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.
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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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