The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(127)
Coral cleared her throat. “The others—”
“Bring as many as we can,” Nisong interrupted. “Shell, figure out how many we can take aboard if we plan for rations for thirty days and nights.”
“Nisong.” Leaf touched her arm, his dark eyes concerned. “If we get out of here, we can always come back for the rest.”
“We will come back for the rest, but right now we need as many as possible,” she replied. In her memory, she’d made a construct. There were others like them, built for one purpose or another, and now they’d all be without their commands pressing on their minds. They’d all be without a leader.
“What for?” Leaf said.
She could feel the weight of them watching her, waiting for her response. She breathed in deep.
“We’re building an army.”
Acknowledgements
It’s been a long road. And like most (successfully concluded) journeys, I did not undertake this one alone. I owe a debt of gratitude to many, many people, without whom this book would not be published, including: James Long and Brit Hvide, my editors at Orbit and the whole Orbit publishing team. You’ve helped me put a fine polish on this book and to make this longshot dream of mine a reality. I cannot thank you enough.
My agent, Juliet Mushens, who through her notes, has taught me oodles about character, plot and pacing. Your insightfulness, hard work and dedication are awe-inspiring and unparalleled.
All of the Murder Cabin crew: Thomas Carpenter, Megan O’Keefe, Marina Lostetter, Tina Smith/Gower, Annie Bellet, Setsu Uzume, Anthea Sharp/Lawson and Karen Rochnik. Your feedback has been invaluable, and our yearly get-togethers are always invigorating (and a little frightening; it IS the Murder Cabin after all).
My beta readers for this book: Greg Little, Steve Rodgers and Brett Laugtug. I pored over all your notes and really appreciated your reassurances that this book might actually be . . . good?
Alvaro Zinos-Amaro, for being a listening ear and offering suggestions when I was puzzling through a couple of plot points.
My writing groups in Sacramento: WordForge and Stonehenge. You never stopped believing in me through all the books I’ve written, and that belief helped keep me going. I could never disappoint such wonderful people.
Kavin, Kristen, Mom and Dad, who all read various versions of this book and picked out logical inconsistencies. Your enthusiasm has meant the world to me. Stewarts! Stewarts! Stewarts!
John, my husband, whose endless support could buoy a lead weight in stormy seas. Celebrating the sale of this book with you will always be one of the highlights of my life.
And Mrs. Schacht, my fifth-grade teacher, whose praise of my story about a clay falcon come to life made me think, “Maybe I can be a writer?” May every daydreaming child have a teacher as wonderful as you.
extras
www.orbitbooks.net
about the author
Andrea Stewart is the Chinese American daughter of immigrants, and was raised in a number of places across the United States. Her parents always emphasized science and education, so she spent her childhood immersed in Star Trek and odd-smelling library books. When her (admittedly ambitious) dreams of becoming a dragon slayer didn’t pan out, she instead turned to writing books. She now lives in sunny California, and in addition to writing, can be found herding cats, looking at birds and falling down research rabbit holes.
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if you enjoyed
THE BONE SHARD DAUGHTER
look out for THE OBSIDIAN TOWER
by
Melissa Caruso Find your answers writ in bone. Keep your trust through wits or war [En-dash] nothing must unseal the door.’
Deep within Gloamingard Castle lies a black tower. Sealed by magic, it guards a dangerous secret that has been contained for thousands of years.
As Warden, Ryxander knows the warning passed down through generations: nothing must unreal the Door. But one impetuous decision will leave her with blood on her hands [En-dash]and unleash a threat that could doom the world to fall to darkness.
There are two kinds of magic.
There is the kind that lifts you up and fills you with wonder, saving you when all is lost or opening doors to new worlds of possibility. And there is the kind that wrecks you, that shatters you, bitter in your mouth and jagged in your hand, breaking everything you touch.
Mine was the second kind.
My father’s magic could revive blighted fields, turning them lush and green again, and coax apples from barren boughs in the dead of winter. Grass withered beneath my footsteps. My cousins kept the flocks in their villages healthy and strong, and turned the wolves away to hunt elsewhere; I couldn’t enter the stables of my own castle without bringing mortal danger to the horses.
I should have been like the others. Ours was a line of royal vivomancers; life magic flowed in our veins, ancient as the rain that washed down from the hills and nurtured the green valleys of Morgrain. My grandmother was the immortal Witch Lord of Morgrain, the Lady of Owls herself, whose magic coursed so deep through her domain that she could feel the step of every rabbit and the fall of every leaf. And I was Exalted Ryxander, a royal atheling, inheritor of an echo of my grandmother’s profound connection to the land and her magical power. Except that I was also Ryx, the family embarrassment, with magic so twisted it was unusably dangerous.