So far: Heir of Fire is AWESOME! After finishing Crown of Midnight, me and Otto weren't sure what exactly was going to happen in Heir of Fire. We were pleasantly surprised by how much we get from all the characters we've grown to love throughout the first two Throne of Glass series novels.
Sneak peek: It's a bit difficult to give an excerpt of the book that is completely non-spoilery, but Otto thought it would be cool to give you a look at a character who is new to the series! (Please note that this excerpt is taken from the ARC and may vary from the finished copy.)
Manon pulled her bloodred cloak tightly around herself and pressed into the shadows of the closet, listening to the three men who had broken into her cottage.This is the very first scene we get with Manon knowing who she is and seeing her actions so Otto and I thought it was super cool! We hope you enjoyed this little snippet and we highly recommend checking out this series!
She'd tasted the rising fear and rage on the wind all day and had spent the afternoon preparing. She'd been sitting on the thatched roof of the whitewashed cottage when she spotted their torches bobbing over the high grasses of the field. None of the villagers had tried to stop the three men - though none had joined them, either.
A Crochan witch had come to their little green valley in the north of Fenharrow, they'd said. In the weeks that she'd been living amongst them, carving out a miserable existence, she'd been waiting for this night. It was the same at every village she'd lived in or visited.
She held her breath, keeping still as an animal as one of the men - a tall, bearded farmer with hands the size of dinner plates - stepped into her bedroom. Even from the closet, she could smell the ale on his breath - and the bloodlust. Oh, the villagers knew exactly what they planned to do with the witch, the woman who sold potions and charms from her back door, and who could predict the sex of a babe before it was due. She was surprised it had taken these men so long to work up the nerve to come here, to torment and then destroy what petrified them.
The farmer stopped in the middle of the room. "We know you're here," he coaxed, even as he stepped toward the bed, eyes scanning every inch of the room. "We just want to talk. Some of the townsfolk are spooked, you see - more scared of you than you are of them, I bet."
She knew better than to listen, especially as a dagger glinted behind his back while he peered under the bed. Always the same, at every backwater town and uptight mortal village.
As the man stood from his kneel, Manon slipped from the closet and into the darkness behind the bedroom door.
Muffled clinking and thudding told her enough about what the other two men were doing: not just looking for her but sorting through her belongings, stealing whatever they wanted. There wasn't much to take; the cottage had already been furnished when she'd arrived, and all of her own belongings, by training and instinct, were in a sack in the corner of the closet she'd just vacated. Take nothing with you, leave nothing behind.
"We just want to talk, witch." The man turned from the bed, finally, finally noticing the closet. He smiled - in triumph, in anticipation.
With gentle fingers, Manon eased the bedroom door shut, so quietly the man didn't even notice as he prowled for the closet. She'd oiled the hinges on every door in this house.
His massive hand closed on the closet doorknob, dagger now angled at his side. "Come out, little Crochan," he crooned.
Silent as death, Manon slid up behind him. The fool didn't even know she was there until she brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "Wrong kind of witch."
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