“Is it clear that Cluess adores the Harry Potter series and Jane Eyre? Yes. So do you. So does everyone. What matters is that her voice is her own.”
—The New York Times
“[A] smashing dark fantasy.”
—Publishers Weekly, Starred
“Jessica Cluess is an awesome storyteller!”
—TAMORA PIERCE
“A fun, inventive fantasy. I totally have a book crush on Rook.”
—SARAH REES BRENNAN
“With the emotional intensity of my favorite fantasy books, this is the kind of story that makes you forget yourself.”
—ROSHANI CHOKSHI
“A glorious, fast-paced romp of an adventure.”
—KELLY LINK
“The magic! The intrigue! The guys!…This team of sorcerers training for battle had a pinch of Potter blended with a drop of [Cassandra Clare’s] Infernal Devices.”
—Justine
“Your next YA fantasy obsession.”
—Bustle
“An elegantly addictive read.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Henrietta Howel is a fantastic heroine.”
—Culturess
“Fantasy fans will rejoice.”
—SLJ
A Shadow Bright and Burning
A Poison Dark and Drowning
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling
This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Jessica Cluess
Cover photograph copyright © 2018 by Christine Blackburne/MergeLeft Reps
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 9780553535983 (hc) — ISBN 9780525708131 (intl.) — ebook ISBN 9780553536003
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Other Titles
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
One Year Later
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
TO THE READERS WHO HAVE MADE THE JOURNEY, AND THE FRIENDS WHO HAVE MADE IT WORTHWHILE
A girl-child of sorcerer stock rises from the ashes of a life.
You shall glimpse her when Shadow burns in the Fog above a bright city.
You shall know her when Poison drowns beneath the dark Waters of the cliffs.
You shall obey her when Sorrow falls unto the fierce army of the Blooded Man.
She will burn in the heart of a black forest; her fire will light the path.
She is two, the girl and the woman, and one must destroy the other.
For only then may three become one, and triumph reign in England.
—Taken from the Speakers’ Prophecy
The monster was expecting me.
At least, that was how it seemed as I approached the edge of the barrier to Sorrow-Fell, breaking through the mist to find the demon Molochoron. The thought that this creature anticipated me was nonsense, of course. He was only a ten-foot-tall blob of jelly with dark, sharp hairs protruding from his so-called flesh. He’d no capacity to think or to plot. Only to destroy.
Yet as I stood before the Ancient, I couldn’t shake the idea that he knew me.
The barrier was invisible, but its protection was absolute. These lands had been gifted to Blackwood’s family by a faerie lord, and as such could not be accessed without a Blackwood’s permission. I stood my ground and stared at Molochoron, the Pale Destroyer, studying the writhing shapes within the mass of pale jelly. Were they the monster’s latest victims, now being digested?
The pain in my shoulder flared to think of it.
“There are more today, Henrietta.” Maria had worn her peacock-blue cloak, providing a dab of color against the winter landscape. She pointed toward figures shambling out of the fog to stand beside Molochoron, their master. These creatures appeared human, but only vaguely. Their faces had melted, the flesh on their hands and arms bubbling with sores.
Familiars. Servants of the Seven Ancients.
Molochoron roared, sounding like nothing so much as a lion trapped in a vat of jam. The sound shook snow from the trees, but we were safe behind the barrier.
Maria was right; more creatures arrived every day. Ten this morning, I counted, scribbling the number in my journal. Blackwood had thought it odd that I’d volunteer to check the borders in the early morning. It wasn’t a particularly glamorous—or warm—job. But it was the only way that Maria and I could work in secret on her, well, her particular destiny.
Being the chosen one, she’d a great responsibility.
“What’ve you got for me today?” Maria toed the very line of the barrier. She and Molochoron were a mere half foot from one another. I believed the ball of putrescence purred at having such a challenger near.
I slid my pencil and notebook into my little reticule and tied the strings. “Can you manage an ice tunnel from back here?”
Maria summoned a stinging cloud of needle-sharp snow, then flung it past the barrier to engulf Molochoron, who disappeared from view. The world before us turned a violent white for several minutes before Maria lowered her hands, settling the snow and ice. If we had anticipated a great, bellowing charge from the Ancient, we were disappointed.
Molochoron had rolled a half foot to the left at most. Snow had settled on him like a dusting of sugar upon a cake.
“Er, perhaps not. Try something with the trees.”
Maria took my advice readily, placing her hands on the earth. With a grunt, she dug her fingers into the snow.
Molochoron was surrounded on either side by tall, ancient pines. At Maria’s order, they bent like graceful dancers in the midst of a plié. The branches sought to entrap the demon, who simply rolled a few yards back, completely out of harm’s way.
“So far, I’ve a knack for moving Ancients slightly to the left,” Maria muttered.
“Yes, but you do it so well.” As far as encouraging words went, mine left a lot to be desired. Honestly, it felt like the bloody monster was humoring us.
Maria put the trees back in their proper place. Huffing, she stood. Her face was flushed, and not merely with the cold. Disappointment painted her features.
“Suppose that’s enough for now,” she grumbled, slipping her hands inside her cloak for warmth.
“I think we’re making real progress.”
Molochoron pulsed steadily, the noise coming from him a steady buzz; he appeared to have fallen asleep.
Bother it all. Maria led our way down the snowy path. I cast one look back at the barrier, at the rotting Familiars and Molochoron. Perhaps I was a dreadful teacher for the true chosen one. Why hadn’t the prophecy come with a nice instruction manual woven into its back?
Soon we entered the forest’s embrace. The trees were so dense that the bright morning darkened to twilight. The bracing air was almost enough to make me forget the pain in my shoulder. Almost. It had been months since Rook, in his transformed state as an Ancient, had bit me. Still, the bite had made me Unclean, and the pain that went with such a status varied between aching and excruciating.
Maria took her hands out of her cloak. Her left hand flexed, the fist opening and closing, a sure sign that her temper was nearing its limit.
“Remember how you bested Nemneris,” I said to cheer her. In October, when the Water Spider had destroyed our boat and been about to feast on the lot of us, Maria alone had risen up and dragged the beast back into the sea.
“I was angry then. Besides, there wasn’t an entire country relying upon me.” We walked ten minutes through the trees before we came to the edge of the forest, looking toward the great estate beyond. She put her hand to a tree, running her fingers along the bark. “Once you know you’re chosen, it freezes the mind.”
Well, that feeling I understood only too well.
“All right. Maybe focusing only on your sorcerer abilities is a mistake. What about your witchery? After all, I saw you heal yourself once by taking the life of a plant. That power could be useful.”
Maria’s left hand tightened into a fist once more. She spoke in a lower, more womanly tone now: “Power, aye. And danger. Killing a living thing for magic puts one on the path to losing one’s soul.” The “friend” Maria called Willie was making an appearance. As a child, Maria had spent a great deal of time living off the land, all alone. She’d invented “Willie” as a companion. Sometimes, dear Willie seemed to have a mind of her own. “Death can only ever master, not be mastered.”
Right, we needed a cheerier topic.
“You learned that in your grandmother’s coven, yes? What’s a coven like?”
“Can barely recall. Elspeth—my gran—drove Mam away. She never forgave Mam for dallying with a sorcerer.” Maria turned her gaze to the ground. “Called me a bastard and wouldn’t take me back, even after my mother’s death.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. Apparently there were no cheery topics to be had today.
We left the forest and walked down the sloping hill to Sorrow-Fell. In the months since we’d come here, I sometimes thought of the house and its gardens as a constant flame that kept the encroaching dark of the Faerie wood at bay. The trees were heavy with Fae magic, their branches black and gnarled by it. But breaking through the dark forest and looking at the house below always felt like waking to a brilliant day after a nightmare. The green lawns now lay buried beneath snow, and the pond had frozen, but the white marble colonnade of the house, the great mansion’s mullioned windows with stained glass in the image of the Blackwood family crest, shone brightly. This was my home now.
My permanent home after my wedding to Blackwood.
Which, incidentally, was today.
I tugged off my left glove for a glimpse of my engagement ring. Blackwood had gifted me with it on the day we’d arrived at Sorrow-Fell. A plain silver band set with a tiny pearl, it was less ostentatious and grand than one might have imagined receiving from a wealthy earl. But that was Blackwood: a surprise all the way through. He was elegant where others were loud, careful where others were bold.
And in a few hours, he would be mine.
Perhaps that was one reason I’d insisted on patrolling the barriers today. I’d needed time to gather myself and focus upon something else. Now, as the great house grew closer with every step, the enormous weight of becoming Lady Blackwood bore down upon me, while growing excitement quickened my pulse.
As we passed a squadron of sorcerers running drills by the frozen pond, I glimpsed Dee at his customary place in the lead. He bent his knees—even the bad one that had been smashed in our battle with Nemneris was doing well—and thrust out his stave. The other men followed his example.
“Now!” He twirled his stave with expert grace, his skill all the more impressive when you noted the three-pronged claw he’d fastened to the stump of his right arm. When Dee had lost the limb, Blackwood had been certain he would never handle a stave again. He’d underestimated Dee’s ability and determination.
As one, the squadron performed their maneuver, and the surface of the frozen pond split in two with a momentous crack. The slabs of dripping ice rose into the air, then melded into a sharp-edged pyramid. With ease, the men returned the slab of ice to its original shape and laid it back over the water, so that it appeared the pond’s surface had never been disturbed. My spirits lifted to see them at work. When we drilled and I felt magic surging in my blood, I believed in my heart that R’hlem couldn’t possibly win.
Dee looked up and noticed Maria and me.
“Oi! Howel! Shouldn’t you be dressing?” The other sorcerers chuckled. I heard one or two faint whistles as well.
“I don’t see any of you fancying up,” I called, grinning.
“Need an extra bridesmaid?” One of the fellows ushered a playful gust of snow to swirl around me. “I’m told pink’s my color.”
Laughing, I sent a burst of fire in his direction. My flame rocketed from my hand, a bright blue…with threads of shadow.
The laughter died. Cheeks burning, I killed the flame. No one said anything, but my new, shadowy powers—and my status as an Unclean—gave people pause. My shoulder, which bore Rook’s bite marks, ached when I thought of it.
“Well. I have to give my report.” I tugged at Maria’s sleeve. Our shoes crunched over the ground, and the men behind us returned to their training.
Maria nudged me in the ribs. “They understand.”
I puffed out my cheeks. “I know. I’ll just feel more accepted after the marriage.”
“Aye.” Maria hooked her arm through mine. “The chapel’s a sight in itself. His Lordship’s made it a pretty place.”
Pretty was an understatement. I’d seen the chapel yesterday evening. The walls had been festooned with holly and wintergreen branches, faerie lights twinkling among them. Blue snow-sorrows filled the space with a delicate fragrance. They were a magical flower unique to Fae lands, a riot of pale blue petals with a scent both fresh and forgotten, like a shuttered room in which a lady’s perfume still lingers. Snow-sorrows grew out of the snow in winter and remained dewy and fresh for weeks after being plucked. When spring arrived
, they were said to melt like the frost.
With the light filtering through the stained-glass windows, the chapel looked heavenly. The idea of marrying Blackwood there filled me with a potent mix of emotions: excitement, fear, hopefulness, and something dark and intimate that I didn’t dare name.
While celebrating my seventeenth birthday two weeks ago, we’d agreed that the time had come. The war was going to end, one way or another, and we wanted to face it together. But before I could meet Blackwood at that beautiful altar, there was one more job to do.
Prior to marrying the lord of Sorrow-Fell, it was customary that the bride meet the lady of Sorrow-Fell—his mother—and receive…something. No one had told me exactly what.
Blackwood’s mother always kept to her rooms. Only her maid—a silent, older woman who moved like a shadow—was regularly allowed inside. I had seen Eliza enter her mother’s quarters several times, but only once had Blackwood gone in. He’d returned a scant three minutes later, shutting the door with more force than was strictly necessary. The one time I glimpsed Lady Blackwood had been the day she and her daughter had fled London. She’d been shrouded in black from head to foot as she climbed into the carriage. Her face could not be seen behind a thick, dark veil. Speaking with my future mother-in-law would be nerve-racking under the best of circumstances, but I had never even seen this lady’s face. It was doubly frightening.
Whatever she planned to give me was part of an unbreakable tradition going back generations.
Maria and I entered the house through a front door fifteen feet tall. Sorrow-Fell had been designed for grandeur, not comfort. The ceiling of the front hall was thirty feet high, turning the faintest whisper into a sharp echo. Gothic-arched windows displayed scenes of Blackwood and Faerie history. One window showcased a tall woman wearing a crown of stars as she stamped a fanged, wriggling serpent into the earth. Flowers of ruby and obsidian flourished around the creature.
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 1
