Muse of Nightmares
Laini TaylorDuring the scream, she’d been too distraught to put it together, but
now it clicked. The boy taken away before Kiska, his gift had been a
war cry to flay minds and wreak havoc. “Werran?” she asked, her
eyes darting between the two men. One looked sharply at the other,
whose face showed the same surprise as Kiska’s. The hard varnish
of his ferocity was softened by confusion. He seemed to be about
Lazlo’s age. In fact, he looked a little like Lazlo. They could almost
be brothers.
Or, they could really be brothers. Because it was clear from their
reactions: These invaders in their oil-black garb with their lightning
prods—these strangers—were the last godspawn taken from the
nursery. They were kindred.
Sarai’s hand flew to her mouth. A thrum of wonder filled her, along
with an unexpectedly sweet surge of gladness, in spite of all the fury
and fear from the violence of a moment ago. Perhaps it was all a
misunderstanding! She dropped her hand from her mouth to her
hearts, and looked at the second man. He was young, too, sharpfeatured,
with dark hair and dark eyes and a shadow of beard
growth. Repeating the litany in her head, she said, “I don’t suppose
you’re Rook.”
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