Fire Kin

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF THE HALF-LIGHT CITY

Iron Kin

“Strong and complex world building, emotionally layered relationships, and enough action to keep me up long past my bedtime. I want to know what's going to happen next for the DuCaines and their chosen partners, and I want to know
now
.”

—Vampire Book Club

“
Iron Kin
was jam-packed with action, juicy politics, and a lot of loose ends left over for the next book to resolve that it's still a good read for series fans.”

—All Things Urban Fantasy

“Scott's writing is rather superb.”

—Bookworm Blues

Blood Kin

“Not only was this book just as entertaining and immensely readable as
Shadow Kin
—it sang in harmony with it and spun its own story all the while continuing the grander symphony that is slowly, becoming the Half-Light City story. . . . Smart, funny, dangerous, addictive, and seductive in its languorous sexuality, I can think of no better book to recommend to anyone to read this summer. I loved every single page except the last one, and that's only because it meant the story was done. For now, at least.”

—seattlepi.com

“
Blood Kin
was one of those books that I really didn't want to put down, as it hit all of my buttons for an entertaining story. It had the intrigue and danger of a spy novel, intense action scenes, and a romance that evolved organically over the course of the story. . . . Whether this is your first visit to Half-Light City or you're already a fan,
Blood Kin
expertly weaves the events from
Shadow Kin
throughout this sequel in a way that entices new readers without boring old ones. I am really looking forward to continuing this enthralling ride.”

—All Things Urban Fantasy

“
Blood Kin
had everything I love about urban fantasies: kick-butt action, fantastic characters, romance that makes the heart beat fast, and a plot that was fast-paced all the way through. Even more so the villains are meaner, stronger, and downright fantastic—I never knew what they were going to do next. You don't want to miss out on this series.”

—Seeing Night Book Reviews

“An exciting thriller . . . fast-paced and well written.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

Shadow Kin

“M. J. Scott's
Shadow Kin
is a steampunky romantic fantasy with vampires that doesn't miss its mark.”

—#1
New York Times
bestselling author Patricia Briggs

“
Shadow Kin
is an entertaining novel. Lily and Simon are sympathetic characters who feel the weight of past actions and secrets as they respond to their attraction for each other.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Anne Bishop

“M. J. Scott weaves a fantastic tale of love, betrayal, hope, and sacrifice against a world broken by darkness and light, where the only chance for survival rests within the strength of a woman made of shadow and the faith of a man made of light.”

—National bestselling author Devon Monk

“Had me hooked from the very first page.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Keri Arthur

“Exciting and rife with political intrigue and magic,
Shadow Kin
is hard to put down right from the start. Magic, faeries, vampires, werewolves, and Templar knights all come together to create an intriguing story with a unique take on all these fantasy tropes. . . . The lore and history of Scott's world is well fleshed out and the action scenes are exhilarating and fast.”

—
Romantic Times

“A fabulous tale.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

Shadow Kin

Blood Kin

Iron Kin

ROC

Published by the Penguin Group

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A Penguin Random House Company

First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,

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Copyright © M. J. Scott, 2014

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  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

ISBN 978-1-101-63171-3

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

 

For my big brother, Richard.

 

I tagged along after him in this reading business and he led me into fantasyland.

 

I never came out.

I started out this series thinking it was a trilogy, but it grew a little. Luckily for me, my wonderful editor didn't mind. So thank you, Jessica Wade, for liking what I do and for letting me share my stories. I look forward to our continuing adventures. Thank you, too, to the awesomely talented art department at Roc, who make my books look gorgeous every time, and to everybody else there who helps get them out into the world.

I also need to thank Miriam Kriss, my awesome agent. Without her, there may have been no Half-Light at all.

I'd also like to thank all the readers who e-mail me, tweet me, Facebook me and let me know they love these stories, because that means more to me than anything. I hope this one works too!

Lastly, at the end of what has been another year that had some roller-coaster moments, much love to all my friends and family who got me through again. Smooches.

Fire dances

It lights the night

Warms the heart

Sparks from nowhere

To blaze a path

To clear the brush

To burn it all

Raze what stands

And leave that which remains

Ashes or something forged anew

Will you burn?

ASH

Fire
is deceptive. From a distance, it hides its heat and fury and shows its dancing light instead. From my vantage point on the city walls, the fire looked almost beautiful, a thousand shades of twining red and orange, its smoke causing strange shadows that snaked through the moonlight.

The blaze was back under control now. It had given up the fight, calming to my will.

I despise using fire as a tool of war and hadn't planned to today. The idiot sergeant who'd set the first firepot would be dealt with now that I had the situation in hand. After all, my client wouldn't appreciate having the city he'd paid us to help him recapture burned to ashes.

Even if ashes were what he deserved.

The wind whipped smoke toward me, the gusts stinging my eyes and burning my throat with each breath. Ashes were about what I deserved too.

“Captain Pellar.”

The familiar rough voice stopped my reverie. Just as well.

“Yes?” I swung around, stepped down from the half-shattered battlement. Owens, my body man, didn't like heights. He turned visibly green every time I climbed up anywhere more than six feet above the ground, and I was too tired to take any enjoyment in teasing him.

His face, devoid of the ash and grime that coated mine, looked relieved as my feet hit the stones that lined the parapet. “Captain, there's a message for you.”

“Can't it wait?”

“No, sir, he says not.”

“He?” Messages from the lordlings who ran this army usually came on paper. What in the hells had happened that warranted them sending someone in person? I glanced back over the walls, toward the outer perimeter of our camp where the command tents were. Behind me, the dying fire still played softly in the back of my mind, almost like the purr of a cat. But I wouldn't be rubbing its belly anytime soon. I sent another short burst of power at the hottest spots, sinking the heat back deep into the earth.

“Yes, sir.” Owens looked vaguely worried. Which translated to a slight drawing together of his eyebrows. Master of the impassive face, Owens. “The Templar.”

I paused outside the command tent to splash my face with the water Owens proffered and scrub away some of the salty ash sweat caking my face with a towel. The sentry stepped aside so I could make my way inside. Sure enough, there was a Templar knight standing at parade rest in front of the rough table I used as a desk on campaign. He swung around as I entered, revealing a pair of very green eyes in a dark face. His Templar tunic was travel worn, dusty and dirty, and, I noted with surprise, tailored to accommodate the fact that the knight's left arm ended at the elbow.

A crippled Templar?

“You're a long way from home,” I said. I moved around him carefully. One-armed or not, a Templar was no one to be trifled with, and I had no idea if he was friend or foe. He would've had to surrender his weapons before he was allowed in the tent, but I could feel the magic rising from him. A sunmage, this one. A strong one.

“You are Asharic sa'Uriel'pellar?”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. That was a name that very few people called me anymore. “That's Captain Pellar to you.”

“Yes, sir.” The knight's voice was deep, deeper than his young face would have led me to expect. His tone was respectful but resolute. “But you are—”

I cut him off. “Yes.” I wondered if he would ask me to prove it. My Family ring was attached to the chain around my neck, hidden from view by clothing and glamour. I hadn't worn it for a very long time. Likely longer than the Templar had been alive.

“In that case, sir, I have something for you.” He reached into the leather pouch slung over his shoulder and withdrew a large envelope. It was wrinkled and crumpled, much like him, further evidence that he had traveled hard and fast. But the red wax seal, stamped with the Templar cross, was intact. In the light of the lamps hanging around the room, the wax shone like fresh blood.

He held out the envelope. I took it reluctantly, senses still prickling. I hadn't heard of any Templar campaigns here in the Voodoo Territories for quite some time. But then, I didn't really track their movements very carefully. I had no quarrel with them. Still, I had to wonder . . . which Brother House did this young knight belong to? And whose message was he bearing?

I squashed the thought.

“And your name?” I asked, turning the envelope in my hands, reluctant to open it. To open it would extinguish the small spark of . . . no, not hope; I'd given up on that particular emotion many years ago . . . possibility perhaps?

“Liam, sir. Liam Hollister.”

“Brother Liam, then. My man will show you to a tent to rest.”

“Thank you, sir. But the matter is urgent.”

“If I'm any judge, you've been on the road for weeks.”

“Yes, sir, several.” His voice stayed calm. “But I cannot waste any time.”

“You're no good to whoever sent you if you fall off your horse and break your neck on the return journey.”

“I'll be fine. And I can be on my way somewhat faster if you'd read the message.”

That was bordering on rude. Templars were usually respectful of authority, and this one was young. He should be following protocol. The fact that he wasn't made me wonder if he was cocky or desperate.

I pulled my dagger from the sheath at my hip and slit the heavy envelope. The note it contained slid free of its confines with a sound like the memory of a sword slicing through air.

But the words written on the paper cut deeper, making my gut tighten and the taste of ash fill my mouth again. “Is this a serious offer?”

“Yes, sir.”

I shook my head. “Impossible. I'm exiled.”

The knight's eyes dropped, his mouth suddenly flat. When he lifted them again, his green eyes were full of something I thought might be sympathy. “I regret to inform you, sir, that the Veil has fallen.”

I groped for the chair behind me, sat down hard. “Fallen?”

“Yes.”

“And who has claimed the Veiled Court?”

“The Veil stands empty, sir.”

My mind swam. The Veiled Queen dead? The court without a ruler?

Fuck. I could go home.

To Half-Light. To . . . others.

Home.

If I agreed to fight a war.

•   •   •

We came to the City from the north. I'd forgotten how it looked, spread out across a plain in a sprawl like a tumble of children's blocks. I'd done my best to erase its image from my mind, yet the familiarity made my bones ache.

Bigger now than when I'd left. Wilder if what Brother Liam had told me was true. I still couldn't believe it. The Fae Queen dead. The treaty dissolved. A Blood lord—some upstart named Ignatius Grey and not even Lord Lucius, who was also dead—intent on overthrowing centuries of peace and taking control.

It was like the worst of dreams. The kind where you wake and can't shake the feeling that it was true and reality is the dream. I knew that feeling all too well. I'd been living it for the past thirty years. Every second of my exile.

I kept my gaze on the City, on the gleaming domes of St. Giles Hospital and the thrust of the cathedral spires and the blocky Templar Brother House . . . square and gray and solid like the men who occupied it. The men who'd brought me home.

I looked to where Brother Liam sat beside me on his long-legged bay horse, looking even more rumpled than he had looked more than three weeks ago when he came to fetch me. He'd driven us hard to get us here this fast, pushing as much as we could without injuring horses and men. We'd need those. All of us could use a few good nights' sleep in beds other than camp cots and hard earth and meals that involved more than stew and bread and cheese and whatever green things we had been able to buy or forage along the way.

Still, I was used to fast travel and my men were too.

The Templars had summoned me here. Me and the nearly two thousand soldiers I brought with me. The soldiers I'd fought with for thirty years and commanded for half that. I hoped we would be enough. My men and women were good and there were other exiled Fae like me amongst them as well as
hai-salai
,
but we'd never fought an army of Blood hell-bent on domination.

Still, it was an invitation to come home.

An invitation I couldn't refuse.

I'd cursed the City and what lay to its west many times during my exile, but still it held a sway over me. A pull I couldn't resist.

I let my gaze move—finally—to the lands west of the City. To Summerdale. Fae territory. If I squinted hard, I could make out the glints of sunlight reflecting off the white marble tower that marked the Gate to the Veiled World.

My home once.

I wasn't sure if it could be again. I wasn't the same scared and bitter lordling I'd been when I'd left, and I'd left Fae politics and intrigue and protocol far behind me. I'd dealt with little but politics and intrigue and conflict since, but it was different when it didn't involve my heart.

I fought for those who could pay me best, with the rare exception for those whose cause was obviously the right one. I did my job and got results and then moved onto the next conflict.

There was always another one. Growing up in the Veiled Court had taught me that much . . . always another scheme, another shot at power.

The Veiled Queen had ruled the court with an unyielding hand on the reins of control, but she had also allowed the rest of the nobles their games of influence. Until someone fell afoul of her boundaries. Then the punishment was swift and, often, irreversible.

I was proof of that.

But now the queen was dead and my exile, under the laws of our kind, dead with her. I'd never expected it. But here it was.

The only way was forward. No matter what my reception and no matter the mix of anticipation and dread turning my guts to a tangle.

I nodded at Liam. “Shall we?” I said, and nudged my horse forward.

BRYONY

It was nearing dusk when I made my way from St. Giles Hospital to the Templar Brother House. The air was still warm, though it was starting to hint at the crisp night to come. Summer was dying, and with the autumn came both cold and dark. Shorter days were exactly what we didn't need when it came to dealing with the Blood. Their powers rose with the dark. Under moonlight no one could match them for strength and stealth and violence. But we would try.

I swung my arms wide as I walked, trying to stretch the kink from between my shoulder blades. It had been a long day and I had been looking forward to a long bath and a good night's sleep—as much as I could sleep well these days—until the invitation from the Templar's Abbott General had arrived. When Father Cho requested my attendance, I couldn't refuse. Not when, presumably, his request was related to the fact that an army had ridden down from the hills to the north of the City earlier today and camped on the northern side of the outermost human boroughs. Safely beyond the city walls but undeniably here to stay.

I was, I had to admit, curious. Simon DuCaine, sunmage, Master Healer at my hospital and brother to Guy DuCaine, one of the Templar's most feared knights, had told me that the Templars had sent for reinforcements, but I knew no more than that. Tonight it seemed I was going to find out who exactly had been summoned to our aid.

The prospect made my muscles knot more tightly. I was grateful, of course, for anything that would swell the humans' forces, but an army meant more violence. More injuries. More for the healers at my hospital and the others in the City to deal with.

We'd been preparing ourselves for weeks. Ever since the Fae had withdrawn in the wake of the Veiled Queen's assassination, leaving the humans to face the threat of the Blood and the Beast Kind. Or rather the threat of Ignatius Grey—would-be Lord of the Blood—freed from the bounds of the treaty he'd broken. He hadn't yet attacked—perhaps he too was marshaling his forces and making plans—but it could only be a matter of time until he did. Without the powers of the Fae to back up the human mages and the Templars, the humans would need the advantage of numbers.