Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Twenty-year-old Arden Roosa knows only Ourland. Two worlds split and stitched together, with broken pieces from each, statues of fallen gods, and heavenly artifacts that are worshipped…or feared.
But nothing is more fearsome than the night.
A strange madness haunts the darkest hours, turning innocents into gleeful killers. Arden does her best to stay safe, until she reads a book written about her life―The Book of Arden―and everything changes.
Forced to join Fort Bala Royal Academy, Arden is paired with the ruthless High Prince Cyrus Dolion. But while he trains her for combat against a mystical adversary, she can’t deny the sparks burning between them.
If her panic attacks and war games aren’t enough, Arden is also tapped to join the Tome Society, rumored guardians of an invisible library with books that foretell the future. But the more she learns about the society, the less she understands about Ourland, the gods…and the person she’s destined to be
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
A multitude of people, and yet a solitude.
—Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
Prologue
To: Tagin Dolion
From: Baracas Heta
Subject: A potential problem
Your Highness,
The following is an encrypted exchange between the Soalian known as Sparrow and an unknown associate referred to as “Unicorn.” How would you like me to proceed?
Begin Exchange
Sparrow: You’re ready for your first mission. Agreed?
Unicorn: Considering I submitted a formal request eight months ago, yes. Agreed.
Sparrow: You weren’t ready then. You’re barely ready now.
Unicorn: Have you even read my file? I’m the best of the best.
Sparrow: We’ll find out soon enough. You will recruit Arden Roosa.
Unicorn: Seriously, read my file. The best of the best—in battle. Recruiting isn’t my thing.
Sparrow: Recruiting is every Soalian’s thing. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of introductions.
Unicorn: Why do you want her? Who is she?
Sparrow: She’s the one you will recruit, as previously stated.
Unicorn: Stop being stubborn. Why should I risk my life for hers?
Sparrow: The Book of Soal. Why else?
Unicorn: The Book is your answer for everything. But why seek Arden Roosa specifically? (See? I can be stubborn too.)
Sparrow: Perhaps you need a reminder of law 2.1.5.44. Book of Soal, volume 2, section 1, paragraph 5, verse 44: Whenever it is within your power, aid the maddened.
Sparrow: You were once maddened, yet I risked my life to recruit You, a snot-nosed kid whose issues had issues.
Unicorn: Fine. I’ll do it. But you may not like my methods.
Sparrow: What, are you going to use your “signature charm?”
Unicorn: . . .
Unicorn: . . .
Unicorn: Maybe.
Sparrow: Soal help us all.
End of Exchange
To: Baracas Heta
From: Tagin Dolion
Subject: re: A potential problem
This is a job for the High Prince. My son lacks charm, but he never fails.
Chapter One
Fear isn’t an emotion but a force; it starts with a spark and grows until it torches your entire life.
—The Book of Soal 1.18.3.25
249 AR (After Rebuild)
The waiting room smelled of clashing perfumes, nervous sweat, and old sandwiches. Too many people crammed inside the circular space, turning the midlevel of the high-rise silo into a pressure cooker.
Conversations crested and crashed with varying degrees of irritation as men, women, and children arrived and departed through a central bank of elevators. I shifted in the world’s most uncomfortable chair and studied my surroundings for the thousandth time. Green-and-gold posters decorated the drab, windowless walls.
Be Our Eyes and Ears.
All Before One.
We Are Cured.
The same images hung in most buildings throughout the province. Comforting reminders that we weren’t alone. We had help against the Madness.
I stiffened with familiar tension as the most feared word in existence echoed inside my head. Madness, Madness, Madness. Perspiration dampened my skin, and I darted my gaze, searching for any signs of infection in the people around me. No one was exhibiting telltale symptoms. Still. The air seemed to thicken, making breathing more difficult for me. Stop! The others were fine; I was fine. There was no need to panic. Please don’t panic. Not today.
Inhale. Exhale. I lifted my hair, welcoming a fresh draft to my nape. But the hem of my dress inched up my thighs, and I hurried to smooth the soft but worn buttercup yellow material into place. Call my name. Please.
A baby cried, launching a new cycle of grumbles from the old woman at my left. I’d heard the nerve-shredding chorus for three hours straight and wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
I brushed my gaze over a guy across the room—someone who hadn’t been there minutes before. My attention zoomed back to him. He was peering at me thoughtfully. Didn’t hurt that he was super cute, with deep-set eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a clean-shaven jaw.
He offered me a stunning grin, and my brain blipped, deleting my newest litany of complaints. I waved. What? I was single, and outside of panic attacks, I tended to fixate on random things.
He made a funny face, inspiring an unexpected smile. I couldn’t help but make a funny face right back.
Barking a charming laugh, he drew the attention of half the room’s occupants. Even as he ducked in his seat, his cheeks flushing, he presented me with another stunner.
“Arden Roosa,” a harried voice announced over the intercom.
Heart leaping, I jumped to my feet. “Present!” Embarrassment scorched me as soon as I comprehended what I’d done. I’d been waiting long enough to learn the drill. Hear your name, take the elevator up, and discover if your dreams were forever crushed.
My legs quaked as I trudged to the bank and stepped into an open stall. Mr. Smiles rose and started forward, erasing the distance between us. Anticipation sparked. Maybe, just maybe, I was about to score a date and celebrate a lifelong goal today. Fitting rewards for controlling my anxiety the past four hours.
“I’m—” he began, but the doors closed, cutting him off.
Or not.
My shoulders rolled in. Forget the boy. The entire fabric of my life hinged on the coming verdict. Inhale. Exhale. In, out.