The Nightborn
by Isabel Cooper
Publication Date: 4/27/2021
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Sentinels spend their lives
fighting the monsters that prey upon humanity.
As the Traitor God’s army grows
and war looms ever-closer, Sentinel Branwyn arrives in the gleaming city-state
of Heliodar to ask its High Council for aid. Its youngest member, Zelen
Varengir, is sympathetic to her cause, but his hands are tied by his powerful
family—and when they demand he spy upon the beautiful warrior, there is little
he can do but obey.
But something stronger than blood
draws Zelen and Branwyn together, and when Branwyn is framed for the murder of
the High Lord himself, the unlikely duo must learn to trust each other if they
want to discover the deep secrets hidden in the heart of the city, uncover the
real enemies moving against them, and embrace the attraction neither can
deny...all while facing down the return of the greatest threat the world has
ever known.
Fans of The Witcher and Ilona
Andrews will love this epic tale of adventure and romance.
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Excerpt:
“Lord Rognozi and his wife are dead.”
The words made no sense for a second.
Then they took Zelen’s breath away as thoroughly as any of his mother’s
lectures or the beatings his father had ordered. Gedo wasn’t putting
in nearly as much effort as had gone into the other incidents: he was either very
talented or very fortunate.
“When? How?”
It would have been unsurprising for Lord
Rognozi to have perished quite naturally and uneventfully, and dimly possible
that his wife might not have survived the shock and sorrow of it, though
it would’ve run counter to what Zelen knew of the lady.
That wouldn’t have brought Gedomir to his bedroom.
“Murdered. Butchered, in fact, late last
night. If you want the more sordid details, I’m afraid I didn’t ask
for an anatomical report. I’m given to understand that the servant who found
them is in a state of shock.” He smoothed an imaginary strand of impeccable
hair back from his brow. “And your…envoy…has vanished. As has her very
large, very likely magical sword.”
“She’d never—”
Zelen lunged forward, with no notion
of what the motion might achieve. Denial simply demanded action.
As he’d so frequently done in
their past, Gedomir smiled with lofty derision, not to mention a share of pity.
“She has, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to try and convince me that a
burglar broke into one of the best-warded noble houses in the city and did
nothing but slaughter the inhabitants, or that a servant with years of service
suddenly went unstoppably berserk in a manner that didn’t rouse the attention
of the others in their quarters.”
Colors faded from the
world. Zelen sat silently and Gedomir fell silent as well as Idriel
stepped in, carrying a tray of tea and cakes. He put it down in front
of Zelen and glanced between him and Gedomir: Shall I pretend
you have another engagement?
Zelen shook his head. Even that
motion took an almost unsupportable amount of strength. “Thank you, Idriel,
that will be all,” he said by rote.
“Very good, sir.”
“It may not be entirely her fault,
granted,” Gedomir said. “I can perceive no motive for the action, regardless of
what others may think, given what you’ve told me of her nature. The Criwath
court, or even subversive agents there that Olwin knows nothing of, may have
placed a spell on her for this purpose. Or her experiences in the war may have
caused damage that hid until now.”
“If she did
it,” Zelen said, “I’m certain that it wasn’t of her own will.”
“I’m certain that you’re certain. And
Father and I are prepared to take that into account,” Gedomir said, spreading
his hands. The ring with Verengir’s crest, his only ornament, gleamed in the
pale light of the autumn morning. “Honestly, the information she can provide is
more valuable than any vengeance would be—the Dark Lady can wait on her claim.
Father thinks the rest of the council might even see a case for clemency, if
the circumstances are right.”
“Does he?”
“Would I speak falsely?” Gedomir’s lips
tightened, but then he relaxed. “I understand that you’re…biased, but for once
your proclivities may have been useful. There’s clearly more here than simple
murder. Father and I are prepared to investigate it and to argue as much in the
face of all opposition—once you retrieve the woman, of course.”
There was rock under her cheek and blood in her mouth. Her arms
were sticky—probably more blood—and a net of pain wrapped her whole body,
fiercest around her right knee and her left eye. Branwyn was fairly
sure her nose was broken too.
All of that was comparatively
minor. She’d been injured more severely in the past, though not
often, and the healing of a Sentinel was already doing its work, pulling bones
and muscles back into place. Even the knee, which would likely have crippled a
normal person for life, would give her only a few days of trouble. Branwyn knew
as much, and none of her wounds troubled her.
She had no room in her mind to worry
about them anyhow. As consciousness returned, she searched her memory for the
fight that must have taken place and found only blankness, then paralyzing
fear.
After the ball, she’d felt
uneasy about the Rognozis’ house. She’d gone to get Yathana. From
that moment, she remembered nothing concrete: she had a dim recollection of the
world spinning, of a sword in her grip and the smell of blood and death, but
that was all.
Now she was—her eyes focused, one
considerably slower than the other—in an alley, in the early morning, wearing
the blood-soaked remains of her ball gown.
Yathana was gone.
Her memory had an enormous hole.
There was blood on her arms, up to the
elbows, and she couldn’t feel any cuts there.
What happened? was her third question.
Where’s Yathana? came in second.
The first was What did I do?
***
Excerpted from The Nightborn by Isabel Cooper. © 2021 by Isabel Cooper. Used with
permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks
Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.
During the day, ISABEL COOPER maintains her guise as a mild-mannered project manager in legal publishing. In her spare time, she enjoys video games, ballroom dancing, various geeky hobbies, and figuring out what wine goes best with leftover egg rolls. Cooper lives with two thriving houseplants in Boston, Massachusetts.
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