By Madeline Howard
Greater than a century has handed because the strong fight among the wizards and the mages resulted in their mutual destruction, and greater than 40 years because the Empress Ouriána turned the Divine Incarnation of the Devouring Moon. Appointing twelve lethal sorcerers as her monks, she principles the land in darkness never-ending. but there's a small likelihood for desire, if one foreordained princess can continue to exist. yet she has vanished at the back of enemy strains, or even a courageous band of heroes is probably not capable of succeed in her in time. For Ouriána's darkish reign has woken the traditional terrors of legend, and their vengeance may be fast and all-consuming. . . .
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Ice and snow melted into slush, the way grew slippery, and the entire line slowed to a walk. Long before evening, everyone was mired in a river of mud. The footing had become so treacherous, it was necessary to dismount and wade through the muck, leading the horses. Toiling along with a hand on each bridle, Sindérian tried to avoid the places where the mire was deepest, but her skirts were already soaked with muddy water halfway to her knees. But at least, she reflected sourly, she had the satisfaction of knowing that Prince Ruan, trudging along immediately ahead of her, looked scarcely better off.
Maddeningly, Prince Ruan declined to take a seat (which kept Aell standing, too), but Faolein perched on a rack of antlers over the door, and Sindérian defiantly chose one of the chairs and sat down to wait. H ours later she was still waiting. She divided her attention between watching the Prince pace the floor with an increasingly violent and restless motion, and keeping her eye on a stream of sand trickling through an hourglass up on the mantelpiece. Already, she had risen from her seat twice to turn the glass over and start the sand moving again.
Yet a faint memory of power still surged in his blood, and all that long day he carried off his illusions with remarkable panache. He conjured butterflies and flowers out of the air. The balls that he tossed glittered like silver moons and golden suns. He even stole fire from a fire-eater and swallowed it down, scarcely singeing his beard in the process. Finally, drunk on those dregs of power, he made a pageant for the people in the square, a story acted out by phantoms he crafted out of light and shade, color and air.
A Dark Sacrifice by Madeline Howard