The Shadow Cats

Начало книги

I crouch hidden among the boulders, my body broken and bloodied. Below me, someone is about to murder my best friend, the one person who understands me.

If I act, I will likely lose my own life. If I don’t, I’ll lose so much more.

A chorus of aches and injuries scream at me to stop, but I creep forward. My fingers close on a rock, the only weapon at hand.

I despise open carriages, even in the finest weather or upon the smoothest road, and this journey offers neither. The air in the mountains is brisk with cold, as though spring is reluctant to visit here. The mule path we follow shows little evidence of human care; it’s ragged with rocks and roots and steep switchbacks. My rear aches from the constant jolting. It’s a wonder we haven’t lost a carriage wheel yet.

But during the last few days, we’ve passed through remote villages that no representative of the royal family has visited in more than a decade. And I find myself grateful for the one advantage an open carriage provides: it allows me to observe.

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