to stand, but after a long moment, his body unfurls, shoulders rolling back, feet spread wide, hands fisted like hammers at his sides. A cold wind snaps through the ravine, and a funnel of snowflakes whirls around Alexus, whipping through his hair and tunic. Behind him, a mist rolls into the gorge, slipping around him. It takes the shape
...more
heart thuds against the icy dagger. “Just a little while longer,” he whispers. “Then you’ll be free, Raina Bloodgood. No victory without sacrifice.”
and Colden is a violent force all his own with that hatchet. He and Alexus work off one another, and even though Alexus fights with a wounded knee, their movements still play out in artful form.
why am I just now realizing Coleen is the guy from the beginning of the story like it just now clicked????
and in the next blink, Alexus is with me, drawing me to my feet, clutching me. He fists in my hair, and his lips crush mine. “You beautiful virago,” he says against my mouth. “I’m so godsdamned happy to see you.”
“What are you scared of?” he asks, his voice so soft. “What is it you fear when it comes to me?” I look up at him, and a thousand answers chase through my mind. The truth boils down to one thing, though, a truth I can’t hold inside anymore. “That I will never let myself know what it is to be yours. That I will deny myself this. Deny myself you. Out of fear.” I pat his chest before continuing. “Because I am so scared of losing anyone else.”
There is no love without fear, but no one told me that fear feasts on those with something to lose.
