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Zusatztext Praise for Daughter of the Blood “A terrific writer...the more I read! the more excited I became because of the freshness of [her] take on the usual high fantasy setting! the assurance of [her] language! all the lovely touches of characterization that [she slips] in so effortlessly.”—Charles de Lint “Darkly mesmerizing...[a] fascinating! dark world.”— Locus “Lavishly sensual...a richly detailed world based on a reversal of standard genre cliches.”— Library Journal “Vividly painted...dramatic! erotic! hope-filled.”—Lynn Flewelling “Intense...erotic! violent! and imaginative. This one is white-hot.”—Nancy Kress “A uniquely realized fantasy filled with vibrant colors and rich textures. A wonderful new voice! Ms. Bishop holds us spellbound from the very first page.”— RT Book Reviews “Mystical! sensual! glittering with dark magic.”—Terri Windling! coeditor of The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror “Dark! morbid! sinister! and yet it holds you completely fascinated and spellbound by its beauty...One of the most original and readable books in the fantasy genre.”—The 11th Hour Informationen zum Autor Anne Bishop Klappentext In the first novel in New York Times bestselling author Anne Bishop's beloved Black Jewels Trilogy, a race of witches and warlocks whose power is channeled through magical jewels will meet their once and future queen… Seven hundred years ago, a Black Widow witch saw an ancient prophecy come to life in her web of dreams and visions. Now the Dark Kingdom readies itself for the arrival of its Queen, a Witch who will wield more power than even the High Lord of Hell himself. But she is still young, still open to influence-and corruption. Whoever controls the Queen controls the darkness. Three men-sworn enemies-know this. And they know the power that hides behind the blue eyes of an innocent young girl. And so begins a ruthless game of politics and intrigue, magic and betrayal, where the weapons are hate and love-and the prize could be terrible beyond imagining... Leseprobe PROLOGUE Terreille I am Tersa the Weaver, Tersa the Liar, Tersa the Fool. When the Blood-Jeweled Lords and Ladies hold a banquet, I’m the entertainment that comes after the musicians have played and the lithesome girls and boys have danced and the Lords have drunk too much wine and demand to have their fortunes told. “Tell us a story, Weaver,” they yell as their hands pass over the serving girls’ rumps and their Ladies eye the young men and decide who will have the painful pleasure of serving in the bed that night. I was one of them once, Blood as they are Blood. No, that’s not true. I wasn’t Blood as they are Blood. That’s why I was broken on a Warlord’s spear and became shattered glass that only reflects what might have been. It’s hard to break a Blood-Jeweled male, but a witch’s life hangs by the hymenal thread, and what happens on her Virgin Night determines whether she is whole to practice the Craft or becomes a broken vessel, forever aching for the part of her that’s lost. Oh, some magic always remains, enough for day-to-day living and parlor tricks, but not the Craft, not the lifeblood of our kind. But the Craft can be reclaimed—if one is willing to pay the price. When I was younger, I fought against that final slide into the Twisted Kingdom. Better to be broken and sane than broken and mad. Better to see the world and know a tree for a tree, a flower for a flower rather than to look through gauze at gray and ghostly shapes and see clearly only the shards of one’s self. So I thought then. As I shuffle to the low stool, I struggle to stay at the edge of the Twisted Kingdom and see the physical world clearly one last time. I carefully pl...
