Taryn Fagerness, foreign rights guru, for her passion and dedication. My superagent, Kevan Lyon, for being the first line of defense (and offense!) even when I’m being a flake. You put up with me, support me, and push me in the right direction, even when I can’t see it for myself. Without the following people, this book wouldn’t have happened:Īs always, Mom, Cara, and Kendra. I sat up in bed, screaming like never before. One woman among five men, her moonlit silhouette slight as a child’s, her hand lightly stroking my hair. “Shhh,” a female voice had whispered in my ear. Why hadn’t she said, “I’m not a traitor”? Or “I didn’t betray anyone”?Īnd then another memory sprang forward, this one from the night my wings had been taken. “I didn’t betray him,” Illumina had said to Fane. My thoughts roamed in the dark until the recollection that had been clawing at the back of my mind made it to the forefront. Body tired and brain muddled, I blew out the oil lamp and tucked myself into the luxurious double bed for which Tom Matlock was paying.
More unnerved than I wanted to admit, I snapped the journal closed and let it fall to the floor, not sure how well I would sleep with the memory of my maiming revived. Keep silent your screams and never look back. There were footprints all around the scene, and at the bottom she had scrawled the words that were also scarred onto her breast.
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