Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,162
one joyous sound.
“Stop, please. Any more and I’ll be forced to throw you in jail.”
“Dungeon-jail,” he corrects.
“I did call it that, didn’t I?”
“What feels like ages ago,” he agrees, lacing his wooden hand in my free one.
There’s a sunset quiet, the balcony of the former palace overlooking the busy construction below, the children—Crav and Peligli and Perriot included—running after one another in the grass, Varia and Fione sitting together under a tree napping on each other’s shoulders with Zeran in their lap, Malachite arguing pettily with Yorl as they oversee the metallic matronics moving some wood and stone to and fro, Nightsinger gracefully leading a stream of new ambassadors from the Star Continent on a tour around the grounds.
“What will you do now, Zera Y’shennria?” Lucien asks, voice dour and serious so that for a moment, I see the old him. The young him, the first time I walked into the throne room on that fateful Spring Welcoming day.
I look down at the empty bag where my heart used to be and put my hand to my chest. Every memory is back where it belongs. Every part of me is me again. My parents, my hunger, my journey—all of it is here, with me. I listen to the beating of my heart. Every time is new, every time feels like the first, and I grin mischievously.
“Live.”
THE BEGINNING
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Acknowledgments
At the end of all things comes the beginning of the rest of forever.
Things are hard, aren’t they? Writing is hard, and living is hard, too. I wrote this series because a monster of a girl inside me wanted out and wanted to be loved. And now you’ve seen her, and heard her, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
Sometimes, it is enough just to be seen and heard.
For my mother, Deb, and my father, Michael, thank you for the chance to be here, now, writing.
For my friends—Sarah H, GW, Ana, thank you. I’m a loner by nature (XD), but you make things bearable.
For the history books, I’m writing this deep, deep in the bowels of a pandemic. This book was put together in the middle of a pandemic, and that is something remarkable. A terribly huge thank-you to Entangled, to Stacy and Lydia and Curtis and Heather and Bree and everyone who’s had a hand in making this book come to life, thank you. A special thank-you to Yin Yuming, the wonderful cover artist for Book One and Two. You brought Zera to true life.
To the reader—thank you. Every word was made for you. Every word, I hope, gives you the strength to carry on. You are free now. I love you.
Zera will always be here when you need her. When you need to fight. When you need to laugh.
We’re on to the next journey, aren’t we?
About the Author
Sara Wolf lives in Portland, Oregon, where the sun can’t get her anymore. When she isn’t pouring her allotted life force into writing, she’s reading, accidentally burning houses down whilst baking, or making faces at her highly appreciative cat. She is also the author of the NYT bestselling Lovely Vicious series.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of the epic, new fantasy series
1
Marcus
Morning light blasts through the woods, making me squint. “There! To the south.”
I urge Echo, my black palfrey, on to greater speed, the hunting dogs falling behind. We gallop hard, neck and neck with True, my brother’s mount, careening around giant oaks and jumping over fallen logs. Autumn leaves scatter in our wake.
“They’re headed for the meadow,” Petén calls over the pounding hooves. His dark hair streams behind him, revealing his high forehead, an Adicio family trait. I’ve got it, too, but not quite as pronounced as his.
We’re alike in other ways—same tall, broad build, brown eyes, and olive skin, though my hair is the color of brass, not black. Also, Petén’s nineteen, two years older than me, and non-savant—he can’t raise a phantom. It’s a blow to him, because I am savant and therefore Heir to the Throne of Baiseen, a fact that turns everything between us sour.
“Head them off.” I signal toward the upcoming sidetrack.
“So you can beat me there and win all the praise?”
I laugh at that. Father’s not going to hand out praise for anything I do, even catching Aturnian spies, if that’s what the trespassers really