Sam… a golden thread weaves. They took him from us. They stole him from us.
Sam and I weep—a golden thread binds.
Jo. We need our sisters now. We can’t build walls. We need to pull them down. No more secrets. No more apologies. We mourn tonight. We fight tomorrow.
And we trust nobody who doesn’t hold a piece.
I won’t lose you.
A deadly game of chess is afoot and now that its most lethal player has stepped on the board, her fiercest ally at her side, this game is about to get ugly.
With nothing other than vengeance fueling her deadly maneuvers, Josephine is out for blood–the only thing holding her shattered pieces together… Her loyal bookworm-turned-sharpened sword.
This mystical connection between their worlds once again stands, a magical weapon with limitless power–a shimmering golden thread.
But what caused these glimmering fibers to snap in 1692?
The same time the Marked began to appear.
The same time the Enlighteneds’ gifts began to wane.
And how has this thread been restored?
Will Sam and Jo discover the truth before this lethal game ends? Or will one perish while the other watches each escalating move, hearing her sister’s gut-wrenching thoughts and feeling every ounce of her pain?
The clock is ticking. Pieces are in play. Much is hanging in the balance: the fate of two worlds, the pure Virtues of the Marked, and the lives of the selfless Enlightened.
It all rests on the shoulders of Samantha Sutter of Simsbury, Connecticut, and Princess Josephine Stanford of Tandria; only they will soon discover other pieces stand on the board waiting play along–pieces willing to fight at their side.
The Spark
CHAPTER ONE
Blood Spills
Blood spills—the cut deep.
A broken teacup falls to the tapestry, the dainty handle separating upon impact.
I stare at the light-brown fluid seeping into the rug beneath my feet, its leaves resting atop the stain.
What would my future reveal if reading these tea leaves were possible? What shade of black would be seen first?
My vision drifts to the slash I created across my palm.
I told her to take the pill, yet she refused, so I bleed.
Now I drift.
Lastian’s voice booms.
A set of strong hands breaks my fall—yet they are not his.
