Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Maps
0 - The Great Library
1 - Alive
2 - Mortality and Immortality
3 - That Thief Girl
4 - Dawn
5 - Memories of Avristar
6 - True Names
7 - Leader of the Flames
8 - The Golden Box
9 - Mallorn
10 - The Watchtower
11 - Swamp Water Girl
12 - A Way Home
13 - Avristar
14 - Exile
15 - Not A Human
16 - Hostile Welcome
17 - More Enemies
18 - Happy Endings
19 - Winter
20 - Barren
21 - Folki and Snorri
22 - Nightmares
23 - Loves Him Not
24 - Free
25 - Everything Changed
26 - Belonging
27 - Transporting
28 - Rejection
29 - Poisonous Flowers
30 - Betrayal
31 - Mythos
32 - The Watchtower
33 - Small Triumphs
34 - Home
35 - Missing
36 - Courtship
37 - Priestess
38 - Apocalypse
39 - Summer Wedding
40 - The Storm
41 - Judgment
42 - Sunset
43 - The Golden Pocket Watch
The Guide
About the Author
VULTURE
Rhiannon Paille
How far would you go to betray everything you've ever known?
Kaliel didn't think second chances came with this much turmoil. Exiled from her home, surrounded by strangers and in love with a boy she barely recognizes, she can't take it. She has her best friend, a new mentor, and a chance to win the war against the Valtanyana, but it's all wrong. Desperate to salvage some semblance of her former life, she makes a deal that shatters everything.
* * *
Praise for Vulture
“The story line is exactly what I wanted it to be and, more importantly, I think it's exactly what it needed to be. SURRENDER and JUSTICE had a certain urgency to them that Krishani and Kaliel seemed to be misunderstanding but in VULTURE the weight of everything finally hits them and I'm going to be terribly clichéd and say that the whole story is just one huge roller coaster of despair and devastation. It's event after event of obstacles and war; like the first 2 books were the gradual build up and VULTURE is the crescendo. And the best part about it is that it's not even the final book in the series.”
— Robyn of Fairytales and
Folklore Book Blog
“The writing makes me feel like I am there in the scenes and I feel like I can connect to the characters. That is why the ending is so hard to stomach—it is like did that *really* just happen? I had to read it twice to make sure. I can’t say that I have any idea where Rhi is going to take this now, but what I can say is that I am dying to read the next one. I say this in the nicest way possible; Rhiannon Paille is the Queen of Cliffhangers.”
— Nichole of Rainy Days
Blue Skies Book Blog
* * *
Smashwords Edition – 2014
WordFire Press
www.wordfirePress.com
ISBN: 978-1-61475-189-2
Copyright © 2014 Rhiannon Paille
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover design by Mae I Design
Interior Art by Linn Borsheim
Map by Christopher Boll
Book Design by RuneWright, LLC
www.RuneWright.com
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
Published by
WordFire Press, an imprint of
WordFire, Inc.
PO Box 1840
Monument, CO 80132
Electronic Version by Baen Books
www.baen.com
* * *
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I find it one hundred percent daunting to be writing acknowledgments again, for yet another book. It feels like only a few years ago I had ideas in my head but no words on the page. Now there’s cumulatively over three hundred thousand words on pages and I wrote them, rewote them, and shared them with you.
I’ve had some help over the years in case you haven’t noticed, and I feel like I must once again shout out to the people who have been with me from start. Natasha Heck, Sabina Grosse, and Rae Smith are BETA readers extraordinaire! Whenever I get stressed out they’re always there to help me come back to myself.
Melanie Chartier, and Robyn Leanne Smith who are my rockstar BETA readers. I’m so happy to have found you on this journey and so glad you loved my work as much as you did. I hope to keep impressing you.
Michelle Kampmeier, I feel lucky having broken you into the world of editing. Will never forget that while standing in line at Islands of Adventure you sent me this: “Holy shitting shit, girl. I’M DONE AND WHAT THE FUCK. All in the best way of course.” Which was then followed by: “I’m wrecked after that. I think I’ll make some lemonade and nap or something.” And then: “I just had to let you know that you killed me with the ending.”
And I also have to thank Jaidis Shaw for her lightning quick copy edits that didn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out. Seriously people, editing is hard.
The cover of course is courtesy of Regina Wamba of Mae I Design, who always amazes me with her cover creations. They are beyond perfect covers, this woman just has a touch of magic in her that turns everything to gold.
I also have to thank Linn Borsheim who I found on deviant art and pretty much coerced into doing all the art you see in this book. I loved her style and she’s pretty much just a lot of amazing! I can’t wait to show you more of her work!
And even though I’ve never met Cassandra Clare, a lot of this book is thanks to her, who inspired me to continue writing. I really thought I sucked until I read City of Bones and realized that we write similar styles (third person limited though our execution of the style is wildly different.) I started this book off with a lot more confidence than previous works, and if she ever reads this I hope I made her proud.
To the amazing bloggers in my life, Giselle of Xpresso Reads, the gang at Paranormal Reads, Evie Seo, Dennis Sharpe, and everyone else who has ever left me a review, THANK YOU. This wouldn’t happen without you!
* * *
0 - The Great Library
Nothing was ever really perfect.
Kemplan dangled from a rung on the ladder, high in the skies of the library. Stacks upon stacks of books stuffed into shelves in any manner lay around him. He scanned the worn etchings of symbols in search of the book he needed.
The last book.
The one about the Ferryman and the Flame, their original disastrous end. Specifically it was named after her, the Flame, but the book chronicled the chaos, burning, suffering. Nothing from that time survived. All of it combusted, life splattered into stars and patterns of spilled milk on an endless black sky.
Kemplan wa
s supposed to burn it.
Of all the methods of destroying information, the only way to cleanse anything from the Great Library for certain was to burn it. The parchment should have burned, but its vile message refused to be snuffed from existence. It was destined to live on, continually threatening the very miracle of life hanging by threads.
Kemplan moved his hand over the spines, some of them detaching from the covers. His fingers splayed across a damaged book and when he removed his hand the spine fell into the abyss below him. The fireplace was so far away. All he had were thin ribbons of light from an artificial sun hanging over him.
He glanced at the book with the missing spine and pulled it off the shelf. He would have to mend it. There was needle and thread in a box under his leather chair. That would do the trick, stitch it up and all would be fine.
He turned the book over in his hands carefully, trying not to drop the front or back cover. He ran a finger through the dust and gasped. His foot faltered, he tripped and fell into the shadows, the book falling above him. It quickened past him and slammed on the floor. He cursed under his breath and waited for the collision. The fall shook his feeble body hard. He blinked and waited for his nerves to begin firing.
He was used to this incessant immortality, no fear of death, but longing for it. Time had passed in sparks since Tor ordered him to destroy the books about the Flames.
And he had.
He found every single one of them save for the last. He coughed and rolled onto his side, the book beside him pristine, no further damage. He rummaged for the spine and found it. Stretching across the creaky worn floorboards he pulled himself to his knees. Flickering light from somewhere unknown flashed across the cover of the book.
He recognized the title.
Cassareece.
It was another name he never wanted to hear again. Of the eleven Lords and Ladies of the Valtanyana, Cassareece was the one obsessed with the pursuit of perfection. He didn’t need to open the book to know the tale, it was still told to little elven children on Nazole and Talanisdir.
Cassareece was a vain woman with an obsessive heart. She wanted perfection, assassinated what was imperfect, and fought to perfect what was hopeless.
Sometimes an act of sainthood isn’t saintly at all, and soon Cassareece and her fetishes for pretty clothes, endless summers and beautiful architecture caught up with her. The people lashed out. No matter how much they slaved over her need for perfection, nothing was ever good enough.
Cassareece hunted them, ended their lives with her bare hands, silenced their cries with her own. She left their rotting carcasses to bleed in the streets of her peaceful kingdom.
Kemplan waddled over to the end table next to the leather chair and set the book on it. He wanted to burn it, but it wasn’t about the Flames. He settled into the chair and glanced at the salamanders. Their shapes flashed fast and furious, like fish jumping out of water, their sheer glittery scales caught by the glint of sunlight for a second before they splashed back into the pond. He picked up the needle and thread from the box under his chair, and began stitching the book together.
Cassareece wasn’t the worst of the Valtanyana, but she was deadly in her own way. He glanced at the high ceiling of the library, his thoughts still circling around the last book about the Flames, about her, The Amethyst Flame.
* * *
1 - Alive
She was alive and all she felt was the cold. Stinging armor rested against her cheek, clammy hands on her back, sopping dress against her arms. All of it made her shiver on the inside. She didn’t have words to explain how she felt. A heartbeat rang in her ears, breath flushed in and out of her lungs, fingers curled around a boy’s shoulder and pressed into the skin at the nape of his neck. The last thing she remembered was the murderous look in Crestaos’s eyes before she thrust herself into the mouth of a volcano.
And she remembered exploding.
It was raining.
Everything felt so different.
Knots twisted her stomach, limbs heavy, head swimming with thoughts, with questions, with shock. Krishani released her briefly and looked into her eyes. He looked different, felt different. His black hair was longer, reaching his neck, his face pallid, eyes sunken into thin malnourished cheeks, deep bruises underneath them. A curl of black dirt crept across his neck. She barely caught it in the eerie darkness, nothing but torchlight illuminating the night.
Crowds of people milled around them, stumbling or dragging themselves towards the lights. Hooves pounded back and forth, stopping and starting again, weaving through the wounded and dead. A high pitched lull dulled Kaliel’s sense of hearing. It cast a net over sound, muffling the noise. Krishani tucked his fingers under her chin and pulled her face up to his. She realized he was speaking. Hearing his voice nearly undid her.
“I need you to go inside.” His tone was gentle, less ragged compared to the first time he said her name. At the time his voice had been raspy, hollow, lethal. She didn’t want to know what he meant when he told her not to touch him. She went to pull away but he kept her attached, turning. Behind him were large gates and stone walls stretching into darkness. A dirt road marked at intervals by torches spread into a village. It was crowded by people in golden armor or shredded clothing. She didn’t recognize anything and immediately tensed. She glanced at Krishani, gulping. Her throat was scratchy, burning as saliva trickled past her tongue.
“Where are we?” she asked, alarmed. She didn’t know if her eyes had turned their usual green, she wasn’t even sure what color her eyes were anymore. This wasn’t her body.
“Terra,” Krishani whispered as he pulled her taut against him and covered her left arm with his, twisting his fingers through hers. She glanced at him, fear snaking into her, a million questions pounding at the fore front of her mind. “Go with Elwen, I won’t be long,” he said, still talking into her ear.
She didn’t know who Elwen was and it only made her muscles coil tighter. None of this was right. One minute an explosion, the next staring into the eyes of the only boy she ever loved. She shook her head to rid the high pitched squeal and fog encircling her mind. A man in brown robes and long brown hair perched by the gates watched them. He called orders at different factions of people, pointed them in different directions. His eyes fell on them and widened. He smoothed out the front of his robes as Krishani strode toward him, forcing Kaliel to move alongside. She had to run a little to keep up, but as soon as they were closer she instinctively dropped her arm, comfortable on her own two feet for the first time since waking up.
A feorn rounded the gates carrying a sword in his right hand, flexing his bicep back and forth like he was testing an injury. She smiled and ran to him. She wasn’t sure what Krishani had to do. The battlefield pulsed around them, but she couldn’t concentrate. She almost tripped on the hem of her skirt and smiled widely. Her lungs burst with pain the moment her feet hit the dirt road. She fell on her knees, her hands sliding into the mud. His wolf-like feet appeared as he put a hand out to pull her up.
“Pux!” She gasped, brushing her hands on her dress and throwing her arms around his neck. The force was so strong he swayed a little on his feet. He pushed back, setting her in the mud. He laughed. “Aulises, what are you so happy about?”
Kaliel stopped. She disentangled her hands from around his neck and really looked at him. He was thinner, his round hairy face sickly, his arms snaky things, his mid section almost non-existent. He wore chainmail, armor and breeches.
He looked sad.
She grabbed him by the forearm and the sword fell into the mud. She let her eyes bore into his brown ones with intensity as she tried to explain without speaking. When he looked even more confused she dropped her hand. “I’m not Aulises.”
Pux squinted in the bad lighting. “Aren’t you the thief girl The Obsidian Flame brought from Amaltheia?” His eyes didn’t register with recognition.
Kaliel’s eyes widened. “The Flames are here?” Her head whipped back and forth loo
king for the girls she had seen in dreams. She stopped, her shoulders sagging. If they were here, they wouldn’t be in the bodies of girls.
Pux idly tapped his fingers on his breast plate, the sound tinking like raindrops on a roof. She grasped his arm and tried to pull him out of his reverie. She felt weak from the battle her body had obviously fought, and the queasy feeling in her stomach reminded her that her best friend didn’t recognize her.
“It’s me Pux,” she said quietly, pressing a hand to his cheek. He looked into her eyes again and she hoped he would understand. He frowned at first, then sputtered, trying to say something. He covered her hand with his and pulled it away, crushing her to him in a bear hug. It was so tight she could barely breathe. She gasped and fought for air and scrambled to push him away but he wouldn’t let go.
“Kaliel!” It was weird to feel the pump of his heart beat through the armor. She rolled her eyes and he kept her trapped in a hug for a long time before letting go. She glanced at the battlefield but it was covered in darkness and Krishani was nowhere to be seen.
A wan smile crossed her mouth. “What happened?” He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled away from the road, which she realized, they were blocking. People stumbled to avoid them. He pulled her towards a small castle rising out of the darkness. It looked warm inside.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Pux said. He seemed stunned. Kaliel hung her head as they shuffled across the ground, a deep churning in her heart. Her throat burned, an acrid taste on her tongue. The Village of the Shee drilled against her temple, crickets and terrifying quiet. She paused, frowned, pressing her hand against his side. It was only a scar.
“You didn’t get hurt again did you?”
“No.” His shoulders contracted as he pulled her up the stairs into the hall. It was warm, and dry. Platters of food sat on a drab wooden table to the left. Hoards of people, guards, warriors, and peasants, puttered about. Armor cast off, food thrust into mouths, congratulations hitting the air. Pux steered her away from the commotion and found a small corner at the table, forcing her to sit. He stared at her for awhile, and she felt self-conscious. He never looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was there.
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