Stolen Mayfly Bride Signed Paperback, Ebook & Audiobook

“But I’m eager to be done with this,” he says. “Let’s see what you’ve done to this poor wretch.”

I’m willing to be entertained by their pet seer, too. Willing to see what horrors they’ve wrought upon her. Mortals believe wisdom comes from suffering and oh how they make their wise suffer. It curls even my toes, but I am endlessly curious and there is nothing under the heavens or over the depths of hell that I do not wish to see or taste or smell for myself. Not even now when I have felt the deep lash of pain and humiliation myself. 

I will see this poor wretch whose eyes they’ve likely taken and whose body likely bears the marks of their devotion. She will have nothing to say that will help us, but I will note whether there is some magic here. Humans have so little of the fire of life, but sometimes when they catch a spark, it blazes brighter than we immortals can achieve.

“Did your mother leave you any seers as presents?” Precatore asks me. 

“She left me my beautiful face and the speed of my sword arm. Is that not enough?” I ask, giving him a haughty look.
He laughs at my joke to the widening eyes of the mortals crewing the boat. They do not know that among my kind I am destitute. 

“It’s said she held secrets within secrets and that perhaps she took some of those secrets with her,” Precatore presses.

“It’s said that your ears are so long mortals fear you’re half donkey.”
I balance the insult with a grin. He freezes, his face going blank.
My hand twitches near my sword belt but then he breaks into laughter. 

“See? This is why I travel with you, Vidar. Even a broken arrow can strike unexpected targets.”


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