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On the wave-tossed White Sea, realm of smashers and sea monsters, a ship is carrying Nazafareen and Darius to the Isles of the Marakai, where the wise woman Sakhet-ra-katme has guarded the secret of the talismans for centuries. But another is searching too, a man born in the brutal prison of the Kiln, who plans to use the talismans to free the Vatras and their mad king. Between them stands a young Marakai girl, ignorant of her own powers. From the moonlit treasure vaults of the Isles to the emperor’s lavish palace in Tjanjin, Nazafareen and Darius face their deadliest and most cunning foe yet.
In the mountain fastness of Val Moraine, the Pythia’s minions are on the scent of another talisman, this one from the Danai clan. Trapped behind a thick wall of ice, everyone’s going slightly mad—the perfect cauldron of suspicion and betrayal for Thena, who sees a chance to redeem her failure and bring the talisman back to Delphi. Then she’ll be free to indulge her twisted obsession with Darius—and make him pay.
And in Samarqand, Javid is drawn into the treacherous currents of a royal succession. When the old king dies and his son takes the throne, the depths of the prince’s depravity become clear. A journey north reveals the source of the spell dust he’s addicted to—and leaves Javid with an impossible choice.
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In the bright moonlight coming through the porthole, Nazafareen studied the gold cuff circling the stump of her right wrist. It was engraved with a snarling griffin—a winged lion—and had a lock with a small keyhole. The magus who first bonded them had kept the key, though it must be long gone now. Nazafareen tucked her arm under the pillow again, snuggling against Darius’s warm body.
His left arm appeared smooth and unblemished now, but it would wither again if they entered Solis. Darius had explained how the bond took a piece of him and trapped it in the cuff, and that—plus the element of fire—was what made the bond work. Every daēva suffered a different infirmity. Some lost tongues or eyes. Others had crooked backs and twisted legs. Nazafareen scowled. It all seemed utterly barbaric.
But their bond was gone in the darklands, and so was her negatory magic. Nazafareen felt naked without it, vulnerable and exposed. Darius said it drew on the power of the void, but where did that come from? Not the Nexus. Breaking magic was an inborn trait and one so rare Nazafareen didn’t know of anyone else who had it—or what ultimately became of them.
She pondered these things as she lay in the bunk, listening to the wind in the rigging. It had blown steady for days from the south, but now she heard intermittent stronger gusts that made the sails flap madly, as if the breeze couldn’t decide which way to go. Nazafareen touched Darius’s shoulder and his blue eyes flew open, wary and tense. He unconsciously reached for his elemental power, as he always did upon waking, as if to reassure himself it was still there.
His gaze softened when he saw her. She cupped his chin and ran a thumb across the dark stubble. It had been rough when it first grew in, chafing when he kissed her, but now it felt soft and silky.
“I like you with a beard,” she said. “You look distinguished, like Herodotus.”
He frowned. “It itches. But I’m not sure I want to try shaving on the Austral Ocean. You might not like me so much with one ear.”
“I’d like you with no ears at all,” she said seriously. “But listen, Darius. I think the weather is changing.”
He sat up and looked out the porthole, studying the sea and sky.
“Storm coming,” he said softly. “A bad one, I’d reckon.”
She leaned over him and pressed her face against the thick glass. It was too dark to see much, though his daēva eyes were keener.
“How bad?” she asked.
“We ought to ask the captain,” Darius replied. “She’ll have a good sense of it.”
Nazafareen had spent hours on deck observing the Marakai sailors and was deeply impressed by their grace and agility. They seemed to anticipate every swell and gust of wind. The Chione rode the waves like a water bird, perfectly at ease. And Nazafareen found herself reveling in the salt spray cast across the bow, the rush of water beneath the hull and sense of tremendous space all around, of being a tiny speck hurtling along beneath the vast starry sky. What a wonderful life, she’d thought, to sail free on the oceans!
But now she felt the power of the coming storm and was afraid.
In the bright moonlight coming through the porthole, Nazafareen studied the gold cuff circling the stump of her right wrist. It was engraved with a snarling griffin—a winged lion—and had a lock with a small keyhole. The magus who first bonded them had kept the key, though it must be long gone now. Nazafareen tucked her arm under the pillow again, snuggling against Darius’s warm body.
His left arm appeared smooth and unblemished now, but it would wither again if they entered Solis. Darius had explained how the bond took a piece of him and trapped it in the cuff, and that—plus the element of fire—was what made the bond work. Every daēva suffered a different infirmity. Some lost tongues or eyes. Others had crooked backs and twisted legs. Nazafareen scowled. It all seemed utterly barbaric.
But their bond was gone in the darklands, and so was her negatory magic. Nazafareen felt naked without it, vulnerable and exposed. Darius said it drew on the power of the void, but where did that come from? Not the Nexus. Breaking magic was an inborn trait and one so rare Nazafareen didn’t know of anyone else who had it—or what ultimately became of them.
She pondered these things as she lay in the bunk, listening to the wind in the rigging. It had blown steady for days from the south, but now she heard intermittent stronger gusts that made the sails flap madly, as if the breeze couldn’t decide which way to go. Nazafareen touched Darius’s shoulder and his blue eyes flew open, wary and tense. He unconsciously reached for his elemental power, as he always did upon waking, as if to reassure himself it was still there.
His gaze softened when he saw her. She cupped his chin and ran a thumb across the dark stubble. It had been rough when it first grew in, chafing when he kissed her, but now it felt soft and silky.
“I like you with a beard,” she said. “You look distinguished, like Herodotus.”
He frowned. “It itches. But I’m not sure I want to try shaving on the Austral Ocean. You might not like me so much with one ear.”
“I’d like you with no ears at all,” she said seriously. “But listen, Darius. I think the weather is changing.”
He sat up and looked out the porthole, studying the sea and sky.
“Storm coming,” he said softly. “A bad one, I’d reckon.”
She leaned over him and pressed her face against the thick glass. It was too dark to see much, though his daēva eyes were keener.
“How bad?” she asked.
“We ought to ask the captain,” Darius replied. “She’ll have a good sense of it.”
Nazafareen had spent hours on deck observing the Marakai sailors and was deeply impressed by their grace and agility. They seemed to anticipate every swell and gust of wind. The Chione rode the waves like a water bird, perfectly at ease. And Nazafareen found herself reveling in the salt spray cast across the bow, the rush of water beneath the hull and sense of tremendous space all around, of being a tiny speck hurtling along beneath the vast starry sky. What a wonderful life, she’d thought, to sail free on the oceans!
But now she felt the power of the coming storm and was afraid.
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