Golden
Praise for
MELISSA DE LA CRUZ
for STOLEN:
“Readers are plunged right in the middle of the action from the first page . . . an action-packed adventure.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“The concept of overlapping worlds on one planet will intrigue readers and raise philosophical questions about the nature of reality. The cliff-hanger ending assures readers that a finale is in the works.”
—Booklist
“Fans of the first book will no doubt be very happy with where this action-filled trilogy is headed.”
—School Library Journal
for FROZEN:
“Like Lord of the Rings in reverse . . . is an original and thrilling escape that will break your heart and make it soar at the same time.”
—Alyson Noël, New York Times bestselling author of the Immortals and Soul Seekers series
“Everything I love in a book . . . Humor, suspense, twists, and above all, originality. Highly recommended.”
—James Dashner, New York Times bestselling author of Maze Runner
“It’s a thought-provoking novel, part epic-fantasy, and part social commentary . . . you’ll clamor for book 2.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“An exciting and imaginative story that is two parts vision quest and one part adventure . . . The well-paced action is taut, the characters diverse and finely drawn.”
—New York Journal of Books
“Romance, magic, and excitement drive the pace of this genre-defying adventure.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fans of The Hunger Games will no doubt enjoy sinking their teeth into this exciting book.”
—School Library Journal
for BLUE BLOODS:
“De la Cruz’s Blue Bloods introduces a conception of vampires far different from traditional stake-fleeing demons, coupling sly humor . . . with the gauzier trappings of being fanged and fabulous . . . teens will savor the thrilling sense of being initiated into an exclusive secret society.”
—Booklist, starred review
“De la Cruz combines American history, vampires and a crew of rich New York City kids, delivering a page-turning debut in Blue Bloods.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Schuyler Van Alen is #9 on the Top 25 Vampires of all time.”
—Entertainment Weekly
for WITCHES OF EAST END:
“Centuries after the practice of magic was forbidden, Freya, Ingrid, and their mom struggle to restrain their witchy ways as chaos builds in their Long Island town. A bubbling cauldron of mystery and romance, the novel shares the fanciful plotting of Blue Bloods, the author’s teen vampire series . . . [B]reezy fun.”
—People
“A magical and romantic page-turner . . . Witches of East End is certain to attract new adult readers . . . The pacing is masterful, and while the witchcraft is entertaining, it’s ultimately a love triangle that makes the story compelling. De la Cruz has created a family of empathetic women who are both magically gifted and humanly flawed.”
—Washington Post
“For anyone who was frustrated watching Samantha suppress her magic on Bewitched, Ms. de la Cruz brings some satisfaction. In her first novel for adults, the author . . . lets her repressed sorceresses rip.”
—New York Times
“What happens when a family of Long Island witches is forbidden to practice magic? This tale of powerful women, from the author of the addictive Blue Bloods series, mixes mystery, a battle of good versus evil and a dash of Norse mythology into a page-turning parable of inner strength.”
—Self
“Witches of East End has all the ingredients you’d expect from one of Melissa’s bestselling YA novels—intrigue, mystery and plenty of romance. But with the novel falling under the ‘adult’ categorization, Melissa’s able to make her love scenes even more . . . magical.”
—MTV.com
“De la Cruz has, with Witches, once again managed to enliven and embellish upon history and mythology with a clever interweaving of past and present, both real and imagined . . . [It] casts a spell.”
—Los Angeles Times
“De la Cruz is a formidable storyteller with a narrative voice strong enough to handle the fruits of her imagination. Even readers who generally avoid witches and whatnot stand to be won over by the time the cliffhanger-with-a-twist-ending hits.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fantasy for well-read adults.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A sexy, magical romp, sure to bring de la Cruz a legion of new fans.”
—Kelley Armstrong, New York Times bestselling author of the Otherworld series
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Melissa de la Cruz and Michael Johnston.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
eBook ISBN 978-0-698-17381-1
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, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
JACKET ART © 2016 BY STEVE STONE
COVER DESIGN BY THERESA M. EVANGELISTA
Version_1
Contents
Praise for Melissa de la Cruz
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
The Dark Road Ahead
BATTLE AND PORTAL
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
THE RED AND THE BLACK
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
RING AND TOWER
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
AFTER THE NEW WORLD
Acknowledgments
For Mattie, always
He laughed and smote with the laughter and thrust up over his head,
And smote t
he venom asunder, and clave the heart of Dread;
Then he leapt from the pit and the grave, and the rushing river of blood,
And fulfilled with the joy of the War-God on the face of earth he stood
With red sword high uplifted, with wrathful glittering eyes;
And he laughed at the heavens above him for he saw the sun arise,
And Sigurd gleamed on the desert, and shone in the new-born light,
And the wind in his raiment wavered, and all the world was bright.
But there was the ancient Fafnir, and the Face of Terror lay
On the huddled folds of the Serpent, that were black and ashen-grey
In the desert lit by the sun; and those twain looked each on each,
And forth from the Face of Terror went a sound of dreadful speech:
“Child, child, who art thou that hast smitten? bright child, of whence is thy birth?”
“I am called the Wild-thing Glorious, and alone I wend on the earth.”
—WILLIAM MORRIS, THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG
THE DARK ROAD AHEAD
THE QUEEN LOOKED INTO AVALON’S Mirror and the mists parted to show her what she needed to see: the future as only she could shape it, the various roads ahead, the consequences of every decision.
She saw great armies in battle, shining cities laid to ruin, smoking and destroyed. Blood spilled on a great tundra of white. Bodies piled in stacks, burning.
The whole world on fire, hope lost, civilization a memory.
Every path, every possibility, led to devastation, to the end of everything.
The end of the world.
Every path, save for one.
The only way forward to a new beginning led to a golden ring inside a gray tower.
But if she chose that path, that future, everyone she loved would die.
No one would survive.
Not even her.
She studied the mirror at length and stepped away, closing her eyes. Things were what they were. Avalon could not save the future from itself.
Only one person could do that, she knew.
And in that moment, everything was decided.
PART THE FIRST
BATTLE AND PORTAL
The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
—SUN TZU
1
THE RUINS OF THE WHITE TEMPLE burned in the hazy distance, and from high above in the clouds, Nat could see the unholy city of New Kandy covered in a blanket of smoke, its tall towers now mere black skeletons.
The city was on fire.
Death was in the air, all around her. Nat could feel the grim grip of fate cutting deep into her bones. She knew it by the stench of the ash, the burning cinders in her eyes.
Ruination had come for them, for all of them.
Then the buildings’ silhouette seemed to sway, as the vision wavered, flickering in and out of sight. Nat blinked her eyes and gritted her teeth, forcing the connection to return. For months she had used her drakon’s powerful gaze to scan the horizon for enemies, to prepare for any hidden ambush, to notice changes in the battlefield that no mortal eye could hope to observe. That was the nature of her duty, the right of her destiny.
Or so it had been.
But now the thread between them was fraying fast, as a new bond was being forged between drakon and rydder. Helplessly sidelined, Nat found herself not where she should be—high above the clouds with her mount—but rather, sitting on the deck of a ferryboat, watching as her one true calling was stolen from her.
Because an imposter rode atop Drakon Mainas.
An imposter, and a murderer. A threat not just to Nat, but to the entire world, and any hope for its future.
Not to mention, a danger to the drakon itself.
Eliza.
She was to blame. The Lady Algeana, formerly known as Eliza Wesson, the child who had been stolen from her home by the people of Vallonis in order to save their world. But Eliza was the wrong child and she had grown up to become no one’s savior.
Quite the opposite. She had taken what was not hers to take, and now everything lay in ruins as the result.
Nat could feel Eliza’s heels digging into Mainas’s hide, urging the creature to fly faster and higher away from the battle, fleeing from its true mistress. Nat fought back, desperately attempting to regain command of her drakon.
Mainas! Stay!
Do not leave me!
You’re making a mistake!
You don’t know what you’re doing!
Nat felt a rage burn in her core as hot as the flame that swirled around the drakon’s heart—and for a moment Eliza’s hold slipped and the drakon reared, frantically attempting to buck her off her seat, lashing with its head and tail, shrieking with anger and pain.
But only for a moment.
Nat was too far away, and Eliza too strong, and every thunderous beat of wings and passing second widened the gap between them.
I am your mistress now. Eliza’s calm voice cut through the smoke and fire. You are mine to command.
Nat could barely sense her drakon anymore, had to strain to hear the sound of the wind rushing beneath its wings, to feel the cold air around its scales. The thread between them was tearing, like fibers quickly spinning apart, unraveling what had been fiercely knitted together.
She held on as hard as she could to the drakonsight, gazing down upon a dark, burning landscape, at the remnants of a broken city, where at its edges, a battalion of tanks rolled across the blistered earth like ants converging on a hill.
Then it was gone. No . . . not yet . . . She had to hold on to her drakon. Drakon Mainas! she called again. To me!
Nat followed the slender line that led back to the mind of the monstrous green-eyed and black-scaled creature that was her own twin soul. She burrowed into its thoughts, screaming for it to hear her, to recognize her as its avatar.
We are one and the same, drakon and rydder! I am Anastasia Dekesthalias. The Resurrection of the Flame. The girl on your back is an imposter. You have been deceived!
Return to me! Mainas!
There was no response—only the dull weight of loss.
And then, abruptly, it was over.
The connection between Nat and her drakon snapped, and her vision disappeared into complete darkness. Eliza had finally succeeded in cutting the cord.
Nat lost her drakonsight. She no longer felt the pounding of the creature’s heart, the strain of its muscles; its fury was no longer hers to command and unleash. The drakon was gone and Nat was alone.
She had lost her mount once before, had willingly sent it deep into the ground, to heal after a fierce firefight during her guardianship of Vallonis. But this was different. Something elemental was now broken and torn inside her—as if a piece of her very being had been taken away, and she was blinded, rendered deaf and mute. Senseless.
Drakon Mainas!
She screamed, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her.
• • •
A moment later, Nat opened her eyes to the world around her. Everything looked fuzzy and gray, now that she had lost the keen eyesight of her drakon.
Reality was not something she wanted to come back to. Not yet. It was too hard and too cold and too painful. She had lost too much.
Where am I?
Snow was falling. That was one clue. She could smell it, even taste it. It was in her hair, on her filthy clothes, mixing with the ashes from the battle. She heard the tanks rolling through the streets from the sound of the rattling treads.
Beyond that, she could pick out the slightly higher pitch of the drones buzzing in the air above them. Like flies gathering around her location as they would around a dead body. Which was what Nat herself would soon be, if she stayed here where they could find her.
And where is that again?
The deck of a ferryboat.
Nat’s eyes snapped into focus, and she found herself staring up at the stricken faces of her small, tired crew. Shakes crouched next to her while the smallmen, Brendon and Roark, held on to each other. Liannan’s head remained bowed, her golden-blond hair falling across her face. Farouk stood frightened and grief stricken, his hands clenched at his sides.
And something else. Someone else. A dead body.
She looked down at the boy in her arms. Ryan Wesson lay motionless, blood crusting on his cheek, his face as frozen and gray as the floor beneath him.
It all came rushing back to her—the battle with Eliza, Wes using his newfound powers to dispel his sister’s illusions. Victory and escape were in their grasp, until Eliza suddenly reappeared on Drakon Mainas’s back while Wes had collapsed on the deck. Shakes had tried to jump-start his heart by pounding on his chest, but nothing had worked.
“Wes!” Nat cried, her tears making tracks through the dirt on her face. It seemed unreal, this moment. His lifeless face. The weight of his still body.
This couldn’t be happening. Just a moment ago, we were kissing—how can this be? Now his lips were blue and his eyes were closed. He had saved them from Eliza, but at what cost? Magic had consequences to its use. He couldn’t wield its power without hurting himself, and no one could have imagined the toll it would take on him.
I didn’t think it would do this. He couldn’t have known, either.
Not that it would have made any difference to Wes, she knew. Nat stroked his cheek. He would have fought for her to the death, no matter what. But he didn’t have to. She didn’t want him to.
He didn’t have to die.
He can’t.
“Stay,” she said, telling him the same thing she had said to her drakon not too long ago. “Don’t leave me.” She put a hand on his chest, willing whatever power she had left to flow into him, to keep him alive even just a moment longer.
Nothing happened. There was no spark of life in his pale face.
It was useless. She was useless.
“Nat, he’s gone, and we need to move—they’ve spotted us,” said Shakes gently, with a hand on her shoulder. “Roark—help me cast off the lines; Brendon, to the wheel; Farouk, see if you can get that engine running.”