(The Birthright, #2)
Publication date: January 31st 2016
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Starting over for Rosamund Brandt is more complicated than it sounds. Especially when the past keeps coming back to haunt her. As she and her mom and brother try to pick up the pieces in a new home, the universe seems determined to tear them apart even more as secrets multiply, and distrust grows.
While new threats and unknowns emerge, Rosamund struggles with her own inner battle. Her new powers are growing whether she wants them or not, and their origins and nature are sketchy at best. The more that’s revealed to her, the more uncertain she feels.
Choosing allies and facing new and old enemies alike may not be their biggest problems. Not if Rosamund’s worst fears come true. Could she be the one they should fear the most?
Despite that, I wasn’t the least bit put off. Somewhere in my mind, I thought that was strange, but I couldn’t dwell on it. She stood, two short swords growing from the palm of her hands. She swung her arms in unison in tight, controlled movements. This wasn’t her first rodeo.
I should have been filleted with the first strike, provided they could actually slice through a solid object, but I ducked out of the way in time. Then again. She followed as I backed away, striking and swinging with force and precision. I should have been sliced and diced several times over, but I dodged each time. How? I didn’t have extraordinary reflexes for sure. And she definitely wasn’t missing.
As I dodged again, I realized something weird was happening to her. Each time she raised her arms, it was like she slowed down. But not of her own volition. I think she knew it was happening, too, because each strike got angrier, more determined. Like she was frustrated. I wasn’t frustrated, but I was confused, and getting tired.
She raised her arms yet again, so I slipped behind her through a portal while I had the chance. I pushed up against the wall for leverage, kicking her back. It threw her slightly off balance.
She turned around and paused, listing her head like questioning what I intended to accomplish with that.
“Man, I really need to work out.”
But there was little time to berate myself. I twirled through a portal before she struck again, stabbing the wall instead of me. As she turned, her blades sweeping around with her, another set of blades, blazing like fire, swept up, sparks flying as the two sets collided.
I followed the new set of fire swords–curved, slender blades–up to the face of my mystery guy. The swords protruded from his hands like the shadow’s blades, and the rings around his irises burned like my mother’s did sometimes. His angular face was locked in a snarl. He spat something in the Maon language, which I took to mean, “Not on my watch.”
I blinked as that sunk in. He’d just spoken Maon.
Their blades circled around, locked together, and the Maon-speaking fire swordsman swung blow for blow, parrying and striking with as much fluidity and ease as the shadow. The shadow swung at his head, and he bent backward, the edge of the blade just missing his nose. He replied by crossing his swords and thrusting them out, which would have finished her off if she hadn’t dissolved in time for them to strike the air instead.
Their blades locked together again, and the fire swordsman pushed, shooting the shadow person to the other side of the road. She hit pavement and rolled.
Amy is a sci-fi/mystery addict with a soft spot for humor and romance. She lives in Massachusetts, and loves to bake and watch movies. Learn more about Amy and her books at http://amysaundersauthor.com.
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