She lives by her intuition. He feeds on her pleasure.
We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Fall of Ruin and Wrath by Jennifer L. Armentrout, the beginning of a searing fantasy romance for adults—out from Bramble on September 12.
Long ago, the world was destroyed by gods. Only nine cities were spared. Separated by vast wilderness teeming with monsters and unimaginable dangers, each city is now ruled by a guardian—royalty who feed on mortal pleasure.
Born with an intuition that never fails, Calista knows her talents are of great value to the power-hungry of the world, so she lives hidden as a courtesan of the Baron of Archwood. In exchange for his protection, she grants him information.
When her intuition leads her to save a traveling prince in dire trouble, the voice inside her blazes with warning—and promise. Today he’ll bring her joy. One day he’ll be her doom.
When the Baron takes an interest in the traveling prince and the prince takes an interest in Calista, she becomes the prince’s temporary companion. But the city simmers with rebellion, and with knights and monsters at her city gates and a hungry prince in her bed, intuition may not be enough to keep her safe.
Calista must choose: follow her intuition to safety or follow her heart to her downfall.
The dull ache in my head that came from whenever I was around so many people eased only when I returned to my quarters. I was tired, but my mind was far too restless for me to even think of sleep as I entered the bathing chamber.
I quickly scrubbed the paint from my face and braided my hair. After slipping on my nightgown, I donned a lightweight, cap-sleeved robe that belted at the waist as I toed on a pair of thin-soled boots. I slipped out of the terrace doors of my quarters and into the humid night air, then crossed the narrow patio and started across the back lawn. It must’ve rained a bit ago, but the clouds had cleared. With the glow of the full moon casting silvery light along the grass and stone pathway, I made no attempt to hide my movements from those patrolling the manor walls in the distance. The Baron was well aware of my nighttime travels and had no problem with them.
During the day, city folk often entered the grounds of the manor to wander the gardens, but it was quiet and peaceful at this time of night. The same could not be said about inside the manor, where the party was just beginning in the Great Chamber. All the aristo unaware that something was coming.
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Fall of Ruin and Wrath
Someone was coming.
My stomach wriggled as if it were full of serpents. Could it be warning me of the Iron Knights—their Commander? It was the only thing that made sense, but why would the Iron Knights be working with the Princess of Visalia?
Trying to see into the future where the Deminyens were involved was nearly as unhelpful as trying to see my own. My so-called gifts were no help there when I either heard or saw nothing, or received only vague impressions.
I thought of Claude’s response to my premonition. The Baron had gone quiet before deciding that King Euros would surely do something to prevent whatever political unrest was occurring between the Crown and the Westlands from spilling over into the Midlands. His mood improved then, but mine had worsened, because all I could think of was Astoria, the once-great city on the border between the Midlands and the Westlands. It was said to have been not only the birthplace of Vayne Beylen but also where those who sought to join the rebellion had been given refuge.
King Euros had sanctioned the destruction of Astoria, and the Prince of Vytrus had delivered the King’s wrath. Thousands had been displaced, and only the gods knew how many had been killed. All that that devastation had accomplished was the creation of more rebels.
So, I wasn’t relieved by the idea of the King becoming involved.
Sighing as I passed the darkened buildings where the manor blacksmith and other workers spent their days, I saw the stables come into view. I grinned as I caught sight of Gerold, one of the stable grooms, slumbering propped against the wall, legs spread wide in the straw. Seeing the empty bottle of whiskey between his thighs, I cracked a grin. Gerold wouldn’t be waking anytime soon.
I passed several stalls, heading for the back, where a beautiful sable mare nibbled on a late-night snack of alfalfa in the glow of lantern light. I laughed under my breath. “Iris, how are you always eating?”
The mare huffed, ear twitching.
Smiling, I ran my hand over her glossy coat. Iris was one of many gifts from Claude. She was the only horse I’d ever owned, and she was my favorite of all the gifts he’d bestowed upon me even though she didn’t… she didn’t feel like she was truly mine.
Nothing in Archwood did, not even after six years. Everything still felt temporary and on loan. Everything still felt like it could be ripped out from beneath me at any given second.
I picked up a brush and started with her mane, brushing at the bottoms of the strands in downward sections. Besides the gardens and the little section I’d cultivated for myself over the years, the stables were the only place where I felt… I didn’t know. Peace? Found pleasure in the simpleness of taking care of Iris? I thought it was the sound—the soft whinny of all the horses and the drag of their hooves on the straw-strewn floor. Even the smells—though, when the stables hadn’t been mucked, not so much. But I liked it here, and it was where I spent much of my free time. The stables weren’t as good at silencing my intuition, though. Only large quantities of alcohol and having my hands in soil accomplished that. Still, it brought me pleasure, and that was important to me and to the Hyhborn.
My nose wrinkled. I had no idea how they… they fed on us when there were none around. At least from what I could tell. I supposed it was something we weren’t supposed to know, and I also guessed I was probably better off not understanding.
As I brushed Iris’s mane, the part of me that was a worrier took over—the part that had learned to expect the bad and fear the worst in all situations. What would happen if the unrest in the west made its way into the Midlands—to Archwood? My stomach knotted with dread.
Before Archwood, all the different towns Grady and I had lived in blurred into one nightmare. Finding coin whatever way we could. Taking any job that would hire people our age and resorting to thievery when we couldn’t find work. No real plans for the future. How could there be when every minute of every day was spent on surviving—on all those “not”s? Not starving. Not getting caught. Not becoming a victim to any number of predators. Not getting sick. Not giving up—and gods, that was the hardest when there was no real hope of anything more, because inevitably, we ended the same as we had begun.
Running.
Running away.
Grady and I had fled Union City the night the Hyhborn appeared in the orphanage, stowing away on one of the stagecoaches headed out of the Lowlands. I’d been convinced that we’d escaped. And it was kind of funny in a sad, somewhat disturbing way to think back on how scared I’d been that night—so afraid that the Hyhborn would discover that I was different and take me. Hurt me. Or even kill me. To this day, I didn’t know why I’d been so afraid of that. Hyhborn had no interest in lice-infested orphans. Not even one whose intuition alerted them to another’s intentions or allowed them to see the future.
But after that night, all we’d done was run and run, and if Archwood were to fall, we would return to that life once more, and I… My hand trembled. That terrified me more than anything—even more than spiders and other creepy, crawly things. Even thinking of it made me feel as if my lungs were decompressing and I was on the verge of losing the ability to breathe.
I would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen. That neither Grady nor I had to go back to surviving all those “not”s.
But as I moved on to Iris’s tail, an all-too-familiar itchy, suffocating feeling of loneliness settled over me like a coarse blanket. There were far more important things to be worried about at the moment, but there were few feelings worse than loneliness. Or maybe there actually weren’t any, and loneliness was the worst, because it was pervasive, hard to shake, even when you weren’t alone, and it worked overtime to convince you that contentment and joy were possible.
But that was a lie.
When you truly spent most of your time alone? When you had to? And not because you wanted to? There was no joy to be found. That was my future. For however long that might be. But the future wouldn’t be any different—whether I was here or elsewhere.
That loneliness would remain.
The darkness of my thoughts haunted me as I used a brush on Iris’s coat. I blew out an aggravated breath. I needed to think of something else—
Listen.
My body suddenly froze. Frowning, I turned and scanned the shadowed aisle of the stables, hearing only the sounds of the other horses and Gerold’s faint snores. My hand tightened on the brush as an acute sense of awareness washed over me. It wasn’t a chill of unease. This was different. The pressure between my shoulders was something else entirely. An intuition that I followed, wherever it led. Or more accurately, it was a demand.
Curious, I walked out of the stall, letting my intuition guide me. I’d learned long ago that I’d get little rest if I actually managed to ignore it, which I was rarely capable of doing.
I walked toward the back of the barn, where the doors were cracked, my steps quiet. Just as I went to push the door open, I heard voices.
“Did you get him?” The muffled words traveled through the wood. The voice sounded familiar. “And you’re sure he’s not one from Primvera you mistook?”
My breath caught. If the “he” they spoke of could’ve been mistaken as someone from Primvera, then they spoke of a Hyhborn and likely a Deminyen, as they didn’t live in lowborn cities but resided in their Courts.
“Because how do you think I knew what he was in the first place? I saw him and I remembered what he was supposed to look like,” another voice answered, and this one I recognized immediately due to his unique, gravelly tone. A guard who went by Mickie, but I knew his actual name was Matthew Laske, and he was… well, bad news. He was one of the guards who eagerly aided Hymel when it came to collecting rent. “He’s the one Muriel had us waiting for. I’m sure, Finn.”
Another of Claude’s guards. A young man with dark hair who always smiled whenever I saw him, and it was a nice smile.
I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop; rarely did anything good come from that. But that’s what I did, because pressure had settled in the space between my shoulder blades and had begun to tingle. I crossed the foot or two to the shared wall and leaned against it. Unsure of why I was compelled to do so or what my intuition was picking up on, I obeyed the urge and listened.
“And on top of him being a spittin’ image of what Muriel said, if he was from Primvera, I doubt he’d be slinkin’ around the Twin Barrels,” Mickie continued, referencing one of the bawdy taverns in Archwood. I’d been there a time or two with Naomi. It was not a place I’d think a Hyhborn would normally spend time in. “Anyway, I took him to Jac’s barn.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Finn demanded. “You took that thing to his barn? When Jac is off getting sucked and fucked every way from Sunday?”
My brows lifted. I didn’t know of anyone by the name of Muriel, but I did know who Jac was. A blacksmith—the widowed blacksmith who was in line to replace the Baron’s personal smithy. He sometimes stepped in when the Baron’s own fell behind. So did Grady, who had an unbelievable natural knack for forging metal.
“Don’t ya look at me like that,” Mickie growled. “Porter made sure he ain’t waking up anytime soon,” he said, naming the owner of the Twin Barrels. “Served him the house special.” The guard chuckled. “His ass is knocked, and what I put in him will keep him down for the count. He ain’t goin’ anywhere. He’ll be there, ready for us to handle him when Jac is finished havin’ himself a good night in a few hours.”
My stomach hollowed as the tingling between my shoulder blades intensified. Without seeing them, I wouldn’t be able to peer into their thoughts, but my intuition was already filling in the gaps in what they were saying, causing my pulse to pick up.
“Got to admit, I’m damned relieved I was right about him and I didn’t go and kill one of our own,” Mickie said with another raspy laugh. “Porter put enough of the Fool’s Parsley in that whiskey he served that if he was a lowborn, it would’ve dropped his ass dead on the spot, even with one or two sips.”
Fool’s Parsley, also known as hemlock, could do exactly what Mickie claimed depending on the amount ingested.
My heart sank as I held Iris’s brush to my chest, because I knew what was to become of that Hyhborn.
“If ya so worried about him escapin’,” Mickie was saying, “I can head back and put another spike in him.”
Nausea rose sharply. They put spikes in a Hyhborn? Gods, that was… that was terrible, but I needed to stop listening and start pretending that I heard nothing. This didn’t involve me.
“We need him alive, remember?” Finn’s voice snapped with impatience. “You put too much of that shit in him, he won’t be of any use to us.”
I didn’t walk away.
“We’ll wait till Jac’s up at dawn,” Finn said. “He knows how to get the word out to Muriel. I got a bottle of some good shit out of the Baron’s cellars.” His voice was fading. “And we’ll head over to Davie’s…”
I strained to hear more, but they had moved too far away. I’d heard enough, though. They had captured a Hyhborn, and I could think of only one reason why someone would do something so insanely foolish—to harvest the Hyhborn’s parts for use in bone magic. My mouth dried. Good gods, I didn’t know that was happening in Archwood, and wasn’t that a terribly naive thing to think? Of course, the shadow market was everywhere, in every city in every territory, blossoming wherever desperation could be found.
I closed my eyes as the tingling between my shoulder blades turned to tension that settled in the muscles lining my spine. None of this was my problem.
But my stomach curdled as I turned and started walking. The pressure moved, settling on my chest, and in my mind, I could hear that annoying voice of mine whispering I am wrong—that this Hyhborn was my problem. The tension increased, twisting up my stomach even further. And it wasn’t just my problem. It was Archwood’s. The Hyhborn had destroyed entire neighborhoods to ferret out those believed to be involved in bone magic. Cities had been destroyed.
“But it’s not my problem,” I whispered. “It’s not.”
But that undeniable urge to intervene—to help this Hyhborn— was as strong as any impression I’d gotten in my life. Maybe even stronger.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
Spinning around, I hurried back to Iris’s stall, the hem of my cloak snapping around my boots. Going to the manor wasn’t an option. The Baron would be utterly useless at this time of night, and I didn’t want to involve Grady in this in case things went sideways.
Which was a high likelihood.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I grabbed the bridle off the wall. “Sorry, girl, I know it’s late,” I said as she turned her head, nosing my hand. I gave her a scratch behind the ear and then slipped her bridle on, attaching the reins. “We’ll make this as quick as possible.”
Iris shook her head, and I decided that was an agreement when in reality she was likely showing her annoyance at being interrupted.
I didn’t want to waste time with a saddle, but I wasn’t a good enough rider to go bareback. So I took the minutes to saddle her, double-checking I had it secured correctly, just as Claude had shown me. A five-minute delay was better than a broken neck.
Gripping the pommel, I hauled myself up and settled into the saddle. I was likely making a huge mistake as I guided Iris out of her stall, quickly picking up speed, but I couldn’t turn back as I raced across the lawn. Not when every part of my being was driving me forward. It didn’t matter that I had no idea why. Nor did the risks.
I had to save the Hyhborn.
***
What are you doing?
What in the world are you doing?
That question cycled over and over, or some variation of it, as I rode through the dark, rain-dampened streets of Archwood, making my way to what I hoped was the blacksmith’s, my intuition my only guide. I couldn’t answer it. I might be a worrier, but that hadn’t stopped me from making extraordinarily bad life choices. This had to be one of the most reckless, foolish things I’d ever done in my life, and I’d done some idiotic things. Like not that long ago, when I tried to usher that little garter snake from the flowers instead of doing the reasonable thing and simply leaving it alone. I ended up with a nice bite on my finger instead of a thank-you. Or when I was younger and jumped out the window of a foundling home to see if I could fly. How I hadn’t broken a bone was beyond me. There were many, many other examples.
This went beyond reckless, though. It was insane. Hyhborn were dangerous, and this one could easily turn on me, much like that damn garter snake had. And there was the risk of getting caught by those who had drugged this Hyhborn. No doubt I had been spotted passing through the manor gates by the guards there. The hood on my cloak had been up, but they could recognize Iris. That alone wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but I’d been seen and could possibly be identified. And who knew how many other guards were involved in this? Claude was my protector in a way, but the type of people who would capture a Hyhborn weren’t the kind to fear a baron’s wrath. And if Grady found out? He would surely lose his mind. Or think I’d lost mine—and honestly, I quite possibly could have.
Keeping the hood of my cloak up, I slowed Iris as I passed the darkened storefront of the blacksmith’s. I turned the horse toward the mouth of a narrow alley, and she immediately pranced nervously. Something small with claws and a gross tail scampered across the path, causing me to swallow a shriek.
I freaking hated rats more than I hated spiders.
“Let’s pretend that was a bunny,” I whispered to Iris.
The horse huffed in response as we rode through the alley, splashing water and who knew what. I owed Iris a nice cleaning after this and possibly an apple and a carrot.
Passing stalls full of half-completed metal tools, I spotted the barn Mickie had spoken of. It sat butted up to the woods. There was no sign of life outside, and only the faint glow of either gas- or candlelight leaked between the cracks of the barn doors. I urged Iris past the barn and into the woods, which provided her with some shelter while keeping her hidden. Dismounting, I landed on my feet with a grunt, reins in hand. I tied them to a nearby tree, leaving her enough room to move about.
“Don’t eat everything in sight,” I warned her as I rubbed her nose. “I won’t be gone long.”
Iris immediately started grazing.
Sighing, I turned back to the barn and started forward, telling myself I was so going to regret this.
I didn’t need any special gifts to realize that, but I dashed across the moonlight-drenched patch of packed earth and reached the side of the barn. Pressing against the weathered wood, I rose onto the tips of my toes and peered into the windows. They were too high for me to really see anything but the faint yellow glow, but the only thing I heard was the pounding of my heart.
Neither Mickie nor Finn had mentioned anyone watching over the Hyhborn, so I didn’t think anyone else was inside that barn. I waited a few moments and then prowled around the corner. I made it to the doors, not at all surprised to see that they weren’t locked.
Mickie wasn’t the brightest of men.
Telling myself yet again that this was a huge mistake, I slid my gloved fingers between the doors. I hesitated and then slowly inched them open, wincing as the hinges creaked more loudly than the floor of my quarters did. I tensed, half expecting someone to come barreling toward me.
No one did.
A fine layer of sweat dotted my forehead as I squeezed between the opening and then forced the door closed behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I ran my hands over the doors as I scanned the shadowy two front stalls of the center aisle. I found the latch and threw it, realizing that the dull light was coming from the back.
I proceeded down the aisle, asking myself another valid question. What in the whole wide realm was I going to do with the Hyhborn? If he was unconscious, I doubted I could move him. Probably should’ve thought of that before I embarked on the journey.
I didn’t think I had ever wanted to punch myself more than I did at that moment.
I neared the end of the aisle. My heart was now like a child’s rubber ball, bouncing off my ribs. The lamplight spilled out weakly from a stall to my left. Holding my breath, I reached the edge and looked inside.
My entire body went rigid as I stared into the stall, wanting to deny what I was seeing.
A man was stretched out on a wooden table. Stripped to the waist. Spikes a milky-white color were thrust deep into his forearms and his thighs, and one jutted out of the center of his bare chest, maybe an inch or two from where his heart would be. I knew what they were made of even though I’d only ever heard of them. Lunea was the only object able to pierce the skin of a Hyhborn, and it was forbidden for any lowborn to be in possession of it, but I was betting the blades were another thing traded on the shadow market.
Sickened, I lifted my gaze to where his head was turned to the side. Shoulder-length golden-brown hair shielded his face.
A strange sensation went through me—a whoosh as I walked forward, barely able to feel my legs as I looked down at his chest. He breathed, but barely. I didn’t see how, with all the blood coursing from the wounds. So much red. Crimson streaked his chest, flowing in rivers that followed the… the rather defined lines of his chest and stomach. His pants were made of some sort of soft leather, and they hung low enough on his hips that I could see the slabs of muscles on either side of his hips and—
Okay, what in the world was I doing, staring that intensely at a man while he lay unconscious, impaled to a wooden table?
There was something wrong with me.
There were lots of varied things wrong with me.
“H-Hello,” I croaked, then winced at the sound of my voice.
There was no response.
I didn’t even know why I expected one, with those sorts of wounds. Nor could I really understand how the Hyhborn could still be breathing. Still bleeding. Yes, they were nearly indestructible compared to mortals, but this… this was a lot.
The toe of my boot brushed something on the floor. I glanced down, jaw clenching. A bucket. Small buckets, actually. I lifted my gaze to the table. Narrow canals carved into the wood collected the blood running from him, funneling it to the buckets below.
“Gods,” I rasped, stomach churning as I stared at the buckets. The blood would be sold to be used in bone magic, as would other parts of the Hyhborn. I honestly couldn’t say if any of that stuff actually worked when wielded by a conjurer, but as long as people believed in potions and spells, there would be a demand.
Tearing my gaze from the buckets, I figured I needed to somehow wake him. I stared at the spike in his chest.
Intuition told me what I needed to do. Remove the spikes, starting with the one in his chest. I swallowed again, throat dry as I glanced up. His head was still turned away from me, but now that I was closer, I could see there was a discoloration in his skin along the side of his neck. I peered closer—no, not a discoloration. A… a pattern in his skin, one that resembled a vine. It was a russet brown instead of the sandy hue of the rest of his flesh, and there was something about the trailing, almost swirling design that struck a chord of familiarity in me, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen such a thing.
I looked back to the lunea spike in his chest and started to reach for it but halted as my gaze lifted to the damp strands of hair shielding his face. My heart pounded.
That whooshing sensation went through me again.
Hand trembling, I brushed the hair aside, revealing more of that mark in his skin. The russet-brown pattern traveled along the curve of a strong jaw, thinning at the temple, and then following the hairline to the center of his forehead. There was a fingertip-width gap and then the mark began again on the other side, the pattern framing his face. The flesh beneath the eyebrow, slightly darker than his hair, was swollen, as were both of his eyes. Ridiculously long lashes fanned skin that was an angry shade of red. Blood caked the skin beneath his nose, skin had been split open along cheeks that were high and carved, and lips…
“Oh, gods.” I jerked back a step, pressing my fist to my chest.
The markings framing his face hadn’t been there all those years ago, and this Hyhborn’s face was terribly bruised, but it was him.
My Hyhborn lord.
Excerpted from Fall of Ruin and Wrath, copyright © 2023 by Jennifer L. Armentrout.
