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472 pages, Hardcover
First published October 3, 2023

"But sometimes it’s the blow that molds us. Taking it. Letting it ring against our defenses, until we are assured in the knowledge that, when it’s over, we will still be standing."
She and Alaric moved together, seamless and in fluid tandem, as though they were each other’s mirrors, as though they were waves in an ocean called forever, their shadows lengthening on the stone.
She didn’t want to leave. She had no desire to go back to her chambers and spend what she already knew would be a sleepless night agonizing over everything in deafening and lonesome silence. She wanted to remain here, with Alaric—to let him annoy her and distract her from the complicated tangle that her life had become, even if he himself was the knot at the center of it. She wanted to bicker with him in a language she’d grown up speaking, free to use turns of phrase that only the people of the Northwest Continent would understand. She wanted to check the wound on his thigh that the old metal blade had wrought, to make sure that it didn’t fester. She wanted to tease another vague almost-smile out of him. She wanted him to not be angry at her anymore.
"I will still work with you,” Talasyn said, hating how she couldn’t bring herself to so much as squirm away from his grasp. “But you won’t ever convince me that the Night Empire saved Sardovia from itself. I told you once that vengeance isn’t justice, and I hold to that. Whatever better world you think you’ll build, it will always be built on blood.”
I would give anything, he thought, for this not to be the last time. For her to smile at me again, and laugh like the war never happened. After a while, it sank in that she was laughing at him, and he shot her a withering glare. This served to set Talasyn off even more. She clutched at rough bark as though for dear life, practically howling while Alaric flushed red underneath the mud that caked his skin.
Alaric watched in amazement as Talasyn reached for another rice cake and shoved it into her mouth at the same time as the second half of the venison strip. By the gods. He was unable to tear his gaze away. She ate like she fought. Relentless and without mercy.
“You, um …” She trailed off. Licked her lips again , because she’d been put on this earth to torture him. “You’re a good instructor,” she said hoarsely, her brown eyes trained on the craggy patterns in the tree trunk’s rough bark. “You’ve been very patient. So—thank you.”
Alaric wasn’t prepared for this, for her shy, faltering praise. Warmth flooded his cheeks and crept all the way up to the tips of his ears. He was grateful that the sun had set, grateful that it would be difficult for her to see how she’d reduced him to a blushing moron with a handful of kind words.
You’re just like me, Alaric thought, uncertain whether the revelation soothed or unsettled him. We’re both hungry. We both want to prove ourselves.
She saw the Night Emperor. She saw the boy who had shared her loneliness. She saw the Master of the Shadowforged Legion she had battled on the ice and amidst a ruined city through which the stormships raged. She saw the man who had chucked her under the chin, who had so patiently taught her how to make a shield, whose dry remarks had sometimes made her laugh. She saw her first kiss, the first time someone else’s hands had touched her and made her burn. She saw danger, in more ways than one.
In Valisa, she had said to him once, her expression wistful, the way it always had been whenever she spoke of her parents’ homeland, when you wished to propose to the one you love, you’d take them somewhere with a lovely view, some place that has meaning. You’d hold their hands in yours and look upon their face, and you would tell them, “The stars guide me home to your heart.”
The officiant gestured over their joined hands. “These are the hands that will love you for all the years to come and comfort you in times of sorrow,” she told them. “These are the hands that will work alongside yours to build an empire. These are the hands that will hold your children and help you carry the world. These are the hands that will always reach for yours.”
But this wasn’t just someone. This was Alaric, her husband, her enemy, her dark mirror, and the Lightweave in her veins soared in triumph, recognizing him for what he was, calling out to his shadows, and everything was golden, was eclipse, was forever, was theirs alone.

“You've been fighting all your life, Your instinct is to strike first, before anyone can hurt you. But, sometimes it's the blow the molds us. Taking it. Letting it ring against our defenses, until we are assured in the the knowledge that, when it's over, we will still be standing.”
“—he could only think that she was beautiful. Every part of her was beautiful.”