A deadly fae assassin needs to uncover the truth about her existence while also carrying out the task she's hired for. Only, she never planned to fall in love with the biggest adversary in her mission-or rather fall in love at all.
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Larkspur i...
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"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the boy asks. His spiky black hair glistens in the light from the full moon.
"I want to live in the city where the big people live." The girl is younger, hardly ten. A mass of tiny silver ringlets frame her little face and he has a distinctive dimple when she smiles.
"No, silly. You have to do something to live in the big city. You need to be like the big people." The boy giggles, shifting on the stack of hay.
"What do you want to do?" the girl asks.
"I want to join the army," he replies proudly. "Once I declare my magic, I will apply to be recruited."
"But mommy says our magic is different from theirs and so they don't like us—"
An explosion sounds in the distance, so loud that the earth shakes beneath the hay.
"What is happening?" the girl wails. Another explosion follows this time nearer to them.
"Watch out—" but before the boy can scream, a blinding light shines above them with earth splitting sound. The sky cleaves in half and the splinters shower on them like meteors—exquisitely beautiful and deadly. The pieces land on the hay, making a splitting sound, almost like a barbecue on a grill, slowly consuming the dry fodder and creating an inferno of death. Just inches away from it, the girl lies face down on the grass, her hands over her ears, and the boy on top of her, guarding her tiny body with his entire frame—half-delirious, his face contorted in pain.
But nobody comes to rescue them, because not far off, hundreds of homes are burning with sleeping people trapped inside. Soldiers in black uniforms file out silently like an army of ants and escape under the cover of the night.
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"The Mishap of Shimmervale." Mrs Fairwitter announces, tapping the chalk on the blackboard in the most annoying way. The other teachers have moulded themselves with the times and most prefer PowerPoint presentations to the blackboard, but dear old Mrs Grumpy Oldie loves making chalk dust flying everywhere. I can bet the hair of the guy sitting on the first bench was a shade darker the last time I saw him.
"What do you know about Shimmervale?" she continues. "Anyone?" she pauses to let the class answer. One hand rises in the entire class.
