Contents:
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this "stripped book. A daughter lost, not by me Sons, sons—always you boast of what your tall sons will do, with their sharp new wits and sharper new swords! Remember, O Prince, that you have also daughters!
You're not the first man, great or low, to forget the shes he's sired, but mark this wisdom, Lord not mine, but from the pen of a loremaster who was dust before dragons were ever driven from this land: The sages who turn the pages of history have a word for men who overlook their daughters. The character Turst Sharptongue in Scene the First of the play Windbag of Waterdeep by Tholdomor "the Wise" Rammarask first performed in the Year of the Harp It was a moonfleet night, the silvery Orb of Selune scudding amid racing tatters of glowing cloud high above the proud spires of Waterdeep.
Wizards in their towers and grim guards on battlements alike stared up and shivered, each thinking how small he was against the uncaring, speeding fire of the gods. Far fewer merchants bothered to lift their gazes above the coins and goods—or softer temptations—under their hands at that hour, for such is the way of merchants. Hundreds were snoring, exhausted by the rigors of the day, but many were still awake and embracing—even if the hands of most of them were wrapped only around swiftly emptying tankards. There were no tankards, no embraces, and no soft temptations in a certain shuttered upper room overlooking Jembril Street in Trades Ward.
Instead, it held a cold, bare minimum of furniture—a table and six high-backed chairs—and an even colder company of men. Six merchants sat in those chairs on this chill night in the early spring of the Year of Rogue Dragons, staring stonily at each other. The glittering glances of five of them suggested that the health of the sixth man, who sat alone at one end of the table, would not continue to flourish for more than a few breaths longer had it not been for the presence of the two impassive bodyguards who stood watchfully by his chair, cocked and loaded hand-crossbows held ready and free hands hovering near sword-hilts.
That sixth man said something, slowly and bitingly.
Outside, in the night, a shadow moved. An unseen witness to the merchants' meeting leaned closer to the only gap in the shutters across the windows of that upper room. Clinging head-downward to the carved stone harpy roof-truss nearest to the shutter, the shadow sacrificed as much balance as she dared, and strained to hear. Her slender arms were already quivering in the struggle to keep herself from plunging to the dark, cobbled street below.
When you could set your hook at a higher rate, grant us more time, and keep us in debt forever, paying you all our days and yielding you far more coin than our stones are worth? And you too, Nael. And especially you, Kamburan. Why, I'd almost be inclined to give you that extra season Hammuras speaks of, if, say, something happened to still Kamburan's oversharp tongue forever.
Why—" One of that last pair of merchants slapped his hand down on the table. You'll not turn us to savaging each other whilst you gloat. We'll sink or stand together. Caethur gave them both a brittle smile, wiggling his ring-bedecked fingers so the gemstudded gold bands adorning them flashed in the lamplight like glasses of the new vintage Waterd-havian nobles had dubbed "sparkling stars," and said airily, "Well, then, we've come to that moment, sirs, when the wagging of tongues must give way to making good, one way or another.
Kamburan, why don't you begin? Wordlessly he flipped it open, displaying the frozen fire of the line of gems within for all to see. Seven beljurils, sea-green and shimmering, their flash-fires building. Kamburan set the coffer gently on the table and slid it toward Caethur. Halfway to the moneylender it stopped. Caethur lifted a finger, and one of his guards stepped smoothly forward to close the coffer and slide it the rest of the way down the table. The moneylender made no move to touch it.
Caethur gave the spice dealer a shark-like grin. I should have chosen to deal with more astute and harder-working tradesmen and never come to this regrettable salvaging of scraps from the wrack of what should have been five flourishing businesses. The beasts from the sea, a season's shipping shattered, wars in Amn and Tethyr and the fall in trade with both those lands.
Yet—behold—they're not all here, sitting around this table. Grimly, the spice merchant produced a small coffer of his own, displayed the rubies it held, and slid it along the table. It stopped within reach of the moneylender, but Caethur made no move to take it up. Instead, he turned his expectant gaze to Nael. Who sat as still as stone and as pale as snow-marble. Nael swallowed, lifted his chin, swallowed again, then said, "I've brought neither gems nor my deed here with me, but—" Without waiting for a signal, one of the crossbowmen fired, and Aldurl Nael's left eye was suddenly a bloody profusion of sprouting wood and flight-feathers.
The brassmerchant reeled in his seat, head flopping back and mouth gaping, and did not move again. Crimson rivulets of blood spilled from his mouth, seeking the floor. After all, we can't have any witnesses to such wanton butchery, can we? As the three surviving merchants shouted and surged desperately to their feet, both guards tossed their spent crossbows aside and plucked cushions off a shelf affixed to the back of Caethur's chair. Four more hand-crossbows gleamed in the lamplight, loaded and ready. Coolly the guards snatched them up—and used them. Kamburan groaned for a surprising long time, but the rest of the room was still in but a breath or two.
After all, we wouldn't want to start one more irresponsible city fashion, would we? It looked like a beast's claw: When Caethur closed his hand around the bar, the blades protruded from between his fingers like a row of sheathed talons. With his other hand, the moneylender drew a belt dagger and used it to cautiously flick away the sheaths that covered every blade of the claw. Something dark and wet glistened on each razor-sharp point.
Thrusting the dagger through a belt-loop and putting the ven-omed claw behind his back, Caethur waited, humming a jaunty tune softly under his breath. When his two laden bodyguards came to the door, he gave them a frown as he blocked their way and pointed back into the room. His bodyguards gave him astonished and displeased looks but whirled to look at the dead merchants; the moneylender was not a master to be crossed.
The moment they turned Caethur took a swift step, slashed them both across the backs of their necks with his claw, and sprang away to avoid the thrashing spasms he knew would follow. The guards were young and strong. After they stiffened with identical grunts of astonished agony, they managed to whirl toward their master, glaring, and claw at the air wildly for some seconds ere the venom stilled their limbs, and sent them toppling into the long dark chill of oblivion.
Caethur applied another knife, this one slaked liberally with brain-burn, to both of the men he'd just slain, and calmly set about collecting everything of value in the room full of corpses. After all, brain-burn was expensive. Still, the cost of just one man informing the Lords of Waterdeep of his deeds would be much higher. Kamburan's cloak, still draped over the back of his chair, was unstained, and when bundled around Caethur's takings, served well as a carry-sack. He drew his own cloak around him with not a hair out of place nor any change in his easy half-smile at all.
It wasn't the first time Caethur the moneylender had walked away alone from a room full of dead men. Such things were, after all, a regrettable but all-too-often inevitable feature of his profession. Outside, the shadow moved, swinging up and away from the shutter, seeking the edge of the roof. A booted foot slipped, a curse blazed sudden and bright in a mind that kept its dangling body coldly silent—and with a sudden surge of effort, the shadow gained the roof and scrambled away.
Someone or something was casting a spell on his intended destination or had laid a trap of enchantment on it already. Only those like himself, highly attuned to the Weave, could feel it—and move to avoid whatever danger was waiting. Chuckling soundlessly, the archmage stepped aside, moving through the drifting blue nothingness to emerge elsewhere, from a portal linked to neither the one he'd entered nor the imperiled one it reached.
She'd torn something inside, it seemed. Something small, thank the gods. Ah, yes, the watching, all-seeing gods. She glanced up, and thought another silent curse upon the enthusiastically devout idiots who enspelled the Plinth to glow so brightly by night. Thieves don't welcome beacons that illuminate their working world well. And a thief was what Narnra Shalace was. That had been her profession since her mother's mysterious death and the rush of neighbors, clients, and Waterdhavians she'd never laid eyes on before to snatch all they could of what had belonged to her mother.
Only frantic flight had kept a frightened and furious Narnra from being taken herself, doubtless to be sold as a slave by whichever noble had set his men to chasing her. Everyone knew there were laws in Waterdeep that touched nobles and many more that— somehow—did not. Moreover, noble and rich merchant families had ships and wagons in plenty and outlying lands beyond Waterdeep's laws to travel to, where anything or anyone could be taken.
Leaving a suddenly coinless, bereft Narnra Shalace hunted through the alleys and rooftops. So she'd become what she was being treated as—one more thief scratching to survive in a city that was not kind to thieves. So here she was, aching and scheming on a decaying rooftop in Trades Ward. A lonely young lass, fairly nimble in her leaps and tumblings but not particularly beautiful, with her slender, long-limbed build, her hacked-off dark hair, black-fire eyes, and beak of a nose.
The winter had been hard. If it hadn't been for chimneys like this one, the cold would have taken her before the first snows—and one had to fight for the warmest rooftop spots in Waterdeep. As it was, Narnra spent much time hungry these days. Fear was with her at every waking moment, keeping her glancing behind her and knowing it was largely in vain. She could not help but be uncomfortably aware of how skilled other thieves in this city were She was a match for none of them and not even a laughable challenge to most.
To come to their notice—save as a passing amusement—would be to die. So here she crouched, desperate for coins to buy food for her belly and all too apt, these days, to fall into rages. Rage is something a thief who expects to live to see the dawn can ill afford. Oh, she was lithe and acrobatic enough to prowl the rooftops, but not comely enough to seek the warm and easier coin—hers if she could dance unclad inside festhalls. No, she was just one more lonely outlander scrambling to make a dishonest living on the streets of Waterdeep. Scrambling because she lacked the weapons of a noble name or a shop of her own to make forging a dishonest living comparatively easy.
Scowling, Narnra drew forth the purse she'd snatched earlier in that street fight in Dock Ward. A gang of thieves, that must have been, to set upon two merchants that way, and she'd raced in and plucked their prize, so they'd be looking for her. All for three gold coins—mismatched, from as many cities, but all heavy and true metal —six silvers, four coppers, and a claim-token to a lockbox somewhere in Faerun that she knew not. Well, they would have to serve her. From inside the top of her boot she drew a larger yet lighter purse, drew open its throatthong with two fingers, checked that the cloak was laid beside her in just the right position, and shifted herself a fingerlength closer to the edge of the roof, ducking low.
So far as she could tell, the moneylender had no more guards left. He was wearing some sort of daggerclaw, shielded from idle eyes by a cloak he was carrying draped over that arm, but he moved like a man wary and alone. He'd hastened through Lathin's Cut to reach the High Road, and there waited in the first deep doorway for a Watch patrol to pass, and fallen in close behind it. He looked like any respectable merchant caught in the wrong part of the city late at night and trying to wend his way safely home.
If he was going to avoid the scrutiny of the standing Watchpost ahead, where the great roads met, he would have to turn aside just below her, in only a few paces more. His gaze flicked upward, and Narnra held her breath and kept very still, hoping she looked like a rooftop gargoyle. Caethur strode on, slowing and stepping wide so as to look around the corner, then drawing in toward it, to duck around close to the wall.
Delicately, the Silken Shadow spilled her paltry handful coins down from above, to flash before his nose and bounce and roll. The moneylender froze rather than darting into a wild run back and away, peered at a rolling gold coin, and—looked up. To meet the handful of sand from her larger purse, followed by a shadow that leaped down at him with spread hands clutching the cloak in front of her like a streaming shield. Caethur the moneylender had time to gape but no breath for a shout ere she slammed into him, smashing him to the street.
She felt something in him break and crumple as she rode him mercilessly, their bodies bouncing on the cobbles together. By then she had the cloak tight around his head, one knee atop the arm that bore the claw, and a hand free to backhand him across the throat, as hard as she could. That quelled the dazed beginnings of his groans and left him sprawled and limp. Narnra cut his well-worn belt with a slash from her best knife, snatched away the belt-satchel— heavy with deeds, coins, and coffers—and was up and gone, leaving her sacrificed coins and stolen cloak behind.
Yet swift as she was, she was not quite swift enough. There was a shout from up the street and the flash and flicker of Watch torches turning. Grimly the Silken Shadow sprinted for her life, seeking the shop just ahead that had an outside staircase. You'd think I'd be somewhere grander than this, she thought savagely for perhaps the ten thousand and forty-sixth time, if my father truly was a great wizard and my mother a dragon.
Where's my high station, my wealth, and my power? Why can't I hurl spells or turn into a dragon? Boy, d'ye still want to have yer hire here, come dawn? Fond of your nose, are ye? This is the eloquence of the young who'll shine so bright an' save us all. We never open it, never use it. Peeling blue paint on rough, wide planks, adorned with an admittedly impressive relief carving: It was attached, Naviskurr saw as he gulped and scrambled away, waving vainly at Master Phaerorn, to a swift-striding man— a hawk-nosed, bearded, long-haired old man in none-too-clean robes.
The man flowed out of the closed door, leaving it carvingadorned and unchanged in his wake. Merry blue-gray eyes darted a glance at the gaping kitchen lad from under dark brows and gave him a wink ere turning to favor old Phaerorn with a nod, a wave, and the words, "Thy son's working out just fine in Suzail, Forn, and looking likely to be wedded by full spring, if he's not careful!
Master Phaerorn folded his arms across his chest, gave his scullery knave a wide grin, and said triumphantly, "That's why we keep that door clear, lad. Yer Mystra-loving, world-blasting archmages don't look kindly to stepping knee-deep in kitchen slops, look ye! Instead, to his ears came a soft, rather wet thump. After stirring thickening gravy and licking the steaming wooden spoon consideringly, Phaerorn turned to see just how the lazy lad had made such a sound—and discovered Naviskurr sprawled across all four baskets of slops.
His least promising scullion yet was staring sightlessly at the skilletbedecked rafters. Phaerorn sighed and flicked his spoon at the lad. Perhaps a few drops of hot gravy would revive him. Ah, the mighty valor of the young. They must have been. Yet they'd been angry and taunting her, not watching their words. One had tried to make her think they'd been drunk and uttered nonsense, but the others had tried to use drink on her to find out exactly what they'd said and she'd remembered.
Crouching on a rotten and unsuitable rooftop that would send tiles clattering down right in front of the Watch if she dared to move, Narnra thought up some furious curses at the scudding moon. She'd been over these memories more times than she could count and knew—knew—that Goraun and the other apprentice gemcutters had been telling the truth, or thought they were.
It had taken her a year of careful probing to make sure they literally meant Maerjanthra Shalace the sorceress, better known to all Wa-terdeep as Lady Maerjanthra of the Gems, jeweler to the nobility, was a dragon with scales and wings and not merely the sort of "dragon" that meant a bad-tempered, powerful woman who was to be feared. They'd never told her that. The two who were halfway up the stair that led to Narnra turned at something in his voice and asked gruffly, "So? But our victim's Caethur the moneylender.
But unless Clutchcoins knows who did him—and will tell us—I think Waterdeep's best served if we—" "Exactly," an older, deeper voice agreed. Help Caethur to the Watchpost, and see if he feels like making us all wiser. I'll be deeply unsurprised if he does not. Through a bower of dappled moonlight he moved unchallenged to a small stone arch bridge that joined the rising shoulder of Mount Waterdeep that held the moneylender's gardens to an upper balcony of Mirt's fortified house.
Halfway across that span the air seemed to sparkle, and he was suddenly facing a silent woman in a clinging, flowing gown. Elminster smiled and bowed his head in greeting. Are Mirt and Asper at home? Then she drifted forward tentatively to touch the Old Mage's cheek with her other hand. Elminster took a slow step to meet her.
The soft brush of her fingertips chilled him deeply as it stole a little life-force, but Elminster turned his head to kiss those icy fingers, then clasped Ieiridauna gently against him. Her breath was like a icy thread of glacier-wind, and her shoulders and breast seem to grow more solid the longer he embraced her, but suddenly his encircling arm was empty, and the watch-ghost was past him, weepingly softly and saying into his ear, "Too kind, great lord, too kind!
You must not give me too much. Ieiridauna's gentle sobs followed him. The plain dark door opened before his hand could touch it, and a bristle-moustached face peered out of deeper darkness at him. Is there no end to your lecherousness? Nor my meddlesome curiosity, when it comes to the affairs of others—such as the overly rich of Waterdeep. She'd been balanced on her shoulders on the bed, head looking back down its length as her legs arched over her to clutch a gem between her toes and dangle it in front of her own nose. She tucked her legs back in one graceful movement, tossing the gem upward in a sparkling of reflected glows, caught it deftly, and said firmly, "Later.
I'll hear fewer lewd comments this way. She twinkled a fond smile at him. Drink some of yon wine and speak. They never seem to reflect that they'll be setting themselves up to be murdered in turn, but then nobles are rarely swift-witted enough to get dressed without help. Whose, I know not—nor even to whom precisely they roll when they reach the Forest Kingdom, but I abide in hope that ye. It was almost empty, of course. From the battlements and windows and guardposts atop Mount Waterdeep, watching men shivered and looked away.
Breath curling like gusting frost in the chill night air, each reflected some melancholy variation on the thought that there'd be nights like this long after he was dead, just as there had been nights like this long before his birthing. Unwarmed by such cheery thinking, each man clutched his cloak or nightrobe tighter around himself, shook his head, and tried to call to mind more pleasant things. So many flames of silver in the moonlight in a silent, raging hurry to be elsewhere. The shadow overhead frowned at that and stole forward over a shallow roof-peak like creeping smoke.
Those cursed merchants had come light-coined to their fateful meeting, all of them. Oh, the satchel she'd cached where none but her would ever find it was full of bright gems and deeds that made her the owner of three buildings—in Castle Ward, yet! And now this muttering old man comes blundering along right under her best hiding-place. He didn't look the sort to carry much coin—but then, she didn't need much.
A handful of gold to replace what she'd lost, but a handful now. Across soft moss on old silver-worn wood shingles, Narnra crept to the ruins of an old bell-spire that perched above the midpoint of the alley, just as the old man passed below. She had neither coins nor cloak, but he didn't look like much. Only fools and drunkards walked weaponless by night in these alleys. Another handful of sand, a good kick when she came down on him, then away while he was still groaning.
Across the next rooftop she went, almost to the end of the alley now. In a moment he'd see there was no way out and curse and turn. Narnra dug out a handful of sand, checked the blackened blade in the sheath at her wrist, leaned over the edge of the roof, and gasped, "Oh, yes! Her handful of sand followed it, at just the right moment. There was a hasty scrabbling from below—gods, he was away to the blind back wall like the wind! He was too fast, despite slipping on slimy debris underfoot, and she landed catlike on stinking broken things, missing him entirely.
He must have had his eyes shut when she threw the sand for they were gleaming calmly enough in her direction now! With a soft, wordless snarl Narnra drew her knife and came at him in a rush, bounding and springing from side to side as she came, hoping he'd slip in the trash. He was still barehanded, and chuckling now, low and deep, like a delighted madman. Furiously, the Silken Shadow slashed at the old man with her steel fang, crosswise as she dodged, so that he couldn't grapple her or surprise her with some stab of his own. She wasn't afraid of any lunge at her—in all this heaped and tangled refuse, he'd go flat on his face!
He stalked toward her, for all the world as if she was the cornered prey and he the hunting cat, and in a sudden flowering of fear Narnra thrust her blade deep into him, pulling it up hard to gut him open. It was like stabbing smoke. He was there to her knuckles but not there to the steel of her blade. With the soft beginnings of a curse Narnra sprang back from one long-fingered reaching hand and sprinted away, slipping and stumbling in the rotting refuse. Blue eyes blazed eagerly at her from beneath dark brows, a nose to outthrust her own, and a white beard.
Yet for all his years, he was taller, leaner, and a lot faster than he'd looked, and—the air before her started to glow. Oh, Watching Gods, a wizard! Narnra ducked and spun aside, hoping to avoid whatever the magic was, and ran in earnest now, just trying to get out of the alley.
This had all been a mista— Something dark and tentacled rose out of the refuse and shadows along the wall ahead of her, reaching forth to bar her path and to gather her in. Something with many fell, glistening eyes, that slid greasily about in a loosely slumping, slimy body as it hissed and burbled and came for her. A fancy for her eyes spun by the wizard's spell, it must be!
No slithering tentacled thing had been in the narrow alley when the old man had walked along it, she— A cold, wet tentacle slapped around Narnra's wrist. She screamed involuntarily and slashed at it furiously, tugging and turning away as she did so, to keep another four or six tentacles from reaching her. Dark stickiness spurted as she sobbed and hacked, sawing and pulling desperately this way and that.
The old man's voice was as deep as his chuckle. The monster was gone as if it had never been—but the alleyway seemed changed. The way out was nowhere to be seen, and it now seemed a round pit of old crumbling walls and garbage, eerie in the soft moonlight streaked by the racing silver clouds overhead. The old man was standing near one stretch of wall, his hands still empty. Leave stealing things to fools, and find another life. I tried your way and had my fun, but. They stole it all. What jest is this, wizard?
Desperately Narnra tried to duck away, but there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. The air glowed a different hue, and a tingling sensation spilled over her. She glared at him helplessly, feeling weak and empty with terror, and. The feeling passed, but the alley still seemed a walled-in cage. The wizard made a sudden, curt sound of surprise and strode toward her. Narnra scrambled back, slamming against a rough stone wall almost immediately.
Instead, he said quietly, "Lady of the night, turn your knife-hand over, so I may see your knuckles.
Her tumble in the refuse had scratched the back of her hand, and she was bleeding freely. She reached her hand toward her mouth to suck the blood away, but the wizard snapped, "Be still! Magic again, freezing her limbs utterly! She—he was going to—she couldn't— Her eyes could yet move, and she could still breathe. Something was burning close before her, a flame rising where there'd been none.
The blood on her hand was blazing with cold, silent fire. Narnra stared at it helplessly. It burned nothing but yet burned. She could see her dirtsmeared hand and her glistening blood through that flame, and there was no pain. The wizard stood before her now, staring at the same thing she was. Slowly, under their shared scrutiny, the flickering flame faded away. Helplessly Narnra lifted her gaze to his.
The mage shook a small purse out of his sleeve—it looked like a palm-sized pea-pod but was made of some sort of dark and scaly hide and hung at the end of its own intricate lace-link chain—thrust it open with his thumb, and spilled seven gold coins into his palm. As deftly as any tavern juggler he flicked them into a neat stack and placed it delicately atop her bleeding hand. Narnra Shalace stared at where he'd vanished, blinking unbelievingly at the solid, unbroken stones.
All she could hear was her own racing breath, all she could feel was the cold weight of coins, the faintly tickling trickle of blood beneath them, and the solid feel of her own knife, still in her hand. It had all been so sudden, so unbelievable, so That flame, whatever it had been, had surprised him. It had come from his spell but from her, too. He'd given her coins instead of death. Coins, as if she were a beggar or a pleasure-lass A stack of more gold than she could have dared hope to gain from one old man.
And in a wink of an eye he was— gone, right through that wall, and she was. She was able to move again, a little, and the walls of the alley seemed to move, around her, straightening and shifting. Desperately, Narnra stared at where the wizard had vanished through the wall, marking just which heap of refuse was at that spot. She could move her other hand now, as slowly as a feather falling on a windless day.
She reached up, took the coins, and was almost surprised to find them every bit as solid and heavy as they'd seemed. She put them into a pouch, her movements still slow but quickening with every breath, and saw that the alley around was once more long and narrow, coming to a blind end here and curving slightly as it stretched back out to the street there.
She went to the place where the wizard had vanished and cautiously extended her knife at the wall. It plunged into the stone as if through empty air. Wonderingly she leaned forward, her arm following it. This could be the worst sort of death if the stone closed around her. Suspicious, insulted —who was this old wizard to lecture her and pity her and give her a beggar-offering of coins? For trouble thus found has an almost inevitable way of being freely shared. Seldreene Ammath of Suzail Married to a Merchant Year of the Serpent It was dark, and smelled of damp stone, old earth, and the faint reek of garbage receding behind her.
The Silken Shadow went forward cautiously, keeping low, as careful of her balance in this unseen footing as if she'd been on a crumbling roof. There was a singing in the air in front of her, a singing that built swiftly into a shrieking as she advanced—a tumult she somehow knew she heard more than the world around her would. A sickening, shuddering feeling was growing inside her, too. It faltered when she drew back but surged anew when she stepped forward again. Narnra kept the knife ready in her hand, wondering what sort of fool she was being, and peered ahead, seeking any glimmer of light.
Obligingly, radiance suddenly flowered before her, quite close, blossoming as swiftly as the flaring of any new-lit torch. It was a deep, rich blue light, a glow of magic mightier than anything she'd ever seen before. As she watched, it raced along in straight paths, outlining an archway where the white-bearded wizard stood. Narnra promptly went to fingertips and knees on the stones then slid forward onto her belly as quietly as she could—and was barely down and motionless when the mage turned and peered in her direction.
Nodding as if satisfied—had he seen her or not? Narnra lifted her head, listening intently, but all was dark and silent except for the archway. As she stared at it, the radiance pulsed, flickered, and started to fade. In a trice she was on her feet and running to it, swerving aside at the last moment to keep out of sight of anyone looking out of the arch. Its center was dark, and the Silken Shadow crawled the last few feet like a lizard in a purposeful hurry and peered around its edge, chin almost brushing the floor—to find herself looking at more dark nothingness.
The light was definitely dimmer than before. Narnra bit her lip then rose and stepped forward through the archway. If the wizard had a hidden lair right under Trades Ward, she had to know about it. Another step into silent darkness, then another. At her third stride, the darkness vanished, and she was standing in more deep blue radiance, blueness swirling like mist on all sides and falling endlessly past.
Narnra fell with it, yet stood upright and unmoving on an unseen floor, pausing uncertainly. Whirling around, she could see no hint of whence she'd come, only a blue void that. She was suddenly drenched with sweat, more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. Which way was forward? With great care she pivoted back until she was facing, she hoped, in exactly the direction she'd been facing while advancing.
Two steps later, darkness returned, and the damp. Yet the smell was different, somehow. The tang of the sea was strong, but there was also old rotting, like a swamp—a smell her nose had known in Waterdeep only when the harbor was being dragged. She stood in another narrow stone passage, and there were distant echoes ahead. Someone—no, a lot of someones— were talking.
Chattering and laughing, like a merchants' revel. She was somewhere large, with unseen stone chambers opening out from her passage. Under the City of the Dead? Deep beneath the drovers' streets nigh the River Gate? Or— somewhere else entirely, far from Waterdeep? Another step brought her into blue light once more—a faint, fading glow. Narnra spun around and beheld an archway like the one she'd stepped through to get here. She stepped back into it, walked freely for a few strides then shrugged, turned around, and went back to the arch.
This time its glow was almost gone. She peered at the radiance narrowly and positioned herself exactly in the center of the arch. When the glow failed utterly, Narnra stepped forward—slamming her knee hard into what was now a solid stone wall. She was trapped here, wherever here was, and suddenly enraged at herself for being so easily lured. She slapped the unseen wall in front of her, beat her fist on it with a snarl, drew a deep, tremulous breath, and spun again.
She had no choice now but to go on. In the wake of the wizard who'd so casually defeated her. He knew how to make this magic of archways work, so she'd either have to find her own way out or find him and. Growling soundlessly, Narnra hefted her knife in her hand and prowled forward. Old, worn stone blocks were under her soft boots, sea-breezes ghosted around her ankles, and the first glimmers of light could be seen ahead.
This was looking less and less like Waterdeep. Oh Mask and Tymora, aid me now. The company he'd be keeping in a moment would be neither savory nor safe. He was taller, now, in his outermost seeming, and scarred, with the jet-black hair of the older branch of the Cormaerils. He selected a tiny token from a belt-pouch, murmured a word over it—and was suddenly holding a scabbarded sword in his hands. A needleslender blade of the sort favored by many at court in Suzail, mirror-bright, its ornately swept and curved basket hilt studded with small, glossy-smooth sapphires like so many ever-curious eyes.
Strapping it on, he strode across a dark, pillared hall, where rotten barrels moldered and rats scurried in the dimness, and up an old, worn flight of steps. The Marsemban harborstink grew stronger with the faint light ahead. Quite suddenly, he was in a better-lit yet still gloom-shadowed room where grim guards stood watching a throng of laughing, drinking, loudly talking people, who were sporting under lamplight in a much larger chamber beyond. Revelry was the same everywhere, and he'd managed to enjoy it for the first thousand years or so Too much noise, too much pretence and sneering and nasty rumors—and too many wonderstruck lovely young things, all hope and excitement and bright laughter, who lived now only in his memory, gone in their countless legions to graves.
He'd even helped to put a few of them there. Yet he strode on, not hesitating for a moment. He was the only brother that Lyre got along with and I was hoping for more interactions between the two: I can't wait for the next book! Annette Marie is one of those special authors. Her debut novel in the Spell Weaver series, The Night Realm , returns to the sweeping Steel and Stone Universe featuring a sumptuous romance, complex characters, and an utterly enchanting tale. Lyre is a charming and devastatingly handsome incubus born to beguile women.
But, hidden behind a constant stream of jokes that prevents anyone from looking at him too closely is a master spell weaver with carefully guarded secrets. Exiled nymph Clio is a gentle mythological spirit of nature. Yet, she possesses the rare ability to mimic magic. To return home, she must steal the most dangerous spells. Clio attracts trouble like a magnet to a near-cataclysmic effect. While I thought there was probably one too many damsel-in-distress moments, I enjoyed the way her character grew. There is a familiarity with which Ms. Marie creates her heroine. Clio starts out with too much naive confidence, then have that arrogance—and a lot of her core beliefs—stripped away, only to rebuild herself with true strength.
The romance between Lyre and Clio is slow to build, filled with tension, and appropriately lighten with humor. Together, they will form an unlikely union to battle the shadowy forces of the Underworld with dark and intriguing spells. However, within a few chapters, I was swept in by Ms. It's a sweeping page-turner that is intricately plotted to move with ever-mounting momentum. Thank you to the author and publisher for kindly giving me this book free of charge, which does not influence my review.
View all 9 comments. I absolutely loved The Night Realm and it has found a special place in my heart. It was funny, engaging, suspenseful and unputdownable. I loved the unforgettable characters, the smouldering romance, the witty banter, the non-stop action, the creative magical world, the intricate plot — everything!
As soon as I finished reading it, I wanted to re-read it again! In order to return to her home the Overworld , Clio must steal spells from the most dangerous spell weavers in the Underworld. There she I absolutely loved The Night Realm and it has found a special place in my heart. There she encounters Lyre, a skilled spell weaver as well as an irresistible incubus, when he is tasked with brokering a deal with this mysterious envoy from the Overworld.
Clio is in over her head on this mission as she endeavours to keep her cover from Lyre, steal some magic and not get killed. It is so refreshing to have an MC who is not cool, confident and perfect. Clio is a strong, yet flawed heroine who is determined to complete the mission so that she can finally go home. What she lacks in skill and experience, she makes up for in bravado, ingenuity and courage.
Lyre is irresistible, drop dead gorgeous and intelligent — what is not to love! Clio is nothing like the hard-nosed buyers that he has dealt with before and finds her bumbling ways both intriguing and entertaining. The Night Realm is beautifully written, with an original and layered plot, plenty of action, intrigue and edge of your seat suspense. Lyre and Clio were magnetic, believable characters and I connected with them straight away. It was easy to read, with no big info dump and the action started from the first page. I especially loved the weaves and spells, and became immersed in the magical, fascinating world that Ms Marie has created.
Overall, this is an addictive, sweet read, which I had me rapt from the first page and either swooning, laughing or nail biting throughout. View all 4 comments. I swear she uses magic in real life to captivate her readers in her stories. I have no other rational explanation for how amazing her books are. The Night Realm is the first of a new series, the Spell Weaver books.
This is a prequel trilogy to her completed series, Steel and Stone , that takes place 5 years before the events of Steel and Stone. Otherwise the storyline in The Night Realm may be a little confusing especially since the trilogy has not been finished yet. Clio is in exile from her home in the Overworld, and is given the chance to go home by using her special abilities to infiltrate the Underworld and doing some spy ops. She meets Lyre, who is suspicious of her from the get go, but they end up becoming fast friends. Cue action, romance, and a whole lotta awesome magic.
It's a recipe for an Annette Marie masterpiece. I am so excited to read the rest of this series. I really liked seeing their former selves. Overall, another awesome hit. Annette Marie could write a lunch menu and I would read it. As the series went on, it became more and more clear that there was more to him than 4 Stars Review: As the series went on, it became more and more clear that there was more to him than it first seemed, that he was actually very clever and cunning and dangerous, and then he became even more interesting to me and quite possibly my favorite character in the series.
It was a great way to finally really get to know him more, and it also allowed the reader to see important things. We even got to see how his friendship with Ash started. I liked Clio too. Sometimes I found her to be kind of inept, stumbling through her entire mission haphazardly, really not being very good at the spying or the deception required, but then I reminded myself that she was just out of her league, and I would most definitely be even more of a mess in that situation than she was. And I realized that I liked that part of her because it was relatable.
Often times characters are super confident and smooth and competent and not at all freaked out by going into dangerous situations, so Clio was realistic in this regard. And when it really came down to it, she pulled herself together and managed to handle herself really well. I also like how Annette Marie has made the incubi in this world truly dangerous and powerful in their own way.
Well, I mean, Lyre's family are especially dangerous because of their weaving skills, but even normal incubi have that aphrodesia magic that can take away a woman's will and maybe even a man's if the incubus is powerful enoughI would still like to know about that time mentioned in one of the other books when Lyre apparently proved that to Ash lol. It's also impressive how the author doesn't shy away from the fact that incubi are all about sex, yet she still manages to keep it YA albeit a kind of older YA.
The weaving, that was very cool too. This author always does a great job describing magic and making it super interesting.
The plot and pacing were where I had a couple minor issues. But neither of these things made the book bad, they just weren't what I was expecting. If anyone who hasn't read either series yet is now wondering which one they should start with, I'd say either probably works. Both series stand on their own. But overall, I really enjoyed being back in this unique world that Annette Marie has created, I liked getting to experience Lyre's POV, I liked Clio as a main character, and I thought all the magic was incredible! Anyone who likes new adult urban fantasy, incubi, romance, action, and lots of magic.
Original Review Metaphors and Moonlight The Night Realm by Annette Marie is no different. We follow Clio, a nymph with a rare ability to mimic magic, as she goes to the Underworld to steal secrets from their master wavers. Clio must face all kinds of monsters and mayhem - including dealing with an Incubi master weaver named Lyre - so she can prevent a war and go home Things I Liked I really liked the worldbuilding and the setting in the story! I liked learning about the different castes of daemons and what their powers are, I liked learning about how Underworlders and Overworlders are different and the same I would have liked to learn more about Overworlders, hopefully in book 2!
Sorry I know those details are very sketchy but thats all I can remember! The book I had, they traveled to the woods and there was an island with mystery lights. Clio the nymph can recreate magic when she sees it. Well, as to that, all I see and hear is that wizards do just as they please and cloak self-interest in a lot of grand words and hints that they're doing things important that protect all Faerun and all of us with it! The blood on her hand was blazing with cold, silent fire. You can also search a growing number of individual stores online, including the Portland-based Powells and Bolerium Books in San Francisco, which specializes in rare books on labor issues and radical history. There was a book I read in late elementary school I'm in high school now and I remember there were these kids that lived in a small town and they were all friends.
It was kinda eerie, but really raw. I really loved that there was mythology elements blended into the story - mythology is always a win from me. I really loved all the magic and spell weaving. I loved seeing so much magic being practiced and used. It was all really vivid and provided some nice fight scenes. I liked that we got to explore the difference between casting and weaving spells.
I liked the relationship that develops between Clio and Lyre. While there is obviously sexual tension and you can tell they are heading down a romantic path, I loved Clio and Lyre working together and studying spell weaving. It really showed both as powerful equals who can help and teach the other. I loved seeing Lyre and Ash meet and getting to see the beginnings of their friendship. It was so great to see their reluctant partnership. I really understand where Clio is coming from and her trust in his as a loving brother, but he was so manipulative.
Duclet got a little unhinged villain for me, and while it works with his character, I would like a little more depth. But you do not need to have read the Steel and Stone series to enjoy this book! The Night Realm is a solid paranormal fantasy filled with daemons, magic, and action. Trigger warning for attempted rape I received a copy of the book from the author in exchange for an honest review. I knew this is going to be good, but I did not expect that it will became one of the top three books I read in Plot, which is smart and keeps me reading until 3am.
And just the right amount of romance, which is however not the centre of the plot. In the night realm we get to know more about the incubus Lyre and his past as master weaver in "spell factory" Chrysalis. Can't wait what will bring the next book, luckily we have to wait only 3 months between the two books and not years as it's the case of some of my other favorite authors.
Clio the nymph can recreate magic when she sees it. Lyre the incubus can create clever and deadly weaves. A promising start to a new series. This review MAY contain spoilers. Read at your own risk. All of the gods and stars in the sky shine down on me! This book is such a masterpiece! This book has rattled my heart. But each and every Annette Marie book that I've read has shaken up my heart. And for the better. And her Red Winter series was just as heart-shattering. Every single thing that this glorious woman writes is magical. She has truly been blessed This review MAY contain spoilers.
She has truly been blessed by the gods and we the readers get to reap the glory with all of her memorable stories. It is so complex and absorbing. I love that this new series set in the same universe built upon what I already knew. It was a deeper look into the underworld.
The plot was completely flawless and expertly crafted. The flow of the story was so fluid. The story is absolutely riveting. I read this in one sitting because I simply could not put the book down. I had to know what was going to happen next. I literally could not stop reading. I have never been so grateful to miss a full night's sleep. This book is well worth the sleep-deprived headache that I received as a result. The intricacy of the plot is really what made me keep reading. The plot twists were surprising and the foreshadowing was layered into the story incomparably.
The author has a genuine talent for storytelling. The characters in this book are so distinctive and I was easily drawn to them. He is immediately likable and evokes so much emotion in the reader. Clio is a new character and she is just as delightful. She is so innocent, thoughtful, and it is completely easy to fall in love with her.
This book has set up what I can only expect to be an incredible character arc. I can't wait to see how her character grows throughout the rest of the series. This book contains the best kind of romance. It is a slow burn romance and the characters come together naturally. They also come together because of circumstance and fate. It was really beautiful because they both realize that the other is the only person in each of their lives that has ever really done something for them without wanting anything in return. There is not much in terms of physical romantic scenes, but the scenes where they are together have so much romantic tension that it will make you swoon.
I cannot wait for more! It is literally gnawing in my stomach with want to reread the series. I can only assume that this feeling is akin to being under the influence of an incubus's aphrodisia. I will forever be a fan of Annette Marie! I will read everything that she writes. If you have not had the pleasure of reading any of her books then I highly recommend doing so because you are definitely missing out.
I am going to promptly start the second book of this series. I just want to live inside this magically delicious world. More reviews on my blog: View all 3 comments. At first I thought it was a little insta-lovey, but eventually I found myself riding the ship. Annette Marie always knows how to deliver an entertaining story. Seeing Lyre and Ash again was a blessing. While the plot wasn't as intricate as her other and one of my fave Steel and Stone series, I still couldn't put it down because of how well she writes - it's a narrative voice with the perfect blend of imagination, humour, and clarity in dialogue, both inwards and outwards.
I can't wait At first I thought it was a little insta-lovey, but eventually I found myself riding the ship. I can't wait to see how the story leads into it - feeling equally apprehensive and excited. To be honest I didn't even know wh 4. To be honest I didn't even know what to expect from this book. I didn't know what the world of Steel and Stone encompassed; I didn't even know that it was Urban Fantasy because that's what I do - when I'm really excited about a book I try to go into it knowing as little as possible about it beforehand so that I can get the most out of it and The Night Realm did not disappoint in any way.
As I've come to now expect from Annette Marie , her world building is superb: It's well thought out, complex and presented so easily that when I was trying to explain the book to a friend I was surprised at just how much information I knew. It can seem dense at times but it's so sophisticated and intricate that you need all the information and I really appreciated that I could dive straight into this book without getting lost because I hadn't read the other series.
There's plenty of action and adventure to propel the plot along and yet it was never too much or too far-fetched and as always, the action scenes are extraordinarily well choreographed with both physical action and magical activity. The magic system was intriguing and I loved getting to know what I could about the different castes of daemons and their abilities.
As with the world building, the magic system is also complex and I am always thankful when an author ensures that there is a cost to using magic and that the magic is not 'all powerful'. The main female protagonist is Clio - an Overworld nymph who is incredibly relateable. She has a special magical affinity that not many people know about because of her lineage, but she also seems so incredibly human with plenty of flaws.
She displays all my favourite female lead characteristics - bravery, loyalty, determination and she really grows into herself. He also embodies a lot of my favourite qualities in male lead characters - steaming hot he is an Incubus after all , powerful yet vulnerable, compassionate and kind and yet still morally grey. He's mysterious and reckless - a total 'bad boy' and I loved his dynamic.
I completely adored the interaction between the characters, the snark and the humour and the sass. I found myself laughing out loud a couple of times and there were also times when I found my heart aching. I was completely invested in these characters and the outcome. The chemistry is on point with what I hope is a fledgling romance. He is aweful and does some absolutely horrendous things to Sorcha, but it is more mental abuse than physical. Still it was really difficult at times to read those parts, as intended but non-the-less he is very graphic in some of his mental abuse as well.
I have thought about multiple sections of this story repeatedly over the last few weeks and have even gone back and reread some of my favorite sections. It is a truer story than most where not everything is handed to you, at the end there are still questions in my mind and I think about the characters and where their paths led them. View all 35 comments. I know I've said I've been speechless when reading books before, but this time, I genuinely don't have the words to express what a masterpiece this novel is.
I actually finished this novel early today morning, at around 1: I couldn't get this story out of my head; I simply kept thinking about it. If Juliet Marillier hadn't already made a fan out of me with Heart's Blood, then I'd be tripping over myself to fall at Incredible. If Juliet Marillier hadn't already made a fan out of me with Heart's Blood, then I'd be tripping over myself to fall at her feet for truly, this book is remarkable. From its cover, it seems to be a simplistic fairy tale re-telling, but it's a fairy tale like no other. We don't have any knights in shining armor; instead, the princess has to save herself.
We don't have an innocent girl for whom circumstances clear up and solve her problem; we have a broken girl who has to struggle to find happiness. Sorcha is the youngest of seven children, six of whom are boys. Thus, she has grown up sheltered, loved, and cared for by her siblings. When her father re-marries, however, bringing Lady Oonagh, a deadly sorcerer, into their peaceful abode, Sorcha's life is turned upside down.
Lady Oonagh turns her beloved brothers into swans and the only way for Sorcha to break the spell is to weave six shirts made of a prickly nettle and remain silent for her entire ordeal. It is only when the shirts have been made and worn by her brothers that the spell will be broken, but the journey that Sorcha will embark on will change more than just her future, it will change her very being and shatter her to her core. Daughter of the Forest starts out slowly, introducing us to Sorcha, her world, and her close relationship with her brothers.
Thus, when her brothers are turned into swans, we, as readers, feel just as much pain as Sorcha herself. I could feel myself visibly wincing every time Sorcha was reminded of her past life with her brothers, full of happiness and delight. I sobbed for a solid five minutes at one point in this story because of the utter horror of the situation. Yet, despite all the darkness, there is a subtle undercurrent of hope, of happiness, of love.
It's all so beautifully interwoven that one cannot help but be reminded of life itself with its ups and downs and darkness and light. You see, Daughter of the Forest is a painfully realistic tale. Sorcha has an incredible trove of inner strength. I admire her immensely and she's one of those heroines I'll never forget. I could simply be in the supermarket having a bad day and Sorcha is one of those protagonists who will come to mind and I already know I'll tell myself, "If Sorcha could go through all that, I can get through today. Thus, despite the seemingly amazing feats she manages to achieve, Marillier weaves this tale in such a way that she is able to convey that each and every one of these ordeals is possible to overcome, just as anything is with the right dose of love, faith, and perseverance.
Nevertheless, one of my favorite aspects of this novel is, hands-down, the romance.
I can't get enough of it and Marillier writes it to pure perfection. What I loved about the romance in this novel, particularly, is the fact that it manages to happen all without Sorcha uttering a word. Somehow, against all odds, Sorcha manages to find someone who understands her very soul, who sees her task as a brave ordeal she is facing, and who can understand her with little difficulty, despite her silence. Furthermore, Sorcha never even realizes that she's falling in love. As the reader, we can see this romance unfold in front of our eyes, but Sorcha's task remains to be the main plot thread, until eventually, Sorcha comes to realize the love she had and how, despite not realizing it before, she needs the very presence of her lover to calm her.
For, to be in love isn't necessarily to crave physical affection or even understanding, but often, it comes from the most basic, innocent, and true primitive instinct of needing that other person's presence and strength by you. It is this that Marillier manages to embody so beautifully within this novel and I can't get enough of it.
Daughter of the Forest is a dark, emotional, and achingly bittersweet fantasy like no other. It is one that kept me on the edge of my seat with a box of tissues within the grasp of my hand and a warm blanket draped over me. It's one of those stories that continues to plague you long after you've read it as you marvel over both the author's creativity and skill along with the characters and their complexity.
I can't recommend this book enough, but really, everyone should read this. Like all fairy tales, Daughter of the Forest contains a trove of themes and lessons and Marillier conveys all this in a subtle and beautiful manner that touches and stays with you like nothing else quite does. Truly, if there's one book you should make yourself read before you die, it's this one. View all 23 comments. Fans of fairy tale stories and angsty books with strong heroines. I have always loved the fairy tale about the sister with numerous brothers who had a wicked stepmother who enchanted her brothers to turn them into birds.
The number of brothers and the type of birds can vary. I have seen it with ravens and with swans. In Daughter of the Forest, Ms. Marillier used the version in which the heroine has six brothers and they are all turned into swans. I must say I truly enjoyed and devoured this heartbreaking, emotionally wrenching novel based on that fairy tale. I like the way this version is set in Dark Ages Ireland, in which the Irish fight against the British to maintain their sacred islands and to keep their own faith. In this case, the heroine is the seventh child born to parents who are mystically blessed.
Her mother died in childbirth and bequeathed a spiritual legacy and a deep bond to her seven children. The theme of family is a huge foundation of this story. These siblings would do anything for each other, and their bonds of loyalty are severely tested. This is one of those books where you scream to the heavens in agony, asking "WHY? So many trials and hardships. I was prepared from the fairy tale, but the additional detail in this story and the foreknowledge of some major aspects make it that much more wrenching to read.
And what happens to Sorcha while she is in the forest, that just about broke me. A person would have to be made of stone to not be moved by the trials that Sorcha endures. Not just that, but the cruelty that is so much a part of life for people in this story. Marillier tackles the subject of war between cultures. In this book, you start out seeing the Irish side, but Sorcha's brother Fimbar has always looked at the issue of warring cultures as a construct that falsely divides people who are at their heart just humans.
He wants to see both sides, and he wants to find a way for both the Irish and the British to see each other as allies instead of enemies. His warlike father Lord Colum doesn't understand that at all. His heart died with his wife, and his focus has become fixed on conquest and protection of their lands from the British, at any cost. As this story progresses, and I met Simon, a Briton who was captured and cruelly tortured by Lord Colum's forces and liberated and healed by Sorcha and a kindly Christian priest that dwells on their lands ; and later meeting Lord Hugh, who saves Sorcha's life and protects on her dangerous mission to save her bothers,and his people--I could see that there was good and bad on both sides.
For that's just the nature of humanity. Alas, this reader has a very tender heart, and I was affected deeply by the dark times that unfold in this story. I was also struck by the unfairness of it all. As much as that bothered me, I couldn't imagine being the characters in this book. Sorcha seems to be put in a position that no thirteen-year-old at the time her mission starts should have to face.
The Fair Folk have chosen her for this responsibility, and neither her nor I really truly understood what their game was. What was the author trying to say here? That life is pain, and it doesn't seem to make sense. That we can make up explanations for it, but in the end, we just have to buck up and deal. I guess that is true to some extent. There are so many twists and turns, and life is full of these unfair situations.
Like Sorcha, I rely on my faith to make sense of it, and to keep me strong. Even though my faith is different from hers, I could identify with her in that sense, and in the love she feels for her family. There are many memorable characters in this story. Sweet, loving, enduring, fiercely determined Sorcha. She is the willow that will bend but won't break.
Her brothers all distinct and lovable , Simon who formed a bond with Sorcha that affected them both deeply , and Lord Hugh who is called Red , just to start with. Characters that I loved and cried for in my heart at how they suffered. I wondered how the author could be strong enough to show her characters hurting, dying, and being subject to the cruel actions of bad people. I know it wasn't at all easy to read. The villains are so evil, you just want to tear them limb from limb.
Just evil because they can be. Lord Richard seemed even worse than Lady Oonagh, despite her dark witchcraft. He was the type who was pure human, but with the mentality of a devil. Both with secret ambitions brewing in hearts so black they don't even seem human. As I read, I shook my fist at them both, and willed Sorcha and her brothers to be strong. Like Sorcha, I could not help but love Red. What a wonderful man! This was an absorbing story. It's truly angsty and sorrow-filled. The kind of book that leaves a lingering essence of melancholy in me after I finish it, even though the ending is relatively upbeat, for the most part.
But the emotional scars of what occurs in this book didn't fade even when the book was over. They stayed with me. That's the power of a good book. You don't want to finish a book and think, "What did I just read, because I don't feel a thing? For those fairy tale lovers, this is a must read. It captures this beautiful story of a sweet but enduringly strong heroine whose love for her brothers takes her to very dark extremes, but that love is pure enough to help her save them and herself.
People say that fairy tales are chauvinistic and show women as weak, under others' control, always needing a prince to save them. I don't think they have read this one, or they wouldn't dare say that. And what is strength anyway? Did Samson's strength protect him from Delilah's wiles?
Did Hercules fare any better in his tragic life for all his strength? No, to me, the greatest strength is that of a loving, enduring heart. And no one has more strength than Sorcha in that regard. View all 27 comments. Dec 29, Mayim de Vries rated it really liked it. The pages of this book flow like a river of sorrow and anguish, and pain, and loneliness, courage, and hope, and an unyielding love. But the stream is strong so once the current of the Six Swans retelling has caught you, you will be there, held like under a spell and unable to stop.
It is not an easy tale but, oh, a beautiful one. The fairy tale is known, and so I am not spoiling anything by telling you that Daughter of the Forest tells us a story of Sorcha, the youngest child of the Lord of Seve The pages of this book flow like a river of sorrow and anguish, and pain, and loneliness, courage, and hope, and an unyielding love.
The girl flees into the forest, and when she learns that there is a way to lift the curse, she is determined to do so, regardless of how daunting the task and hopeless the chance. By the by, the forest is a living creature in its own right and much better than the one attempted in Uprooted. There are six brothers: Considering that they spent most of the book in the bird form, it needs to be said that Ms Marillier did a wonderful job fleshing their varied personalities out.
Sorcha lives her life sheltered and knows nothing about the world until one day the world comes right into her face. She is a creature of the wild, barefoot and somewhat magical. Nobody really raised the girl so all her childhood she did whatever she wanted, mostly mimicking her brothers in a very masculine household without a woman able to reign the girl in.
Her brothers dote on her, and even if she is not spoiled, she is most definitely pampered and sheltered. Obviously, but in order to understand the gravity of what has happened, you need to understand the connection between the siblings: Taking away the brothers feels as if somebody robbed Sorcha of parts of her soul or dissected parts of her body. And so she agrees to make six starwort shirts, and the solitude of her quest is further compounded by another condition - absolute silence: Nor will you tell your story in pictures, or letters, or in any other way to living creature.
You will be silent, mute as the swans themselves. Break this silence, and the curse remains forever. In fact, the story swiftly takes you from bad to worse to horrendous in a sequence of events that are wonderful and terrible, and plain and twisted. Through grief and pain, through many trials, through betrayal and loss, your feet will walk a straight path.
In fact, she is one of the fiercest heroines in all fantasy I have ever read. There are countless warrior-princesses, assassins, fighters, and other martially adept figures known and loved by many. Not Sorcha, no easy way out for her. As she fights against the despair and disasters that befell upon her and the wretchedness of her fate, she remains her true self, patient, emphatic, tenuous healer. And it is high, exorbitant even. There are hunger and loneliness, there are all kinds of mistreatment including rape and bereavement including loss of friends both in human and animal form.
There is one thing that needs to be said about the rape scene. It is brutal, wrecking, it truly annihilated me emotionally. In a way, the difficulty in reading it only attests to author's talent. Fantasy these days, and not only grimdark fantasy, also epic and high fantasy, gives out violence like candies and rape like cookies, as all fans of ASOIAF know. And yet, this was painful to take in so proceed with caution. But as much as Daughter of the Forest is about endurance, it is also a love story. Love is beautifully wrought out by Ms Marillier and with exquisite care.
There is nothing instantaneous about it, noting primarily carnal can you believe that Sarah J. Red will melt all your chocolates ladies. Marillier gives you a romance that is made of unspoken words and unmade gestures, unconditional trust, and unconscious need. One of the best out there view spoiler [ although I, most certainly didn't like the late attempt at a love triangle. That made no sense for me hide spoiler ]. I would not wish such a love on anyone, man or woman, for it can make your life a paradise, or it can destroy you utterly.
The prose is beautiful, it grows on the reader , wild and unforgiving in a forest of emotions wild as the Fae as the tale branches, and twists, and leads the travellers to places far beyond their wildest imaginings. Simultaneously, the novel is most definitely slow-paced. The newer books just accustomed us to movie-style non-stop action, whereas the older novels spare pages to build the ambiance, and paint the background of the background. If you are partial to this kind of buildup, you might struggle with the book. What is more, even though it is a historical fantasy ripe with all things Celtic, some "suspension of disbelief" is required to enjoy the story fully because it is a fairytale retelling after all.
I liked that the ending wasn't neat, that some strands of the tale were left jagged, its heroes a little bit damaged, some questions still unanswered, some answers already lost. And I am looking forward to continuing the series. Son of the Shadows 3. Child of the Prophecy 4. Heir to Sevenwaters 5. Seer of Sevewaters 6. View all 20 comments. Jun 20, AH rated it it was amazing Shelves: What a breathtakingly beautiful book! It is a fantasy, a historical, and a romance.
It reads like a fable or a fairy tale. It has all the elements of a fairy tale — the evil stepmother, a fairy godmother sort of , an enchantment, an impossible task to accomplish, a prince charming, and a happily ever after. This has to be my all time favorite book now. I was captivated by the story, mesmerized by the voice of Sorcha, our heroine. I did not put this b What a breathtakingly beautiful book! I did not put this book down for days. I probably used up an entire box of Kleenex reading this and my kids looked at me quite strangely.
Sorcha is a very special young lady. She is the seventh child of a seventh son. Her mother died in childbirth. Her six older brothers care for her and they all share a special bond. Sorcha can communicate telepathically with two of her brothers. She is also well trained in healing. So much happens to Sorcha in this novel, but one thing remains in my mind — she is totally devoted to her brothers. Such love brings her much angst and suffering, yet she endures. For most of the story, Sorcha endures an impossible task to free her brothers from an enchantment.
Sorcha is not allowed to speak until the task has been completed. At one point she must leave her lands and is found by a Briton, Red. Red rescues Sorcha from nearly drowning and brings her back to his home. So strong, so determined, and way too young to go through such an impossible task on her own. Despite her burden, Sorcha was also able to see the beauty in the world around her. Red or Lord Hugh was a wonderful character as well. He was so patient and kind to Sorcha. Conor and Finbar were my favorites.
A fairy tale would not be complete without the evil villains. In this book, there is the scary Lady Oonagh who reminded me of a Disney evil Stepmother. The power hungry creepy Uncle Richard made for a very nasty villainous character. I think what makes this book so special is that the author is so gifted in her writing style. She gives a girl who is mute for most of the book a voice. I also loved how the author included the Fair Folk in her story.
They are never really in the main part of the book, they just happen to always be in the background. You are never really sure if they are responsible for a spell or not. I highly recommend this book. Be prepared with a lot of Kleenex. I am looking forward to reading the next book in the series.
Review posted on Badass Book Reviews View all 66 comments. Jul 10, Elena rated it it was amazing Shelves: Cinco estrellas por lo immersa en la historia que me ha hecho sentir Juliet Marillier. Apr 22, Emily May marked it as dnf Shelves: No Rating I cannot fairly rate this book so I'm going to leave it as it is.
I was originally attracted by the high ratings and positive reviews but I discovered early on that, for whatever reason, this book simply isn't for me. I couldn't appreciate the story enough to read on and that is why I won't insult it by giving the kind of low rating I usually give to abandoned books.
In this instance, it was definitely me and not the story or writing. View all 6 comments. Feb 03, Vinaya rated it it was amazing Recommended to Vinaya by: How do you know when a book is a great book? When you are struck with sympathetic muteness because talking means the difference between life and death for the heroine, and it takes an actual, conscious effort to unlock your throat and answer when someone calls out to you.
When you sudden How do you know when a book is a great book? When you suddenly find that your usually limitless supply of words has run out altogether, and you can't find the words to describe how this book made you feel. I am not going to talk about characterization, worldbuilding, plotline, or any of the things I usually talk about in my reviews.
Although they were all brilliant. I am not going to gush about the romance between Sorcha and Hugh, although it is more than gush-worthy. What I am going to do, is tell you how this book affected me. I have a weakness for Irish legends. I love the terrible beauty and darkness of the Fair Folk. I love the cadences of the story-telling, though it might seem long and tedious to some people. A lot of the story-telling in this book reminded me of the rhythm and style of Cecilia Dart-Thornton 's Bitterbynde Trilogy.
Daughters of the Night Owl (The Lost Realms Book 1) - Kindle edition by Darren Brunne, Josiah Brunne, Jodan Brunne, Peter Marshall. Download it once and. After a freak accident, his wife goes missing and his memory is damaged. Start reading Daughters of the Night Owl (The Lost Realms Book 1) on your Kindle.
The fae of these stories are not the sexy, playful, almost-human faeries of the Urban Fantasy world. They are the real thing, powerful, removed and only concerned with humans as playthings, or pawns in the game of fate. And Marillier gets that. A lot of people will find The Daughter of the Forest heavy going. The tone of the book is portentous and the style of writing is almost bardic. Things move slowly, but there is beauty in the slow pace. This book resonated on a level I find difficult to explain.
I cried when Sorcha cried, I hurt when she hurt, I shivered when she feared and I loved when she loved. It was almost as if I was absorbing her character, becoming her in one sense. And this is where truly great story-telling lies, in the ability to divorce you from reality, so that you can't think about whether you love or hate a character, because you are practically one entity. In the ability to transport you to another land, and make you love its people, until they feel like your people. In the ability to move you to the extent where words become impossible, even unnecessary because the silent places in your soul have come alive.
I think I would never be able to objectively recommend The Daughter of the Forest to anybody. The act of reading it was too personal, the story too close to my heart, to be able to judge with any accuracy whether it will be to someone else's taste. All I can do, in my measly way, is give it five stars, and hope this review resonates with someone out there someday!
View all 9 comments. Jun 05, Amanda rated it it was amazing. What a fabulous start to what I hope is going to be a 5 star series. One of my favorite books so far this year! Sep 27, Lindsey Rey rated it really liked it Shelves: Sexual Assault It was very difficult for me to give this book a star rating. First off, I want to say that I enjoyed this story a lot and found it very enchanting. I didn't want to put it down and I will be continuing on with the series.
I really enjoyed the writing and I thought the cast of characters was very intriguing and really pulled you in to the story. The novel did lull in a couple of places, but that didn't impact my enjoyment of the book. I did listen to the audio book Trigger Warning: I did listen to the audio book which helps for the slower sections. I took off a star because I had some major problems from a feminist point of view. Wondrously evocative and lyrical. This is a popular romantic fairy tale, found in the Young Adult and Juvenile shelves. Yet I question that classification, as there's a graphically adult scene disturbing as explained in spoiler further below.
Major spoilers are tagged and hidden: She is deeply attached to her six older brothers, and they love her just as dearly, because they raised her from infancy, since their wealthy and titled father was gone a lot.