The Isles of the Gods

Informationen zum Autor Amie Kaufman Klappentext Magic and danger clash in the start of a riveting new fantasy series that spans gansters' dens, forgotten temples, and the high seas by the New York Times bestselling author of the Illuminae Files and Aurora Cycle. When Selly's father leaves her high and dry in the port of Kirkpool, she has no intention of riding out the winter on land while he sails to adventure in the north seas. But any plans to follow him are dashed when a handsome stranger with tell-tale magician's marks on his arm boards her ship, presenting her and the crew with a dangerous mission: to cross the Crescent Sea without detection so he can complete a ritual on the sacred Isles of the Gods. But what starts as a leisure cruise will lead to acts of treason and sheer terror on the high seas, bringing two countries to the brink of war, two strangers closer than they ever thought possible and stirring two dangerous gods from centuries of slumber... Leseprobe Part One Glitter and Grit SELLY Royal Hill Kirkpool, Alinor The woman selling magicians' supplies is wandering around her little market stall like she's lost her map. It's as if every item she encounters, from the stacks of fat green candles to the bins of bright glass beads and stones, is somehow a new discovery. You said half a dozen candles? She pauses to look over her shoulder and needlessly tighten her apron strings. She's dragging things out in the hope something extra will catch my eye, but although the grim, anxious buzz of the city has sunk into my bones, I am not going to lose my temper. I don't have time. Yes, please. I try to make my gritted teeth look like a smile, though I can tell from the woman's expression it doesn't work. But honestly, at this rate I should ask her name and how she likes her tea, because the two of us are going to grow old together. If anything, she seems to slow down even more, lifting a newspaper and studying the crate beneath it. Best in the city, these ones. Poured at the high temple, you know. Are they for you, young lady? My hands tighten into fists in my fingerless leather gloves, but I glance down anyway, automatically checking that they hide the green magician's marks on the backs of my hands. They're for our first mate. Ship's magician. The words barely provoke their old, familiar ache. I've got other things on my mind today. Oh, indeed! That catches the woman's attention, and spirits save me, now she stops altogether to study me with interest. I should have seen you were a saltblood­look at those clothes. Where have you come from? Her gaze flickers back to the newspaper in her hand, and suddenly I see it: She's not vague. She's worried. The questions have been the same at every stall I've been to so far today. There are strange shortages, and prices are shifting, and whispers are winding their way through the marketplace about new taxes and confiscations. About war. When they see my sailor's clothes­the shirt, trousers, and boots setting me apart from the city girls in their tailored dresses­everybody asks where we've come from and what it was like there. We're just on a quick run down from Trallia, I tell the woman, digging into my pocket for a few crowns. I'm actually in kind of a hurry. I need to get to the harbormaster's office before it closes, or my captain won't be happy. Somewhere, Captain Rensa probably just lifted her head and sniffed the wind, smelling my lies from the deck of the Lizabetta, but the shopkeeper gives herself a shake, as if she's waking up. And here I am chatting away at you. We'd better­what do you young people say? Something to do with autos. She finds a smile as she remembers, though now I can see the strain in it: We'd better put our foot on the gas. A minute later my candles are wrapped up and ...

Autorentext

Amie Kaufman

Klappentext

Magic, romance, and slumbering gods clash in the start of a riveting fantasy series that spans gangsters' dens, forgotten temples, and the high seas from the New York Times bestselling author of the Aurora Cycle and the Illuminae Files.

Selly has salt water in her veins. So when her father leaves her high and dry in the port of Kirkpool, she has no intention of riding out the winter at home while he sails off to adventure. But any plans to follow him are dashed when a handsome stranger with tell-tale magician's marks on his arm commandeers her ship. He is Prince Leander of Alinor and he needs to cross the Crescent Sea without detection so he can complete a ritual on the sacred Isles of the Gods. Selly has no desire to escort a spoiled prince anywhere, and no time for his entitled demands or his good looks. But what starts as a leisure cruise will lead to acts of treason and sheer terror on the high seas, bringing two countries to the brink of war, two strangers closer than they ever thought possible and stirring two dangerous gods from centuries of slumber...

Leseprobe
Part One

Glitter and Grit

SELLY

Royal Hill

Kirkpool, Alinor

The woman selling magicians supplies is wandering around her little market stall like she s lost her map. It s as if every item she encounters, from the stacks of fat green candles to the bins of bright glass beads and stones, is somehow a new discovery.

You said half a dozen candles? She pauses to look over her shoulder and needlessly tighten her apron strings. She s dragging things out in the hope something extra will catch my eye, but although the grim, anxious buzz of the city has sunk into my bones, I am not going to lose my temper. I don t have time.

Yes, please. I try to make my gritted teeth look like a smile, though I can tell from the woman s expression it doesn t work. But honestly, at this rate I should ask her name and how she likes her tea, because the two of us are going to grow old together.

If anything, she seems to slow down even more, lifting a newspaper and studying the crate beneath it. Best in the city, these ones. Poured at the high temple, you know. Are they for you, young lady?

My hands tighten into fists in my fingerless leather gloves, but I glance down anyway, automatically checking that they hide the green magician s marks on the backs of my hands. They re for our first mate. Ship s magician. The words barely provoke their old, familiar ache. I ve got other things on my mind today.

Oh, indeed! That catches the woman s attention, and spirits save me, now she stops altogether to study me with interest. I should have seen you were a saltblood ­look at those clothes. Where have you come from?

Her gaze flickers back to the newspaper in her hand, and suddenly I see it: She s not vague. She s worried.

The questions have been the same at every stall I ve been to so far today. There are strange shortages, and prices are shifting, and whispers are winding their way through the marketplace about new taxes and confiscations. About war.

When they see my sailor s clothes ­the shirt, trousers, and boots setting me apart from the city girls in their tailored dresses ­everybody asks where we ve come from and what it was like there.

We re just on a quick run down from Trallia, I tell the woman, digging into my pocket for a few crowns. I m actually in kind of a hurry. I need to get to the harbormaster s office before it closes, or my captain won t be happy.

Somewhere, Captain Rensa probably just lifted her head and sniffed the wind, smelling my lies from the deck of the Lizabetta, but the shopkeeper gives herself a shake, as if she s waking up.

And here I am chatting away at you. We d better ­what do you young people say? Something to do with autos. She finds a smile as she remembers, though now I can see the strain in it: We d better put our foot on the gas.

A minute later my candles are wrapped up and I m on my way.

I leave behind the rough flapping of the spirit flags and the crowded marke…