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  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Melissa Caruso

  Excerpt from Torn copyright © 2018 by Rowenna Miller

  Excerpt from The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn copyright © 2018 by Tyler Whitesides

  Author photograph by Erin Re Anderson

  Cover design by Lisa Marie Pompilio

  Cover illustrations by Crystal Ben, Arcangel

  Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Map by Tim Paul

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Simultaneously published in Great Britain and in the U.S. by Orbit in 2018.

  First Edition: April 2018

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Caruso, Melissa, author.

  Title: The defiant heir / Melissa Caruso.

  Description: First Edition. | New York, NY : Orbit, 2018. | Series: Swords and fire ; 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017058858| ISBN 9780316466905 (paperback) | ISBN 9781549167430 (audio book downloadable) | ISBN 9780316466899 (ebook open)

  Subjects: LCSH: Magic—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Epic. | FICTION / Action & Adventure. | GSAFD: Adventure fiction. | Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.A7927 D44 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017058858

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-46690-5 (paperback), 978-0-316-46689-9 (ebook)

  E3-20180210-JV-NF

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  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

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Acknowledgments

  Extras

  Meet the Author

  A Preview of Torn

  A Preview of The Thousand Deaths of Ardor Benn

  By Melissa Caruso

  Praise for The Tethered Mage

  Orbit Newsletter

  To Jesse

  for always supporting my dream

  and for putting up with me while I wrote this book

  Chapter One

  It seemed a shame to burn a place so green.

  The tiny island interrupted the path of the prevailing current from the Serene City, and trash collected along its curving inner shore. It was a mere mound of rock and sand, a navigational hazard without even a name. But flowering bushes edged the narrow strip of beach on which we stood, giving way to an improbable clutch of young trees and brush in the center. A salty breeze off the lagoon coaxed sighs from leaves that had so far escaped the encroaching yellow of autumn.

  The whole place appeared far too flammable. Not that it mattered much, with balefire.

  I calculated angles and took three steps across the sand. It couldn’t hurt to stay upwind. This might be a training exercise, but it could still kill us all if things went wrong.

  Zaira lifted her brows beneath the windblown tangle of her dark curls. “Are you done dancing around? We’re not here to practice the minuet.”

  I judged the space between us. Three feet, perhaps. Not nearly enough for me to make it to safety if she lost control. But then, thirty feet might not be enough either.

  I nodded, heart quickening. “All right.”

  “I won’t set you on fire,” Zaira promised. “This time.”

  “I trust you.” I didn’t add, when you’re you. There was no trusting what she became when the flames took her.

  She glanced at Marcello, who waited a good fifty feet away along the gray stretch of sand. He stood at apparent ease, his black curls loose against the collar of his scarlet-and-gold uniform, the Mews looming watchfully over his shoulder across the calm lagoon waters. But his hand, hooked so casually into his belt, touched the grip of his pistol.

  Not that it would do him much good. The only thing that could stop Zaira’s fire was the word I could speak to seal it. However, in this exercise, I wasn’t supposed to; Zaira was practicing control. Which meant that if I made a tiny error in judgment, waiting a second too long, people would die.

  I much preferred my university days, when failing a practical lesson would have meant nothing worse than a stern lecture from my professor.

  “Are you ready?” Zaira called.

  Marcello nodded.

  Zaira held out a hand to me, palm up, as if she expected me to put something into it. The jess gleamed golden on her stick-thin wrist.

  My mouth went dry as blown sand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “No, I came out here for a picnic. Of course I want to do it. Release me.”

  I drew in a breath of damp sea air, then let it go again, shaping it into the most terrible word I knew.

  “Exsolvo.”

  Zaira closed her hand. When she opened it, a pale blue flame licked up from her fingers.

  It was a small thing, for now, but wicked as a hooked knife, lovely and fatal. It clawed the air with hungry yearning. Balefire.

  The slim twist of flame leaned toward me, against the wind. I took a step back.

  “Hold your ground, Lady Amalia.” It was Ba
los’s voice, deep and firm. He stood twenty feet down the beach in the opposite direction from Marcello, along with Jerith, his Falcon and husband. “You need to get used to it. You can’t let it distract you in an emergency.”

  “It’s hard not to get distracted by something that wants to kill you,” I muttered.

  “It’s nothing personal.” Zaira grinned, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed her strain. She was afraid, too. “It wants to kill everyone.”

  “Now light something on fire,” Jerith called. Somehow, he sounded more like a child daring a schoolmate to cause trouble than an older warlock instructing a young one.

  Zaira flicked her wrist at a squat bush with shiny, round leaves. A spark leaped from her hand, searing a bright path through the air, and landed inside it. Blue-white flames sprang up from within the bush, crawling hungrily up its blackening branches, withering every leaf to ash.

  “Keep it contained,” Jerith said. The mage mark gleamed silver in his eyes as he watched Zaira’s face. “Don’t let it spread.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Zaira snapped. Sweat gleamed on her temples.

  “Oh? Then what’s that?” Jerith jerked his chin at the fire.

  Only a jutting charred stick remained of the bush. But the blue flames reached higher than ever, straining for the tree branches above. Thin lines of flame meandered outward, searching, following the bush’s roots under the ground.

  One slithered along the sand’s edge—thin, powerful, and rapid as a snake—heading toward Marcello. Memories of figures writhing in an agony of blue fire and the stench of charring human meat seared my mind. I sucked in a breath but held back the word to seal her power again, though it strained behind my teeth.

  I had to trust her to handle it. That was half the point of this exercise.

  Zaira reached toward the racing line of fire, as if to gather it back, but it only leaped higher. A faint blue gleam shone in her eyes. Marcello took a hasty step backward, but the flame was faster; it would reach him in seconds. I opened my mouth to cry out the word that could save him.

  “Zaira!” Jerith called sharply.

  Zaira sliced a hand through the air. The balefire winked out, leaving a smoking black smear on the ground.

  “See? Fine.” She tossed back her mane of dark curls. “Completely under control.”

  But her hands trembled ever so slightly, before she shoved them into her skirt pockets.

  “Revincio,” I sighed, sealing her power. My knees felt ready to buckle with relief.

  Jerith shook his head, a diamond glittering in his earlobe. “Control will be much harder when it’s a company of Vaskandran musketeers or some Witch Lord’s pet chimera coming at you with venomous claws.”

  I shifted my feet uneasily. “We’re not at war with Vaskandar.”

  Jerith laughed. “Oh, don’t be coy, my lady. Your Council secrets are safe with me. Anyone who’s heard of their troop movements knows they’re preparing for an invasion. It’s only proper we afford them the same courtesy in return.” He jabbed a finger at Zaira. “And that means improving your control to the point where Lady Amalia can release you without worrying about getting set on fire along with the enemy.”

  Anger flashed in Zaira’s eyes. “So the Empire can use me as a weapon.”

  “No. So you don’t kill anyone you don’t mean to.” Jerith’s smile was bitter. “The Empire will try to use you as a weapon whether you’ve got good control or not.”

  Balos slipped a thickly muscled brown arm around the storm warlock’s slim shoulders, and I wondered if Jerith spoke from experience.

  Marcello approached, a frown marring his brow. I couldn’t help but appreciate the flattering lines of his uniform doublet. Never mind all my efforts to remind myself over the past weeks that we weren’t courting—couldn’t court—at least not yet. I wasn’t ready to throw away the power of political eligibility.

  “That was better,” he said.

  Zaira flicked a glance down the beach to the ashy remains of last week’s practice. I’d had to seal her, that time. “Damned right it was. Do you think I’d put up with any of you if this weren’t working?”

  “We should try again,” Marcello suggested. “For longer, this time.”

  I eyed the tangle of brush and overhanging branches surrounding the charred stump of the bush Zaira had burned. “Maybe in a place where it won’t spread quite so easily.”

  Marcello’s eyes caught mine for a moment. Their corners crinkled with wry amusement. “Good idea. I won’t deny my heart got some exercise at the end, there.”

  I smiled back, but an uneasy flutter stirred under my breastbone. In the weeks since we’d returned from Ardence, he’d been friendly and courteous, professional to a fault; it was as if we’d never shared that desperate kiss, at what I’d thought was our final farewell. I wasn’t sure anymore, when he smiled, whether I glimpsed an undercurrent of hurt beneath it.

  His gaze slid away, scanning the beach. “How about over there?”

  He gestured to a line of barnacle-crusted rocks that extended into a thin spit a short distance down the beach, at the point of the tiny island’s crescent. Balefire could burn on stone—or water, for that matter—but at least a chance breeze wouldn’t dip a tree branch into the flame.

  Zaira shrugged her indifference, so we started over in that direction. She seemed in no hurry, and though I’d worn breeches, my city boots turned awkwardly on the soft, sliding sand; we soon fell back behind the others.

  It was just as well. There was something I needed to ask her, a gnawing unease I had to face.

  “Jerith’s right,” I said quietly. “It’s no feint, this time. Vaskandar is preparing for war. And you know what the Council will ask you to do.”

  “Yes, I heard. Musketeers, chimeras.” She tugged gently at the jess on her wrist, as if testing whether it might come off at last. “Should be easier than burning some scraggly old bush, frankly. Small is harder.”

  “Are you …” I tried to think how to phrase my question. “How do you feel about this?”

  “Why does everyone ask about my feelings? Graces’ tits, you and Terika …” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “Perhaps we care about you.”

  Zaira snorted. “Must be nice to have the luxury to worry about bilge like that. In the Tallows, you learn feelings are worthless. They’re what drunkards piss away the morning after.”

  Some things were worth arguing with Zaira about, and some weren’t. “I don’t want to see you put in a position where you’re forced to use your fire to kill.”

  “As opposed to what? Roast meat skewers in the market? There’s not much else it’s good for.” She shook her head. “You heard Jerith. To the Empire, I’m a tool for killing, nothing more. And they’re not half wrong. If I stay in the Falcons, I’ll leave a wake of ashes through Vaskandar. Your pretty little qualms and niceties won’t change that.”

  That if bordered on treason. Imperial law gave the mage-marked no choice, compensating them with riches and lavish comforts for their mandatory conscription into the Falcons. But I had no doubt Zaira could successfully run away anytime she chose; it was only knowing she could leave that had reconciled her to staying. For now.

  “I wish I could get my Falcon reform act passed before war breaks out.” I kicked at a rock, sending it skittering across the sand. “So every mage could choose whether to become a soldier. But my mother says there’s no way I’ll get the support I need in the Assembly with Vaskandran armies at the borders.”

  Zaira gave me a sideways glance. “That thing, still? It’ll never pass.”

  “Once the Vaskandran threat eases, it might,” I insisted. “I have a few dozen members of the Assembly willing to back it already. I just need time.”

  “A few dozen. Out of a thousand. Forgive me if I don’t wait like a good little girl for you to free us.” Zaira stopped, hands on her hips. “You don’t think that’s why I’m still here, do you? Because I’ve got hope for your stupid la
w?”

  “No.” I raised my brows. “I assume you stayed for Terika.”

  “I like Terika,” Zaira admitted. “But if you think I’d let her chain me to the Mews, you don’t know me.”

  “I suppose not,” I sighed.

  “I’m here for one reason.” She leveled a finger at me. “To learn to control my power well enough not to hurt anyone. Well enough to hide. Because now the world knows I exist, and there’s nowhere I can run where they’ll ever leave me alone.”

  “Ah.” I didn’t know what else to say; it was true.

  “They might swallow your law for artificers or alchemists. Devices and potions don’t make people wet their breeches the way balefire does. But they’re too afraid of warlocks.” She shook her head. “No sane person wants someone who can single-handedly destroy a city on a whim to wander around free. The whole continent of Eruvia wants me locked up safe in the Mews—or better yet, dead.”

  “I don’t want you locked up or dead,” I protested.

  “Oh?” Zaira lifted a skeptical brow. “If I decided to run away and take my chances in hiding, what would you do?”

  It was an uneasy question I’d worried at frequently over the past weeks. Not least because it was hard to imagine any future where Zaira would be content to stay cooped up in the Mews for long. “I’d try to find a way for you to do it legally. To convince the doge and the Council to let you go.”

  “They’d never let me go, and you know it.”

  “Well, then, I’d use my influence to do what I could to stop the Empire from coming after you. To keep you safe.” My heartbeat quickened at the inherent rebellion in that declaration; my duty as a Falconer would be to help them find her.

  But then, I was more than just a Falconer.

  “Safe?” Zaira let out a bark of a laugh. “I make everything unsafe. I’m danger salt—add me to anything, and I make it more interesting.”

  “I can’t deny that seems an apt assessment. But if you ran away, where would you go? What would you do?”

  Zaira kicked at the sand in silence, scowling. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “If I knew, I’d already be doing it. But this is the first step: getting my fire under control. After that, I can figure out what to do next.”

  “So you’re only remaining with the Falcons until then?” My throat felt strangely tight. Of course I wanted Zaira to be free, and my life would certainly be quieter without her in it. But it would be a lonely sort of quiet.