Mary
Weber
Siren’s
Fury
Release:
6/2/15
BLURB
“I thrust my hand
toward the sky as my voice begs the Elemental inside me to waken and rise. But
it’s no use. The curse I’ve spent my entire life abhorring—the thing I trained
so hard to control—no longer exists.”
Nym
risked her life to save Faelen, her homeland, from a losing war, only to
discover that the shapeshifter Draewulf has stolen everything she holds dear.
But when the repulsive monster robs Nym of her storm-summoning abilities as
well, the beautiful Elemental realizes her war is only just
beginning.
Now
powerless to control the elements that once emboldened her, Nym stows away on
an airship traveling to the metallic kingdom of Bron. She must stop Draewulf.
But the horrors he’s brought to life and the secrets of Bron are more than Nym
bargained for. Then the disturbing Lord Myles tempts her with new powers that
could destroy the monster, and Nym must decide whether she can compromise in
the name of good even if it costs her very soul.
As
she navigates the stark industrial cityscape of Bron, Nym is faced with an
impossible choice: change the future with one slice of a
blade . . . or sacrifice the entire kingdom for the one thing
her heart just can’t let go.
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EXCERPT
Reprinted with permission from Thomas Nelson; Copyright © 2015 by Mary
Weber
Chapter 2
I glare at the
closed door, simultaneously holding my throat while cursing that illegitimate
bolcrane offspring to come back.
I can’t stop
shaking. Exhale. Inhale. His scent is
everywhere, piercing my nostrils, digging down my throat until I’m gagging on
smoke and pulling myself up to scramble around the broken glass and ice. No no no no no! I lunge for the charred
window and push my face out into the night air. The noise below is deafening—as
if my erratic weather bursts only encouraged the people’s frenzy.
I concentrate on
breathing. Another inhale to clear my burning throat.
My body sways
heavily and shakes harder, and for a second I swear my veins seize up.
I frown at my arms. What did he do to me?
“Focus on the
atmosphere, Nym,” I can almost hear Eogan whisper. “It’s yours to control.”
I shut my eyes
and lean in, yearning to feel him against achy skin and chest cavity where,
until a few minutes ago, my world existed. “I can’t focus,” I whisper. I don’t want to focus.
“Nym.”
No! I can’t do this without you.
But the moment
slows anyway.
“Focus on the
atmosphere.”
I grit my teeth
and open my eyes.
Fine.
I shove my hand
toward the sky.
Not even a
breath of wind stirs as the golden candle bulbs rise into the now-perfect,
starry heavens.
I try again. And
again—this time with both hands. Then with my voice, begging the Elemental
inside to waken and rise.
But it’s no use.
The curse I’ve spent
my entire life abhorring—the thing I trained so hard to control with Eogan. No.
Longer. Exists.
Just as Eogan no longer exists.
“Are you jesting?” A scream rushes my lungs
and explodes from my lips, but it’s hollow and heartless, with no thunder to back
it up. Like the voice of a powerless child, it drowns into the party noise
below. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!”
I turn back to my room, pick up the largest
glass shards with my good hand, and hurl them at the walls, the fireplace, the
door. How this happened I don’t know—I scarcely looked away from Eogan as he
fought Draewulf at the Keep. Only a matter of moments. And afterward—when he
was talking to his generals . . .
Litches.
His skin had
looked sallow. Bruised. Bloody. With that incision behind his neck.
My stomach
turns. The thought of Draewulf slicing him open while I stood feet away—of
Eogan dying, his essence being absorbed by the monster wearing him like a shell
of flesh . . . I fling a thick glass spike into the door. Then
another, and another.
The last one
thuds so hard it creates a crack across the overlay just as a knock sounds on
the other side.
“Miss?” a man’s
clipped voice calls through.
I pause.
“I’ve been asked
to summon you to the banquet.”
What? I look around. Now? An awareness of what I’m supposed
to be doing sinks in, as does the roomful of dissipating smoke and broken glass
and the blood covering my palms that are somehow sliced like ribbons.
Oh kracken. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how
to do this. I bend over as my head spins, bringing
bile up my throat. “Why didn’t you just kill me too?” I yell at Draewulf.
“Miss?”
“To hulls with
your blasted banquet,” I snap loud enough for the man to hear. But I go ahead
and dab my hands on my dress and step over to the washbasin to dunk them in
case he barges in.
The cold water
burns like litches. It scalds and sears the smoke from my head—enough to
register the fact that not only am I supposed to be at the banquet, but
Draewulf left me functioning enough to attend it. I steady my trembling arms.
Bite my lip. Whatever he’s planning, he kept me alive to watch.
“Miss.” The
man’s voice comes again with a more insistent knock. “Please. We need to
hurry.”
Narrowing my
eyes, I shove my blasted feelings so deep that the numb rises and spreads over
them in a thin, fragile layer. Just go
see what he’s got planned.
I grab the
drying cloth and stride to the door. I yank it open find one of the captain’s
guards. Tannin, if I recall, with his brown eyes, brown skin, and hair that
sticks up like a thatched roof.
His expression
is full of admiration as he tips his head politely. “The celebration—” He
stalls, and I watch the discreet slide of his eyes down my white waist-length
Elemental hair to my blood-smeared dress. He makes a shocked noise in the back
of his throat.
“I’ll be a few
minutes.” I shut the door and, turning back to the water-basin table, pull one
of my knives from its sheath. Shakily, I use it to shred the drying cloth into
strips and tie the material around my bleeding palms, pressing them hard until
the oozing subsides, then walk to the wardrobe King Sedric had someone fill
with the lavish-type dresses we both despise. Not because they’re not
gorgeous—they are—but because they’re a disgusting waste of money when the
peasant population has spent the last forty years starving.
I pull out a sleeveless black gown with no
layers or buttons, which makes it easy to slip into despite my sliced palms and
my left hand’s fingers that are permanently curled inward almost to a fist. The
fingers that never healed right after Brea, owner fourteen, took a mallet to
them when my lightning strike took her husband’s sight because he couldn’t keep
his anger to himself.
Once on, the
dress shimmers and flows around my frame. A look in the mirror while I
carefully drag a brush down my hair shows the dress does more than flow and
cling. The color sets off the black trellis of owner- and memorial-tattooed
markings circling my bare arms. It darkens them, making them look eerie.
Uncomfortable.
Huh. Good.
I pick up my
sheath of knives and strap the blades to my calf, then tug my dress over them.
I firm my jaw. Hold it together, Nym. At
least until you figure out what the kracken to do.
Except
everything within me whispers that I already know what I need to do.
“Miss?” The man
taps on the door again.
I lift my chin
and straighten my unsteady shoulders. And harden my blue eyes before forcing
the falsest grin I’ve ever smiled and walking over to open the blood-smeared,
glass-impaled door.
Tannin’s still
standing there. He doesn’t offer an arm. The veneration in his gaze is shadowed
by a flash of fear. He’s afraid to touch
me.
I almost give a
caustic laugh. Up until twenty minutes ago he should’ve been terrified.
Now? “I’m as
impotent as you are,” I nearly tell him.
“Glad you could
join us.” His expression edges back toward that ridiculous awe that the guards
and knights and so many in Faelen are newly inclined to place on me. I frown.
He looks about to say something further but seems to think better of it and
waits until I shut the door before falling in beside me. “King Sedric sent me
to persuade you.”
I nod stiffly.
“He’s requested
to see you,” he prods. “And I must say what an impression your style will make
this evening.” His eyes dip to my wrapped palms. “Very . . .
stunning.”
My attempt at
politeness falters. I can’t do it. I clench my teeth and let my glare smolder
down the corridor in front of us, and after a moment he, smartly, seals his
mouth like a tomb.
One minute. Two
minutes. Three minutes eke by until we reach the Great Hall. Before he leads me
in, Tannin turns to face me. His cheeks are blushing like berries and suddenly
he’s fumbling a crisp, folded kerchief from beneath his guard doublet and
holding it out to me. “Miss, I was wondering if you’d mind giving a token, a
kiss perhaps, for me to take home.”
I stare at him.
He smiles as if
he’s serious.
Is he insane? Up
until a week ago my kiss would’ve been considered a curse. “I’m not a lady for
knights to request tokens from,” I mutter, and go to push past him.
“It’s for my
daughter.”
I stall.
“Please.”
I peer at him.
Loosen my jaw. “How old is she?”
“Eight. And
she’s real proud of what you’ve done for us—for Faelen.”
A moment longer
and I hold out my hand for the cloth and place it against my lips in what is
the most awkward thing I’ve ever done in my life. “Tell her it’s the innocent
who died in battle who deserve her respect, not the warriors who lived,” I say,
returning it to him. “Especially not one who was only there because of
accidental powers.”
He blushes even
darker. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”
I go to stride
past him but catch the look as he drops his gaze. I hesitate. “Tell her it’s
people like her father she should respect,” I say softer. “The ones who serve
because they have faith in justice.”
He peers up and
his eyes widen, then sparkle, and I try not to feel ill while turning to enter
the shiny balcony.
The space is
already filled with heavily perfumed people, most of whom are looking down upon
the enormous lower room that’s stuffed to the walls with prominent individuals
fawning over food-heavy tables and a minicarnival.
I shake off the
embarrassing cloth-kissing and dart my gaze about for Eogan-turned-Draewulf as
acrobats, panther-monkeys, and even a baby oliphant prance around on the stage
below. Behind them, giant arched windows and mural-painted walls up against the
open doors and outside patios, giving the room a depth that brings the frescoed
firefly trees and Hythra Crescent Mountains to life.
I search the
corners for Eogan, but only find vedic harpies swinging from cages, humming their
songs about the sea. Their music is enough to trigger a bizarre homesickness
for my previous owner Adora’s home and her parties with Eogan and Colin. I
purse my lips. Who’d have thought I’d miss anything about that woman?
Turning my eyes,
I tune them out even as my stiff shoulders threaten to buckle. Blasted hulls,
Eogan, why couldn’t you have let me shield you?
Find him and do what you have to, Nym.
“This way,
miss.” Tannin beckons me to the crowd in the center of the loft where he
proceeds to weave me around their warm bodies. The elegant people fall away
from us with eager glances and murmurs. Some are already too full of wine to
walk decently, but apparently not enough to prevent them from noticing my
sea-blue eyes and everything else about me that shouts Elemental.
“They say she
took down Bron’s airships with a single lightning strike,” someone excitedly
whispers.
“Two,” another
says. “The first took out the archers.”
“No, no, she
used her breath. Inhaled the wind and blew them back to Bron.”
I raise a brow and can’t help the smirk at
that one. It fades as soon as my chest tightens with the rawness of not having
Colin beside me. He would’ve laughed and never let me hear the end of it. My
breath? I straighten. Keep walking.
“Either way, do
you think it wise having her at the High Court? Look at those bandages on her
hands. Are we certain she’s safe?”
“No, but it
doesn’t matter. Rumor is she’ll be invited to leave for Bron with King Eogan
soon.”
“Figures,” a
man’s voice titters too loudly. “Anyone can tell she’s vying to be that man’s
queen. Can you imagine? A week ago she was a slave. As if she’d know the first
thing about court life. Now, if it was that visiting Cashlin princess,
Rasha . . .”
I keep my head
up and don’t give them the luxury of knowing that my ears are, in fact, clearly
working even if the man’s insults are more comforting than any of the praise. I
look around. Where is Princess Rasha?
Less than an hour ago she was in my room playing with knives and hinting
encouragements about Eogan. How did she
not see this coming with Draewulf?
Tannin stops and
I almost trip over him onto King Sedric, who’s speaking with men I recognize as
part of the High Council. In their shiny green doublets and pointy-heeled
shoes, they remind me of the garish Adora. Especially beside His Royal Highness
who’s as boyish-looking and underdressed as ever. I curtsy as protocol dictates
and nod at his guards nearby. They visibly relax and my hard eyes soften a bit
at this man-boy who’s two years older than me—nineteen—but seems twenty more,
and who fought without flinching at Eogan’s and my side.
He stops
speaking and turns a kind smile. “Nym.”
“Your Highness.”
“I’m pleased you
could make it down this evening.”
“I’m honored to
be invited.” My throat tightens. Tell him
about Eogan.
His merry gaze
falls on my clothbound palms and narrows with apparent concern. “I hope you
know this celebration is as much in praise to you as it is the treaty.”
“Thank you, Your
Majesty, but the gratitude is rightly placed on your shoulders.” My eyes flick
behind him, beyond the guards, in search of Eogan. You have to tell him, Nym. I clench my fingers and feel the pain
from the cuts shoot up my arms.
Tell him you’re all in danger.
I open my mouth
again.
But my tongue
thickens and heat clogs my throat. I don’t know how to do it. I can’t make the
words come out from my lips that will sentence Eogan’s body to death by the
hands of someone who hardly knows him. Even if Sedric is my king. “You have my
respect and gratitude,” I whisper instead. “Especially regarding your mercy
toward my Elemental race.”
King Sedric
grins and glances at the councilmen who are sloshing the drinks they’ve raised
in our direction. He leans politely toward me. “I’d relish the chance to speak
with you about your heritage as well as the plight of the Faelen citizens, if I
may have the honor of a dance later this evening?”
I nod before
retreating so he can return to his conversation.
“Good luck,
miss,” Tannin says, and, with a grateful wink and a half bow, leaves me alone
in a sea of people I barely know who’re full of blatant gawks and wearing
giant, poofed hats that look exactly like the black-and-red Bron airships.
Complete with larva-shaped balloons.
I swallow and
head to the balcony’s ledge and glare over it. Colin and Eogan should be here
with me, mocking the ridiculousness of the outfits, of the luxury, listening
while I scream that Draewulf is not dead.
Instead I swear
I hear their ghosts whispering that he’s going to wipe out this entire room and
take Faelen. Just like he tried to at the Keep.
I grit my teeth
and lean over the gilt railing to peer down below to look for him.
The lights
flicker oddly, urging me to hurry my scan of the faces. Where is he?
Nervous chuckles
break out as the candle lights blink again. I straighten and look up just as
the glow flickers a third time and the crowd’s laughter ceases.
“What’s going
on?” someone whispers. “Who’s putting out the lights?”
STORM SIREN
Book 1
BLURB:
"There are few
things more exciting to discover than a debut novel packed with powerful
storytelling and beautiful language. STORM SIREN is one of those rarities. I'll
read anything Mary Weber writes. More, please!" -Jay Asher, New York
Times bestselling author of THIRTEEN REASONS WHY
"Storm Siren is
a riveting tale from start to finish. Between the simmering romance, the rich
and inventive fantasy world, and one seriously jaw-dropping finale, readers
will clamor for the next book--and I'll be at the front of the line!"
--MARISSA MEYER, New York Times bestselling author of the Lunar
Chronicles
"I raise my chin
as the buyers stare. Yes. Look. You don't want me. Because, eventually,
accidentally, I will destroy you."
In a world at war, a slave girl's lethal curse could become one kingdom's weapon of salvation. If the curse - and the girl - can be controlled.
As a slave in the war-weary kingdom of Faelen, seventeen-year-old Nym isn't merely devoid of rights, her Elemental kind are only born male and always killed at birth - meaning, she shouldn't even exist.
Standing on the auction block beneath smoke-drenched mountains, Nym faces her fifteenth sell. But when her hood is removed and her storm-summoning killing curse revealed, Nym is snatched up by a court advisor and given a choice: be trained as the weapon Faelen needs to win the war, or be killed.
Choosing the former, Nym is unleashed into a world of politics, bizarre parties, and rumors of an evil more sinister than she's being prepared to fight . . . not to mention the handsome trainer whose dark secrets lie behind a mysterious ability to calm every lightning strike she summons.
But what if she doesn't want to be the weapon they've all been waiting for?
Set in a beautifully eclectic world of suspicion, super abilities, and monsters, Storm Siren is a story of power. And whoever controls that power will win.
In a world at war, a slave girl's lethal curse could become one kingdom's weapon of salvation. If the curse - and the girl - can be controlled.
As a slave in the war-weary kingdom of Faelen, seventeen-year-old Nym isn't merely devoid of rights, her Elemental kind are only born male and always killed at birth - meaning, she shouldn't even exist.
Standing on the auction block beneath smoke-drenched mountains, Nym faces her fifteenth sell. But when her hood is removed and her storm-summoning killing curse revealed, Nym is snatched up by a court advisor and given a choice: be trained as the weapon Faelen needs to win the war, or be killed.
Choosing the former, Nym is unleashed into a world of politics, bizarre parties, and rumors of an evil more sinister than she's being prepared to fight . . . not to mention the handsome trainer whose dark secrets lie behind a mysterious ability to calm every lightning strike she summons.
But what if she doesn't want to be the weapon they've all been waiting for?
Set in a beautifully eclectic world of suspicion, super abilities, and monsters, Storm Siren is a story of power. And whoever controls that power will win.
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About the Author:
Mary
Weber is a ridiculously uncoordinated girl plotting to take over make-believe
worlds through books, handstands, and imaginary throwing knives. In her spare
time, she feeds unicorns, sings 80’s hairband songs to her three muggle
children, and ogles her husband who looks strikingly like Wolverine. They live
in California, which is perfect for stalking L.A. bands, Joss Whedon, and the
ocean. Her debut YA fantasy novel, STORM SIREN, is
available now in bookstores and online, and SIREN'S FURY (book
2 in the trilogy) will be out June, 2015 from TN HarperCollins.
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