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319 pages, Paperback
First published April 16, 2020
If Tris could survive long enough, he could win any fight.
But Tris would never survive Bet.
Still, he was starting to think that with enough time, and given enough reason to trust, Bet could become a member of Roland’s court—less a shadow and more a man. The man was there already, he was just hidden under so many layers of doubt and anger and self-loathing that he was hard to see. Tris saw him. Bet just didn’t see himself.
Tristram was as skilled as almost anyone at wielding a sword. He and the steel worked together like old friends. And it was nearly impossible to stop Tristram. He was a runaway wagon, a falling boulder. He would plow through his enemies with sheer strength, determination, and unflagging stamina.
But Bet wasn’t just skilled; he didn’t wield the sword. Bet was the steel. He was all sharp edges, pointed words, and actions. He was a scrap of black silk on the wind. A lightning strike.
“Are you dying?” he asked Rhiannon in horror.
She rolled her head on its side so she could look at him, and rolled her eyes. “Poisoned. Never eat a king no one likes. Apparently, they’re full of the stuff.”