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thenovl · 7 years

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NOVL Excerpt: Fireblood

I circled the Frostblood warrior, my boots kicking up dust from the drought-dry earth. One little mistake, one little lapse in focus, would mean defeat.

His left fist twitched before his right came out with a cyclone of frost. But I knew all his favorite tricks, his feints and false moves. I twisted to the right, throwing a plume of fire from my palms.

My vision clouded. A sudden memory took me: my hands, red with fire, stretched toward the icy throne of Fors—the timeless symbol of Frostblood rule—its wicked, gleaming shards mocking my paltry fire. I couldn’t melt it. I couldn’t defeat the curse inside it.

But then another’s frost joined my fire, not extinguishing but creating a blinding blue flame that poured toward the throne, softening its edges, dulling the sharp points, making the ice weep in defeat. I could hear King Rasmus’s delighted laugh as the Minax broke free from the throne’s dying heart, as the shadow creature crept against my skin, seeking entry, promising the joy of a thousand sunbursts and the absence of pain or weakness ever, ever again.

I snapped back to the present, stumbling as an icy blast hit me in the chest. I rolled and regained my feet, but my sight remained foggy, the memory far too real. The skin near my ear where the Minax had marked me burned, and I cried out.

“Ruby!”

Hands cupped my shoulders. I had an urge to knock them away and run.

Arcus’s voice murmured, deep and even, designed to soothe but sharpened by a hint of distress. “Slow your breathing. It will pass.”

It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real.

My heart pummeled my ribs. My throat thickened. “I can’t breathe.”

Arcus’s hand moved to my sternum, pressing gently, his long fingers splayed against my neck. “Slow and steady. Everything is fine. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Gradually, the soft words and touch made their way past the fear. I blinked until the royal gardens came into focus and I smelled the perfume of roses and summersweet. Tapered yews stood sentinel around the wide clearing, and beyond that, taller leafy sycamore and birch trees bowed over the evergreens like gentlemen over the hands of ladies. The heat of the late-summer sunrise calmed me, along with the occasional rustle of leaves brushed by the hand of Cirrus, the west wind.

I turned my head and was ensnared by icy-blue eyes under a brow drawn tight in concern. Arcus’s skin had lost some color. I reached up and slid an unsteady palm along his cold cheek, smiling when he didn’t flinch as my fingertips touched his scars.

“Your episodes are growing more frequent,” he said.

I shrugged, the movement jostling his hand, which still rested over my collarbone, the heel of his palm against the upper curve of my breast. We both seemed to realize it at the same time. A flush scorched my cheeks. His lids fell, hiding his eyes as he moved the hand to my upper arm.

There were unspoken boundaries we hadn’t crossed yet, though I hadn’t decided if that was due to Arcus’s self-control or the fact that our moments alone were brief and often interrupted.

“Have you found out anything more about the curse?” he asked.

“Not yet.” Brother Thistle and I had spent many hours in the castle library combing through books on the Minax—the haunting, shadowy creature that Eurus, god of the east wind, had trapped in the frost throne. Eurus’s curse corrupted any ruler that held the throne, inciting war and tyranny, which fed the curse further. The more violence and death, the stronger it grew.

The Minax had found an easy target in Arcus’s younger brother, Rasmus, a young man who was too fearful and too angry to fight it. Under the influence of its silky promises and opium-like alleviation of pain and fear, King Rasmus had sent his soldiers to hunt and kill Firebloods, and most of my kind had been murdered in raids. The strongest were brought to the capital city, Forsia, where they’d died in the king’s arena. As far as I knew, I was the only Fireblood in the kingdom who’d survived, and with help from Brother Thistle and Arcus, I’d melted the throne. We’d assumed the curse would be destroyed as well.

We’d been wrong.

Now Brother Thistle and I were trying to find a way to stop my visions and stop the creature itself.

I absently rubbed the carelessly stitched line on my little finger. It itched when I was upset, a reminder of my time in the Frostblood arena, what I’d had to do to help Arcus take his rightful place as king. But with the Minax still out there, inhabiting other bodies and biding its time, I wondered if destroying the throne had done more harm than good.

Arcus watched me for a minute, then took my hand and drew me through a barely perceptible opening between evergreens and onto a winding path. “I want to show you something. Close your eyes.”

I let him lead me over what felt like flagstones and spongy pine needles until the path changed to gravel that crunched under our boots.

“All right. You can open them.”

He kept hold of my fingers as I opened my eyes to see plants, flowers, shrubs, and small trees surrounding us. “Everything is white,” I breathed, moving toward a planter bursting with alabaster-stemmed flowers, petals aglow with reflected sunlight. I reached out and my finger felt biting cold. “They’re made of ice!”

Arcus came up behind me, his chest lightly touching my back. His hand brushed mine as he cupped the flower I’d touched. “Do you like them?”

Petals like white wood shavings rose above gently curling stems, and shrubs flaunted leaves in the most delicately crocheted lace. Tall, feathery fronds drowsed over tightly woven packs of icy rosebuds, like parents watching over a bed full of sleeping children. Miniature trees with translucent trunks etched in a frosty wood-grain pattern sported flat, veined leaves and peach-shaped globes. Ice crystals hung like frozen tears from every branch and stem. The twisting, ethereal shapes clinked together in the morning breeze.

“It’s lovely.” I turned to Arcus. Some fierce but gentle emotion sparkled in his eyes.

“I hoped you’d like it,” he said softly. “Though it’s not the most logical gift for a Fireblood.”

Vulnerability hovered in his expression, and the reason for it hit me. “You made all this?” I examined the garden with awe. There were layers and layers of swaying flowers, carefully rendered shrubs, and elegant trees, all surrounded by a curving, four-foot-high ice wall. “By yourself?”

He nodded, lips twisting in a slight grimace. “It frustrates Lord Ustathius to no end to find me here instead of in the council chambers. I told him this helps me think.”

“And does it?”

“Yes. It helps me think of you.”

His tenderness softened the last of the tension from my body. His arms came around me and mine curved around his back, our lips touching with careful pressure, as if we were made of the same gauzy frost as the ice petals and could crack if we pressed too hard.

My Fireblood skin gradually warmed his, and the shocking cold of his lips gentled mine into cool softness. The kiss was smooth, seeking. His freshly shaven jaw was like silk, lightly scented with his soap, with hints of his own unique scent that I found more heady and pleasing than a handful of fragrant wildflowers.

Moments were lost in feeling, the tinkle of ice making strange music all around us. Arcus’s hand came to my cheek, his other arm pressing me closer, his mouth demanding more. He tasted of the mint tea he drank every morning, and his hair was thick and satiny under my fingers. My control unwound like a spool of fabric rolling across the floor. Heat flared, and drops of water rained from the trees onto our cheeks. He smiled against my lips, his fingers brushing droplets from my brow and nose.

I pulled away just far enough to meet his eyes. “I’d have been happy with a single flower.”

“A single flower would melt in an hour or two,” he said, his voice huskier than usual.

I quirked a brow teasingly. “You think it would last a whole hour in my hands?”

His teeth flashed before he stole another quick kiss, his arms tightening around my waist. “I know you need to escape the palace sometimes, and I wanted you to remember that frost is not just harsh and unforgiving. It can be delicate and welcoming. It can bend. It can learn the shape of things and melt and freeze again in a different form.”

Warmth filled my chest at his caring perception. He was right that I often wanted to escape the Frostblood Court. The courtiers stared and sneered and talked about me openly whenever their new king wasn’t present, questioning his judgment in letting a “wild Fireblood” peasant live in the castle. I feared I was becoming a liability in his struggle to unite the new additions to the court who had supported Arcus in the rebellion with the entrenched members of the court who had been close to King Rasmus. Their new king not only tolerating but showing favor to—possibly even courting—a Fireblood was apparently one step too far.

But Arcus’s words reminded me that he wasn’t his court, that he would adapt when I needed him to, that he accepted me as I was, even if no one else did. It touched me more than I could say. I wished I could find the words to tell him, but lately that seemed impossible.

Feeling came easily. Putting those feelings into words was increasingly difficult.

As Arcus watched my face, he grinned at whatever he saw there, his masculine beauty kick-starting my heart. His smiles turned his face from austere to radiant. My hands wound around his neck, my fingers diving into the hair at his nape. He pulled me snugly against him and his lips brushed my cheek, then moved down to find the pulse point at the side of my neck.

A loud cough broke the silence. I pulled back, but Arcus’s lips followed me, staying glued to the column of my neck, breaking away only when I pushed against his chest. He branded my cheek with a final kiss and turned leisurely, his arms still locked around my waist.

“Lord Ustathius, you have the most unfortunate timing of anyone I’ve ever met. Whatever you wish to discuss, I’m sure it can wait.”

He started to turn back to me, but the sour-faced advisor coughed again, somehow injecting the sound with both apology and censure. “I’m afraid it can’t, Your Majesty. There’s an urgent matter.”

Arcus gave a frustrated sigh, his eyes hooding. “How many urgent matters can there be?”

“A great many,” said Lord Ustathius, his gray eyes as serious as a thunderhead, ample warning that he was about to launch into one of his familiar lectures. “When you are simultaneously bringing armies home, establishing diplomatic talks with neighboring countries, and trying to win the hearts of your people, there will be no end to the demands on your person. Commitment. Sacrifice. Selflessness. These are all required if your ambitious plans are to have—”

“Any reasonable hope of success,” Arcus completed. “Yes, my lord advisor, you have drilled that concept so thoroughly into my head that I hear the words in my sleep. However, I must have a breath of air now and then or I will go mad. Surely you don’t begrudge me exercise.”

“Is that what you call it, Your Majesty?”

My cheeks grew hotter.

Arcus squeezed my hands comfortingly. “What is the crisis this time?”

“A messenger from Safra has arrived and he insists on taking a reply from your hand only. Also, I have called an emergency meeting of the council to discuss caring for the wounded who are returning from the wars. The flood of refugees arriving in Forsia is increasing daily, and we need to address their needs for healing and shelter.”

Every word seemed to add a weight to Arcus’s shoulders. He sighed heavily as he looked back at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “You’re needed. I’m lucky to see you at all.”

His mouth tightened, puckering the scar on his top lip. “I wish it weren’t so difficult. Meet me here at dawn again tomorrow?”

“Only if you can manage it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He looked at me carefully. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Of course. No more visions.”

He returned my smile, but tension had gathered in his eyes. With a final squeeze of my hand, he turned and strode toward the castle. Lord Ustathius started to follow him, then stopped and turned back to me.

“What is it?” I asked. I still felt vulnerable, unguarded—both from the vivid memory of the Minax escaping from the throne and from Arcus’s kisses. I took a calming breath, hoping to find some control over my heat, which had risen, as it always did, with strong emotions.

Despite his distrust of me, Lord Ustathius’s tone was steady. “You do him no favors by taking his attention from his duties as king.”

“I don’t force him to spend time with me.”

“But you encourage it. Perhaps you should think about what he is trying to achieve. It would be better for him, and for the kingdom, if you weren’t here to complicate matters.”

His candor silenced me for a moment before I found my voice. “You think I should leave? For the good of Tempesia?”

“And for the good of the king. He has a new life now and his attachment to you wins him no esteem with the court.”

It was as if he’d seen the vulnerable place in my heart and he’d aimed an arrow right for it. “I’m well aware of the court’s lack of esteem.”

Lord Ustathius’s expression softened into something like sympathy, which somehow felt more deadly than his censure. “Let him look to the future. Let him choose what is best for him as he grows into the king he is meant to be.”

“And by ‘choosing what’s best,’ I suppose you mean your daughter?”

He lifted his chin slightly. “You cannot fail to see Lady Marella’s virtues and accomplishments. Any man would be fortunate to have her hand in marriage, particularly a king who needs strong allies in the court.”

I looked down, struggling against the jealousy that tightened my chest. The worst part was that I knew he was right. Marella was a Frostblood noblewoman—poised, intelligent, charming—a perfect helpmate who would smooth Arcus’s path as king in countless ways. I was a Fireblood peasant from nowhere, with a heart full of flames and the distrust of the entire Tempesian population. I couldn’t be more ill matched to the Frost King if I’d been created as his opposite by a mischievous god.

“I don’t say this to hurt you,” Lord Ustathius continued. “But I know you must see it, too. It does no good to deny the truth.”

“The truth,” I countered, “is that I don’t make my decisions based on what the court wants. I’ll stay here as long as King Arkanus wants me to.” I lifted my chin and forced myself to hold his cold, burning gaze.

“Then best of luck to you, Miss Otrera,” he said finally, his tone conveying clearly that he viewed me as a foolish child. “I fear you are climbing much higher than you were meant to. Like Pragera, who tried to climb Mount Tempus to reach the home of the gods and was doomed to plummet eternally as punishment for his hubris.”

“In the Fireblood version,” I said, “Cirrus takes pity on him and gives him wings as he falls.”

“Then let us hope your version is the correct one. You are closer to the edge than you think.”

“Another court dinner, my lady?” Doreena asked as she fastened the buttons at the back of my gown—a fussy, high-waisted affair made of ochre silk.

“Imagine my excitement,” I grumbled, trying not to fidget. “Arcus seems to think that rubbing me in the court’s noses will endear me to them. In the same way, I suppose, that stepping in horse droppings increases one’s appreciation of horses.”

Doreena laughed in her quiet way. “Such sarcasm. Have you been taking lessons from Lady Marella?”

“You know that’s the one thing she doesn’t need to teach me.”

She continued to smile. “Well, you are neither a horse nor its…” She cleared her throat to avoid the rest, which just showed that Doreena was more refined than I’d ever be. “And you are quite endearing, my lady. Before you protest, you are a lady, because the king says you are. You wear fine dresses and have a beautiful room. Accept your place, else the court will never accept you.”

As if it were that easy. However, she had a point about the room. Red brocade curtains fell in thick folds, creating a snug cocoon around the four-poster bed. An arched mullioned window, complete with a window seat, faced a garden bursting with flowers and topiaries. An overstuffed wingback chair nestled between a fireplace and a mahogany bookshelf crammed with books. Arcus had chosen the room, placing me in the wing used by the royal family. I sensed he was trying his best to make me as comfortable as possible in a place he knew felt very far from home.

Wherever “home” was. Even if people had returned to my village now that the raids against Firebloods had ended, it wouldn’t be the same without Mother there.

Grief stabbed me, a twisting knife in the dead center of my chest. Mother had died trying to protect me from the Frost King’s soldiers, from the captain who’d blithely killed her and burned our village. If she were here, no doubt she’d tell me to try to fit in, to make allowances for people’s prejudices, to hide the heat that makes them all so uncomfortable. But that’s exactly what I’d been trying to do for weeks.

I tugged at the frothy lace that dripped at my wrists, hiding my pain with petty complaints. “Could you please tell the seamstress I don’t need so much lace at my collar and cuffs? Marella’s gowns are always sleekly tailored, but this woman seems determined to make me look barely old enough to cut my own meat.”

Doreena’s gaze swept over the dress. “You look very pretty, my lady. Perhaps you’re nervous.”

I stifled the urge to argue. Now that she was my lady’s maid, I was glad Doreena felt freer to tell me what she thought. And she was right. I was nervous.

“I hate facing all those snobby nobles. They stare at me like I’m about to burst into flames at any second. Last night Lady Blanding looked me in the eye as she spilled wine on my dress! I could have happily set her hair on fire.”

Doreena came to stand in front of me, regarding me seriously with her owlish brown eyes. She still had the look of a woodland creature, ready to startle and bolt at any sudden movement. However, she’d been the first person to show me kindness here, and considering Rasmus had been king at the time, that had taken courage.

“You must not lose your temper,” she advised, not for the first time. “That’s when you fail to control your gift. And that’s exactly what they want—to prove that Firebloods are dangerous and that you’re unsuitable for court. They want the king to see you as they do: a threat.”

To some degree, I understood their hostility. After centuries of wars, broken treaties, and retaliation, Frostbloods and Firebloods had learned to regard each other with bone-deep distrust. I looked at my hands, small and sun-browned and innocuous-looking, but with the ability to wipe out a battalion of soldiers if I wanted. No wonder the court feared me. Sometimes I feared myself.

I met Doreena’s pleading gaze. “It’s hard to grin and pretend I don’t notice their insults.”

“You don’t have to grin. Just don’t light them on fire.”

I grunted noncommittally. “I make no promises.”

On the way to the dining hall, a draft from the open door of the former throne room chilled my arms into gooseflesh. I’d avoided this room in the weeks since I’d melted the throne, but tonight I was drawn to the stark emptiness, the eerie peacefulness of dust motes tracing lazy curlicues in the twilight. At sunrise, the mosaic floor tiles would flash with vivid color, but now it all looked washed in gray. Stale and abandoned.

Arcus no longer used this as the throne room—it held the echo of too many horrible memories. Instead, he’d placed a simple ice throne, square cut and modest, in a receiving room on the ground floor.

My soft-soled slippers made no sound as I approached the spot where the massive frost throne had sat for centuries.

According to myth—or history, if you believed the stories were true—the ice throne had been the handiwork of Fors, the god of the north wind. Not satisfied with merely creating Frostbloods, he’d also given them an enormous throne of ice to strengthen the powers of their monarchs. A particularly useful gift considering the regularity of the wars against Firebloods.

Not to be outdone by Fors, his twin sister, Sud, goddess of the south wind, had created a throne of lava to enhance the powers of her precious Fireblood rulers.

When their brother Eurus, god of the east wind, had tried and failed to create his own race of people, he’d ended up instead with voracious shadow creatures that killed Frostbloods and Firebloods indiscriminately. So the wise and peace-loving Cirrus, goddess of the west wind, had finally plunged into the fray, sweeping the thousands of shadowy Minax underground to a place called the Obscurum, sealing it behind a Gate of Light that no mortal could breach. Then the siblings’ mother, Neb, had decreed that none of her children could interfere in the mortal world any longer, which meant the Gate should stay closed forever.

Eurus was tricky, though. He’d saved two of his favorite Minax from exile, hiding one in the Frostblood throne and the other in the Fireblood throne. The Minax, with their ability to possess people, provoked the kings and queens into increased enmity and hatred, causing war and mayhem and the deaths of many more Firebloods and Frostbloods.

After centuries of bolstering Frostblood rule, the throne of Fors was gone. All that was left from where it had once sat was a discolored area of tile, round and shiny black, a stain that could never be scrubbed away. Much like the scar near my left ear, which the Minax had given me in this very room after it escaped from the melted throne.

My fingers moved to stroke the heart-shaped mark.

As soon as I touched it, I was plunged into another vision, dark and deep.

I stand in a cavernous room with black stone pillars straining up into looming darkness. I move over the floor, not walking but gliding like a ragged exhalation, as if I’m made of air. By tiny degrees, the outline of a heavy black shape sharpens into an unkempt, asymmetrical rectangle chiseled out of night.

It’s a throne—wide enough to fit ten men, yet only one small figure sits on it, feet dangling high above the floor. Greenish light reflects off the figure’s onyx crown, which is gnarled and pointed, like twisted antlers interlocking and curving up almost a foot in height. The figure’s head is bent a little, as if the crown is too heavy for the delicate stem of its neck. Closed lids open to reveal yellow eyes pinning me where I hover several feet away. I sweep downward in a misty approximation of a bow, then straighten.

“Come closer,” the figure says, the voice soft and female.

I long to obey, to slide underneath her skin to feel her power.

“You have the stone?” she asks.

I hand it to her. As she takes the stone, fire glows around it, lighting the room. A triumphant smile breaks over her face, and the sight spills something like happiness into my soul.

“You’ve done well,” she said. “You will be rewarded.”

She beckons. Joy lights my mind.

As I seep into her fingers, I gaze at her face, where strands of inky hair cling to her cheeks and chin.

Suddenly, I was back in the throne room, struggling to draw my next breath. Pain bit into my palms. I opened my fists. My fingernails had scored angry red crescents into my skin.

I scrubbed my hands against my face, trying to rub away the horror of recognition.

When I’d moved toward the queen with the twisted black crown, the face she’d worn was my own.

The Frostblood Saga continues with the second explosive installment, Fireblood, on September 12th. Can’t wait to read more?

Fireblood currently has about 5,000 adds on Goodreads and we want to double it before it releases in three months. For every, 1,000 adds, we will release a chapter and host an early copy giveaway! So what are you waiting for? It’s time to spread the challenge like wildfire and get to 10,000 adds!

Add Fireblood to your Goodreads shelf now >>

#fireblood #elly blake #NOVL excerpt #book preview #book excerpt #goodreads #ya lit #books #booklr #featured #popular

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laomelettedufromage · 5 years

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In all sincerity, I feel so bad for Holly Black and the NOVL team for working so hard to keep spoilers to a minimum only for the whole ass epilogue to leak like that... But also.... oHY MY GOD IT LEAKED HOLY CRAP HOLLYYY CRAP AHSJSKSKSKSJSJSJE

#queen of nothing #the queen of nothing #holly black #fota #fota series #the cruel prince #the wicked king #qon #qon excerpt #novl

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fangirlinghard-spoilerson · 5 years

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“Stop!” she shouts, giving me a look of raw hatred. “Enough. Let me make you an offer, little goat. We spar. If you lose, my cap is returned to me, unburnt. I continue to hunt as I have. And you give me your littlest finger.”

“To eat?” I ask, taking the flame away from the hat.

“If I like,” she returns. “Or to wear like a brooch. What do you care what I do with it? The point is that it will be mine.”

Ok, Let’s talk about it. The littlest finger is supposed to be the little finger, but in Jude's hands, it may be the finger that was cut. The finger Cardan put a ring on.

Why Grima wants this finger?

Let’s talk about Grima Mog?

#The Folk of the Air #qon spoilers #jurdan #jude duarte #tfota #the queen of nothing #qon excerpt #NOVL #fhso #Judes missing finger

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bigbookslilreads · 5 years

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QoN excerpt giveaway is up on thenovl! (For US only though)

So if you’re from the US, take advantage of this and then help the fandom out.

#qon #holly black #tfota #the folk of the air #jude duarte #jurdan #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #tcp #twk #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #the cruel prince #the lost sisters #ya books #books #booklr #the novl #qon excerpt

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kerrimaniscalco · 3 years

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Hello....how about chapter two of KINGDOM OF THE CURSED to start your week off in a fun and (maybe steamy) way?!?!?! xoxoxo

#kingdom of the cursed #kingdom of the wicked #KOTC #KotW #wrath x emilia #emilia di carlo #prince of wrath #kerri maniscalco #the novl

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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CHAPTER 2 of KINGDOM OF THE CURSED RELEASED

https://www.thenovl.com/blog/2021/6/29/kingdom-of-the-cursed-chapter-2-excerpt

CHAPTER ONE HERE

pinterest board of KOTC teaser screenshots

#kotc #kingdom of the wicked #kingdom of the cursed #kotw #emilia di carlo #prince wrath #princewitch #I am UNWELL #how am i going to wait until OCTOBER #mtp

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dashedwithromance · 3 years

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if anyone missed it, chapter 2 of KINGDOM OF THE CURSED can be found here!!

https://www.thenovl.com/blog/2021/6/29/kingdom-of-the-cursed-chapter-2-excerpt?fbclid=IwAR3nKesFbgv_iXFyPgf1ZFFwF-1HAQ7uX1vHoUmT3DOo67fOMrh4YxpOifQ

#kingdom of the cursed #princewitch #emilia di carlo #prince wrath #READ SWIFTLY MY FRIENDS SO WE MAY CLOWN IN SOLIDARITY

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noicebooks · 5 years

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My thoughts about the months building up to The Queen of Nothing (spoilers)

Now that I'm looking back at all those months waiting for QoN, I wished that I could've read the whole trilogy back to back. I would've enjoyed it even more without reading all those excerpts, fanfics and theories. Like almost every excerpt from NOVL was about chapter 21 which kind of ruined the moment while reading it.

Also, the first two chapters which were released earlier, were kind of spoilery. Before even having the book we knew Locke was dead (even though you could still doubt Taryn's credibility). I would've wanted to not know that till I could read the whole book..

Lastly, people saying they didn't like it because it resembles fanfiction: that's just because the fanfictions written about what may happen after TWK were DARN GOOD. Yes, it could seem like fanfiction, but that's only because we were so desperate for QoN, that we wrote our perfect ending. So why so surprised if an author for once actually decides to write a perfect ending?

QoN was absolutely perfect for us Jurdan shippers, so just be happy that Jude and Cardan got the ending they deserved.

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bluesey-182 · 5 years

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i was given permission by the lovely @dark-and-beautiful-art a while ago to write a fic inspired by this beautiful art. I was also inspired by a QoN excerpt from the NOVL’s instagram. this fic was a bit rocky for me because it’s been so long since i’ve written in first person but i hope you guys still like it. also, there are some very minor spoilers from the first few chapters of QoN in here so read at your own risk. anyway.... here it is:

I shouldn’t have come here.

The plan had been to sneak into Cardan’s rooms while he was at the nights’ revel and ambush him in the early hours of the morning when he returned--the former I had executed perfectly, but I had failed to consider what it would be like to be in his rooms alone for an extended period of time. The same rooms he had asked me to marry him in. The same rooms he made me Queen in. The same rooms I snuck into after my time in the undersea, where he pulled me onto his lap…

My mind keeps wandering. I need something to do. No, I need something to break. Like the glass beside his bed, or the extravagant sculpture by his mantle, or his jaw. My body itches will violence that also covers up the nervous energy of seeing him again. I don’t know what I’ll do if he brings a lover to bed with him tonight. I don’t know what I’ll do if he brings Nicasia to bed tonight. Probably kill them both--hopefully before I start sobbing like a broken-hearted fool. Which I definitely am, but I don’t want him to know that.

Definitely shouldn’t have come here. I wonder if it’s too late to change the plan. I could ambush him in the hallway instead so I don’t have to stew in the memories these rooms hold. Or I could really embrace my anger and the dramatics and stab him on his own throne. Surely I would be killed soon after but at least I’d be taking him out with me.

Before I can think too much more about it I locate the sealed entrance to the hidden passageway Nicasia had used to shoot Cardan from. With some effort I ply off the wood sealing the door and slip inside. I need a break from the Cardan-ness of his room before I explode. The exit to the hidden hallway requires more force but after a few solid kicks the wood snaps and the door swings open onto the rooms he burned down. No one will be guarding this part of the palace. Still, I peak through the (still broken) doors out into the hallway to make sure no one’s there. Satisfied at the emptiness in the hallway, I creep through the gap in the doors and start making my way to my old rooms. I just need a place to go that isn’t so wholly tainted by Cardan so I can recollect myself before I kill the bastard.

Halfway to my rooms, though, I see him.

He’s alone.

That idiot.

Cardan has always been so careful with his words yet so careless in his actions. He’d chosen the wording to my banishment with a clever tongue and even before that he always knew where to bite so his venom would hurt the most. Yet for all his cleverness he still wandered the castle alone without any protection. How none of the guards seemed to notice this baffles me. Still...it makes my job easier. Keeping some distance between us I start to trail him through the halls.

After a few more turns I realize with a start that we were heading to the same place. But surely that can’t be right. What purpose would he have for going to my rooms?

Yet sure enough he stops outside my rooms, looks briefly over his shoulders, unlocks the door, and steps inside like this is normal for him. I know if he closes the door I’ll be locked out of my own rooms so, stealing myself, I prepare to attack. It’s now or never.

I wedge my foot in the door frame before it can close all the way, shove the door hard to throw him off balance, and in one fluid motion I have him pinned against the wall with my hand on his mouth and my dagger at his throat. Quietly, I shut the door with my foot. His eyes widen in surprise for a moment before he relaxes under my grasp. He shouldn’t be this calm.

“A riddle, Cardan? Really?” I bite out. Of course I had figured out the riddle to his banishment. And now I’m going to make him pay for it. I feel his smile spread against my palm before he lifts his hand to carefully remove my own from his mouth.

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he purred. God I want to stab him.

“You’re an ass. I should just kill you.”

He hums a noncommittal sound and relaxes further against the wall as if I’m not holding a blade to his throat. An ass indeed, and an arrogant one at that.

I grit my teeth. “You’re an idiot too, wandering around the palace alone. The courts are trying to dethrone you and you're walking around without protection.”

“I am aware,” he says in a low voice that makes my stomach flutter. Bastard. “But even if they do manage to overthrow me they still have my Queen to contend with.”

“A Queen that nobody knows about, a Queen that hasn’t been here to protect you because you banished me, a Queen that--” I’m cut off short before I can even process what’s happening.

In a single smooth motion Cardan spins us so that I’m now the one pinned to the wall. He uses my surprise to his advantage and he slips the dagger from my hand, holding it at just enough distance that I can’t reach it. Still, I try to lunge for it when I feel his hand under my chin, tilting my face up to look at him, and then his lips are on mine.

Like an idiot, I stand there frozen--arm still hanging in the air, body relaxing without my permission--and then I’m kissing him back. In that moment I decide I really am going to kill him.

“A Queen,” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough for his lips to hover teasingly out of reach from mine, “that has returned. Just as I planned.”

“I hate you.” I meant for it to sound menacing but it comes out a lot breathier than I would like.

“I know, dearest.” He brushes his lips against mine ever so slightly and speaks against my mouth, “Yet you still came back.”

My head’s beginning to spin. I need to take back control of the situation. Shoving against his chest I try to put enough distance between us for me to pin him again and take my blade back but as if he was expecting this his arms are around me so that my arms are stuck to my sides and my back is against his chest. He leans down so his mouth is level with my ear and I feel him slide my dagger back into the sheath strapped to my thigh.

“Enough, Jude,” he speaks before releasing me. I stumble away and turn back to face him. I don’t reach for my dagger, although I glare at him with every ounce of heat I feel inside me.

“I came back because if you get murdered it’ll really mess up my plans.”

“Admit it, you’d miss me as well,” he smiled.

I would. But he doesn’t need to know that. “No. I just need you to stay alive long enough for my brother to get to the throne.” Nevermind the fact that my brother didn’t want it. I try to push the thought from my mind.

Cardan rolls his eyes. “Drop the act, Jude. It’s over. We both know by now that I’m the King, the permanent King, and you are now Queen. This.” he waves his arms around to encompass what exactly “this” is, “Is what there is. It’s just us, Jude. The courts are rebelling, Madoc is planning my assassination, and the Undersea is on the verge of attacking. There is no time to wait for your brother to take the throne. This is happening now, and whether you like it or not, we are the ones that have to rule the kingdom and get it back under control.”

He’s right, as much as I loathe to admit it. Still…

“Why did you banish me in the first place then?” Even though I know the answer I need to hear it from his own mouth.

“Because Orlagh wanted you dead.”

I stare back at him with empty eyes. After a long pause he looses a long breath and runs his hands through his hair. “There is a lot I need to discuss with you, Jude. Just give me the chance to explain. I need you to try to forgive me.”

I wasn’t about to tell him that I already have. As soon as I figured out that he made it possible for me to pardon myself I had forgiven him for banishing me. Though forgiveness for breaking my heart was still yet to be granted.

“What are we going to do then?” I ask softly as I let my shoulders drop to release the tension in my body.

He smiles triumphantly and I consider stabbing him again. “Well, my sweet villain,” he steps closer to me, places his hands on my hips, bends down so our mouths are almost touching. “What does a mortal queen have that a faerie does not?”

Despite myself, I feel my heart racing at the proximity of him. I give in. “Is this another riddle?” I ask. “And if I answer it, will you go back to kissing me?”

That wicked grin I love and hate so much splits his face. “That depends entirely on you.”

#this is honestly a whole ass mess #im sorry #jurdan #jude x cardan #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the folk of the air #my writing #text post

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sensenoi · 5 years

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WHEN DID JUDE GET NIGHTFELL BACK??

So in the released Novl QoN excerpt, Jude mentions wishing she could have brought Nightfell with her to the Grima Mog duel:

“I draw the long knife I have hidden in my boot. It doesn’t have the best reach, but I don’t have the ability to glamour things; I can’t very well ride my bike around with Nightfell on my back.“

But here’s the last time we see Nightfell in WK, right before Jude escape’s Madoc’s house arrest by jumping out the window:

Once she is gone and the tea is cold, I climb the steps to my room. There, I take up Taryn’s knife and the other one hidden under my bed. I take the edge of one to the pocket of my dress, slicing through it so I can strap the knife to my thigh and draw it swiftly. There are plenty of weapons in Madoc’s house—including my own Nightfell—but if I start looking for them and belting them on properly, the guards are sure to notice. I need them to believe I have gone docilely back to bed.

Later, when dueling with Balekin, Jude spares a moment to regret not grabbing Nightfell:

I’d rather have the knife than be unarmed, but more than anything, I wish I had Nightfell.

So Jude leaves Nightfell at Madoc’s house after she is returned from the Undersea, and she does not ever get the chance to get it back before she’s exiled. She literally gets dumped on the sidewalk of a random Maine town with no time to pack her bags at all. So it stands to reason that Nightfell would still be sitting at Madoc’s house, unless Madoc or Taryn grabbed it before leaving to start the coup.

So how does Jude have Nightfell sitting in Vivi’s apartment in Chapter 2?

I literally don’t know, you guys. Open to theories and ideas.

#the queen of nothing #The Folk of the Air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #madoc #nightfell #I need to go to sleep you guys #and also I need to stop obsessing over this book series #this ain't healthy #gnight

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thenovl · 7 years

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NOVL Excerpt: The Unlikelies

I spent two months assembling care packages for my friends. It was my way of thanking them for being awesome. Nobody had ever seen such a tight senior class, united by over a decade of friendship and compulsive thrill seeking, and a chemistry my own dysfunctional junior class would never have. The inseparable seniors were about to disband, bound for summer camp jobs and sports clinics and European vacations—and then college.

I wanted to do something special before they left.

The boxes, lined up in neat rows on my window seat, were all the same size and shape. I had scoured the shops and flea markets in town, adding online items that reflected the recipients and what they meant to me. The care packages cost me all my birthday money, but as I tucked in the notes, wrapped each small box with brown paper, and tied it with gold-flecked garden twine, it felt right.

I passed out the boxes at the Night of a Thousand Good-byes, held every year after all the graduation parties and drawn-out family dinners.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sadie,” Ellie said as we sat on the log and she took out the contents of the box: A snowflake-shaped cookie cutter to represent Ellie’s annual cookie exchange. An elephant figurine carved out of a giant nut to represent Ellie’s love of elephants. A miniature bobblehead of our assistant principal to represent her strange crush on Mr. Wilson. I had gotten a little obsessed with the custom bobblehead site.

“I will cherish these,” Ellie said, “like forever.” Ellie only had a few more hours of freedom before her family volunteer trip to Mongolia.

Parker was one of the only ones not leaving right away, but I gave her a care package anyway: A tiny plastic Wonder Woman figurine because Parker was the spitting image of Wonder Woman on Halloween. A box of Thin Mints, her favorite cookie since our Girl Scout days. A temporary tattoo collection to help her finally decide if she wanted a real one.

Parker hugged me so hard I thought I might bleed internally.

The care packages were a big hit. I even made Seth a care package, because he had been a damn good boyfriend while it lasted. I saved his for last, which was probably a mistake, because he was drunk by then and very handsy.

“Sadie Cakes, come here,” he said, pulling me toward him and leaning down to kiss me. Our original breakup had happened via text during spring break, in the middle of his trip to Cabo. We had mutually decided it was impossible to sustain a relationship when he would be spending the summer at his dad’s in Israel, then going to college in North Carolina. But mutual and amicable didn’t mean fast or easy. It was easier to hook up than not hook up. It was easier to go to a movie with Seth than stay home and watch HGTV with Mom. It was easier to go to senior prom together than to mess up the whole plan.

The first breakup never sticks anyway, so it was good we’d started in March.

“Stop, we’re broken up,” I said unconvincingly. “Here, I made you a care package.”

“Aww. You’re the best ex-girlfriend ever.” He laid his hand on the small of my back. I didn’t move away, but I didn’t move any closer to Seth’s lips either.

I was going to miss Seth and all our history and our chair, the chair we sat in at every Shawn Flynn party, the chair in the middle of it all. And I would miss the bonfires and the football games and the movie nights in Seth’s basement. But I had to stay strong.

Seth tore open his box. He took out each item and studied it. A bobblehead of my deceased cat, Lucy, Seth’s favorite pet. A bag of hand-cut potato chips, Seth’s favorite snack. And a printout of the first text Seth ever sent me, Do you like sushi? rolled up in a tiny scroll.

He was quiet.

I hadn’t wanted to get too sentimental. As much as I had loved being Seth’s girlfriend, we both knew there wasn’t enough between us to transcend time and space.

“You suck,” he said, rubbing his eyes. I hadn’t planned to make him cry.

I left him standing there, holding the care package. One last hookup wouldn’t be good for either one of us.

Between the care package distributions and handing out Woody’s Ice Cream hats to everybody, compliments of Dad, who always gave out hats to his graduating customers, I barely talked to Shay. When it was time to go, I pried the fine-tipped Sharpie out of her yearbook-signing hand and waited on the edge of the sob-fest for her drawn-out good-byes.

Shay and I took one last best-friend drive home in Mom’s Prius, which I had basically taken over, forcing Mom to use Grandma Hosseini’s Buick. Shay had to leave for California the next morning to teach at a tennis camp before starting college at Pepperdine. I dug into a bag of tortilla chips and listened to Shay go over her packing checklist one more time.

“Should I just wait until I get there and see what shoes California people are wearing?”

“Yes. It’s humanly impossible to fit another pair of shoes into that suitcase.” Shay turned to me. “Is this happening?” she said. “Because it feels like a normal night.”

“It is a normal night.” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

Shay was a steaming hotbed of emotion. If she started reminiscing about all the things we’d been through together and how awesome our friendship was, she would blow. I wanted her to remember her graduation night as fun and happy.

We pulled into Shay’s driveway and I turned off the car.

“I have a little something for you,” I said, reaching behind the seat.

“A Sadie care package?”

I grabbed my last Woody hat and set it on her head. Shay adjusted it and said, “I’m going to miss him. If it weren’t for the Woodster, there’d be no Shay and Sadie. Isn’t that crazy to think about?”

When I’d met Shay we had just moved to the East End from Queens and Dad wanted to take me out on the maiden voyage of Woody’s Ice Cream truck. Shay chased us down the street barefoot and, after ordering her Nutty Buddy, promptly invited me to the birthday party she was having that afternoon.

“Should I open it now or wait?” Shay said, taking the care package.

“Open it now.”

She carefully untied the gold-flecked twine and pulled off the paper and the box lid, revealing:

A tin of peppermint drops in honor of the fourteen-act play we’d written, acted, and directed called Peppermint Drop City: The Fairies Take Over.

A berry fusion lip tint and a berry nice lip shimmer (because I always stole hers).

A purple condom (because…college).

A framed photo of Shay and me taken the day we met, when I actually showed up at her tenth birthday party that afternoon.

Twin bobbleheads of Shay and me holding hands. (I had treated myself to a matching set of Bobblehead Shay with the long blond hair and bulging blue eyes and Bobblehead Sadie with the thick wavy black hair and the sharp nose).

“Wow, my bobblehead has a huge rack,” Shay said, running her fingers over the bobblehead’s plastic chest.

“I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“There’s nothing I can say to do justice to this care package, so I’m just going to hug you,” Shay said, leaning over to pull me in. I hugged my best friend and pressed my face into her wild blond mermaid hair. She smelled of the lavender essential oil she rubbed on her temples when she was stressed.

We let go at the same time and said what we said on any normal night.

“Later, Shay-Shay.”

“Later, Sader.”

The next morning I woke at six, still on school time, and reached for my phone to text Shay. It took me a few seconds to remember it was over, that she was probably already on her way to the airport.

I hugged Flopper, my stuffed harp seal, and tried to go back to sleep, but Mom’s kitchen clanging and television sounds put an end to that.

“What are you doing up?” Mom looked up from her perch at the kitchen island, where she sat sipping tea and reading the headlines as the Hamptons forecast blared from the TV above the sink.

“My brain thinks it’s a school day.” I foraged through the fridge. “Can you make pancakes?”

“Chocolate chip?”

I nodded, then sat at the counter, hands folded, waiting for my pancakes.

“What’s on the agenda?” Mom asked, setting a glass of milk in front of me. I stared up at her and then reality set in.

“I have no idea.”

Thanks for reading this sneak peek into Carrie Firestone’s hilarious irreverent and unflinchingly honest new novel about how one good deed could change everything. Learn more about The Unlikelies here >>

#the unlikelies #carrie firestone #NOVL excerpt #excerpt #preview #sneak peek #book preview #books #booklr #featured

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