The Empty Throne. Cayla Kluver. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Cayla Kluver
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия: MIRA Ink
Жанр произведения: Учебная литература
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781474027724
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      How do you find the strength to save your kingdom when you’ve lost everything?

      Anya has failed in her mission to bring Prince Zabriel back to the Faerie realm of Chrior so that he can ascend his rightful throne. Instead, Zabriel, her prince, cousin and dear friend, is standing trial for crimes committed under the false name William Wolfram Pyrite. Worst of all, the last possible heir to the Faerie throne is Illumina—the cousin Anya suspects of the foulest betrayal possible.

      In a desperate last attempt to put things right, Anya must partner with the unlikeliest of allies and venture into ever more dangerous situations if there is to be any hope of peace for her people.

      

       Praise for The Queen’s Choice, book one in the Heirs of Chrior trilogy

      “Kluver has captured the complex and ever-shifting

      emotions of a teenage girl and constructed

      an engaging, densely plotted political thriller,

      complete with a cliff-hanger ending that will

      make readers eager for the sequel.”

      —Booklist

      “Rich details, emotionally deep characters,

      and original plot elements will attract

      new and old fans of the fae subgenre.”

      —School Library Journal

       Books by Cayla Kluver from MiraInk

      Heirs of Chrior

      (in reading order)

      The Queen’s Choice

      The Empty Throne

      The Legacy Trilogy

      (in reading order)

      Legacy

      Allegiance

      Sacrifice

      For Mom. You know why.

       About the Author

      Cayla Kluver is the author of the Legacy trilogy (which includes Legacy, Allegiance and Sacrifice), and The Queen’s Choice, book one of the Heirs of Chrior trilogy, as well as numerous rambling blog posts on her website and a handful of Tweets. She has cats, dogs and horses, watches more crime shows than is probably healthy, and loves Robert Louis Stevenson and the Beatles. Visit Cayla at www.caylakluver.com, friend her on Facebook and follow @CaylaKL on Twitter.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Title Page

      Praise

      Booklist

       Dedication

      About the Author

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Copyright

      THE LOVELY PALE COLOR OF CHEESE

      I paced the floor of my room, tired and on edge, playing the memory of my mutilation over and over again in my head. Despite the fact I had spent the night in a fine inn in southern Tairmor, I hadn’t slept at all. The charcoal drawing I had discovered in my cousin Illumina’s notebook of the vicious attack that had cost me my wings had thrown me into turmoil. And the nightmarish image my mind had conjured of her as the woman who had stroked my hair where I lay bleeding on the ground had sent panic shooting through my veins. But in the light of day, my actual memory failed to provide any clarity about the woman, and my heart refused to consider any such possibility. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my brain, doubt ate away at me.

      “Anya? Anya, are you awake?”

      It wasn’t the words, but the insistent knocking upon the door that pulled me from my circular thoughts. I frowned, not wanting to see anyone. My vision was blurred, my head ached, and nausea roiled my stomach. I wasn’t even close to ready to face the world.

      “Anya, I have to talk to you. It’s important.”

      This time I recognized the voice. It was Officer Tom Matlock, the young man with whom I had spent the previous evening. After escorting me to the room he had gallantly rented for me, he had promised to return midmorning to check on me, and it was he who now stood in the second-floor hallway wearing out his