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Informationen zum Autor Morgan Rhodes is the New York Times bestselling author of the Falling Kingdoms series. She loves to write about the epic adventures of quirky, interesting characters who inhabit her imagination. A former graphic designer drawn to sparkly objects and fancy handbags, Morgan lives in Ontario, Canada, where she maintains a very healthy belief in all things magical. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MorganRhodesYA. Klappentext Joss and Jericho team up with their greatest enemies--including two of the most powerful mages in the world--to bring an end to the queen's empire of lies. Leseprobe The witch moved through the crowded restaurant, drawing the eye of everyone she passed. She had long, dark brown hair, pale white skin, and lips as scarlet red as the dress that hugged her slim body. Diamonds sparkled at her ears, throat, and wrists. She could easily pass for the young wife of a poli- tician or businessman, meeting her friends for dinner. Most would view her as beautiful, elegant, fashionable, and entirely harmless. They’d be dead wrong. She didn’t look to the left or right. Her attention was fixed on only one person. Me. I didn’t try to smile. I didn’t wave my hand in greeting. Instead, I focused on hiding my fear, since it wasn’t the least bit helpful tonight. My gaze shifted from the witch to the tall young man who accompanied her. Black eyes. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. A tense, square jaw. The tattoo of a dagger on the side of his neck, visible above the collar of his black leather coat. Contrary to the witch’s benign appearance, most casual onlookers would immediately assume Jericho Nox was dangerous, and instinctively want to run in the opposite direction. For me, however, the relief at seeing the Blackheart stole the air right out of my lungs. Shortly after we’d arrived in Cresidia, a city six hundred miles north of Ironport, Jericho had disappeared without a word. And then five long days had passed in utter silence. I’d convinced myself that his evil boss had punished him for failing his latest mission. Or worse . . . killed him. But then, earlier today,I received a message to meet him and the witch here tonight. Alone. Jericho scanned the restaurant vigilantly, his expressionimpenetrable steel. The table I’d been taken to upon my arrivalwas in a private alcove set slightly apart from the rest of the restaurant, through a carved stone archway. Just beyond the archway, the restaurant bustled with waiters and, most importantly, a dining room full of patrons. There was no way I’d ever meet with this witch without knowing there were a hundred witnesses present. She took a seat across from me, and I tensed. I’d be perfectly happy if tomorrow this witch was executed for her long list of heinous crimes. I’d make sure I had a front-row seat. Tonight, however, her death would do me no good at all. Elian needed her help. And, in more ways than I cared to admit, so did I. “Jericho, please make the introductions.” Her voice took me by surprise—it was as sweet and smooth as honey. I guess I’d expected her to sound as shrill and cruel as her reputation. The Blackheart took the seat next to his boss. I tried to read his expression, but it gave me no clues as to where he’d been for five long days. “Valery,” he said evenly, and his familiar deep voice betrayed not even a whisper of emotion, “this is Josslyn Drake. Josslyn Drake, this is Valery.” He’d called me simply Drake so many times that my first name sounded strange on his lips. Not strange in a bad way. Just strange. Valery gestured for a waiter to approach. He had a bottle of red wine already in hand, and he poured two glasses from it without being asked—one for me and one for her. “I took the liberty of ordering this for us,” she said. “How thoughtful of you,” I replied dryly. “No wine for Jericho?”<...
