Flame in the Mist - Hardcover

Ahdieh, Renée

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0399171630 ISBN 13: 9780399171635

Verlag: Nancy Paulsen Books, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Wrath and the Dawn, comes a sweeping, action-packed YA adventure set against the backdrop of Feudal Japan where Mulan meets Throne of Glass.
 
The daughter of a prominent samurai, Mariko has long known her place—she may be an accomplished alchemist, whose cunning rivals that of her brother Kenshin, but because she is not a boy, her future has always been out of her hands. At just seventeen years old, Mariko is promised to Minamoto Raiden, the son of the emperor's favorite consort—a political marriage that will elevate her family's standing. But en route to the imperial city of Inako, Mariko narrowly escapes a bloody ambush by a dangerous gang of bandits known as the Black Clan, who she learns has been hired to kill her before she reaches the palace.
     Dressed as a peasant boy, Mariko sets out to infiltrate the Black Clan and track down those responsible for the target on her back. Once she's within their ranks, though, Mariko finds for the first time she's appreciated for her intellect and abilities. She even finds herself falling in love—a love that will force her to question everything she's ever known about her family, her purpose, and her deepest desires.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Renée Ahdieh is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling The Wrath and the Dawn and The Rose and the Dagger. In her spare time, she likes to dance salsa and collect shoes. She is passionate about all kinds of curry, rescue dogs, and college basketball. The first few years of her life were spent in a high-rise in South Korea; consequently, Renée enjoys having her head in the clouds. She lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with her husband and their tiny overlord of a dog.

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The Beginning
 
In the beginning, there were two suns and two moons.
 
The boy’s sight blurred before him, seeing past the truth. Past the shame. He focused on the story his uba had told him the night before. A story of good and evil, light and dark. A story where the triumphant sun rose high above its enemies.
 
On instinct, his fingers reached for the calloused warmth of his uba’s hand. The nursemaid from Kisun had been with him since before he could remember, but now—like everything else—she was gone.
 
Now there was no one left.
 
Against his will, the boy’s vision cleared, locking on the clear blue of the noon sky above. His fingers curled around the stiff linen of his shirtsleeves.
 
Don’t look away. If they see you looking away, they will say you are weak.
 
Once more, his uba’s words echoed in his ears.
 
He lowered his gaze.
 
The courtyard before him was draped in fluttering white, surrounded on three sides by rice-paper screens. Pennants flying the golden crest of the emperor danced in a passing breeze. To the left and right stood grim-faced onlookers— samurai dressed in the dark silks of their formal hakama.
 
In the center of the courtyard was the boy’s father, kneel­ing on a small tatami mat covered in bleached canvas. He, too, was draped in white, his features etched in stone. Before him sat a low table with a short blade. At his side stood the man who had once been his best friend.
 
The boy sought his father’s eyes. For a moment, he thought his father looked his way, but it could have been a trick of the wind. A trick of the perfumed smoke curling above the squat brass braziers.
 
His father would not want to look into his son’s eyes. The boy knew this. The shame was too great. And his father would die before passing the shame of tears along to his son.
 
The drums began to pound out a slow beat. A dirge.
 
In the distance beyond the gates, the boy caught the muf­fled sound of small children laughing and playing. They were soon silenced by a terse shout.
 
Without hesitation, his father loosened the knot from around his waist and pushed open his white robe, exposing the skin of his stomach and chest. Then he tucked his sleeves beneath his knees to prevent himself from falling backward.
 
For even a disgraced samurai should die well.
 
The boy watched his father reach for the short tantō blade on the small table before him. He wanted to cry for him to stop. Cry for a moment more. A single look more.
 
Just one.
 
But the boy remained silent, his fingers turning bloodless in his fists. He swallowed.
 
Don’t look away.
 
His father took hold of the blade, wrapping his hands around the skein of white silk near its base. He plunged the sword into his stomach, cutting slowly to the left, then up to the right. His features remained passive. No hint of suffering could be detected, though the boy searched for it—felt it—despite his father’s best efforts.
 
Never look away.
 
Finally, when his father stretched his neck forward, the boy saw it. A small flicker, a grimace. In the same instant, the boy’s heart shuddered in his chest. A hot burst of pain glimmered beneath it.
 
The man who had been his father’s best friend took two long strides, then swung a gleaming katana in a perfect arc toward his father’s exposed neck. The thud of his father’s head hitting the tatami mat silenced the drumbeats in a hol­low start.
 
Still the boy did not look away. He watched the crimson spurt from his father’s folded body, past the edge of the mat and onto the grey stones beyond. The tang of the fresh blood caught in his nose—warm metal and sea salt. He waited until his father’s body was carried in one direction, his head in another, to be displayed as a warning.
 
No hint of treason would be tolerated. Not even a whisper.
 
All the while, no one came to the boy’s side. No one dared to look him in the eye.
 
The burden of shame took shape in the boy’s chest, heavier than any weight he could ever bear.
 
When the boy finally turned to leave the empty court­yard, his eyes fell upon the creaking door nearby. A nurse­maid met his unflinching stare, one hand sliding off the latch, the other clenched around two toy swords. Her skin flushed pink for an instant.
 
Never look away.
 
The nursemaid dropped her eyes in discomfort. The boy watched as she quickly ushered a boy and a girl through the wooden gate. They were a few years younger than he and obvi­ously from a wealthy family. Perhaps the children of one of the samurai in attendance today. The younger boy straight­ened the fine silk of his kimono collar and darted past his nursemaid, never once pausing to acknowledge the presence of a traitor’s son.
 
The girl, however, stopped. She looked straight at him, her pert features in constant motion. Rubbing her nose with the heel of one hand, she blinked, letting her eyes run the length of him before pausing on his face.
 
He held her gaze.
 
“Mariko-sama!” the nursemaid scolded. She whispered in the girl’s ear, then tugged her away by the elbow.
 
Still the girl’s eyes did not waver. Even when she passed the pool of blood darkening the stones. Even when her eyes narrowed in understanding.
 
The boy was grateful he saw no sympathy in her expres­sion. Instead the girl continued studying him until her nurse­maid urged her around the corner.
 
His gaze returned to the sky, his chin in high disregard of his tears.
 
In the beginning, there were two suns and two moons.
 
One day, the victorious son would rise—
 
And set fire to all his father’s enemies.
 
 
Illusions and Expectations
Ten Years Later
 
On the surface everything seemed right.
 
An elegant litter. A dutiful daughter. An honor bestowed.
 
Then, as if to taunt her, Mariko’s litter lurched, jouncing her shoulder into the norimono’s side. Its raised mother-of-pearl inlays would undoubtedly leave a bruise. Mariko took a deep breath, stifling the urge to grumble in the shadows like an angry crone. The smell of the norimono’s varnish filled her head, bringing to mind the Dragon’s Beard candy she favored as a child.
 
Her dark, sickly sweet coffin, bearing her to her final rest­ing place.
 
Mariko sank farther into the cushions. Nothing about the journey to the imperial city of Inako had gone well. Her con­voy had left later than intended and stopped all too often. At least now—by the way the norimono listed forward—Mariko could tell they were traveling down an incline. Which meant they’d moved past the hills around the valley, more than half­way to Inako. She leaned back, hoping her weight would help balance the burden.
 
Just as she settled in, the litter halted suddenly.
 
Mariko raised the silk screen covering the small window to her right. Dusk was starting to descend. The forest before them was shrouded in mist, its trees a jagged silhouette across a silver sky.
 
As Mariko turned...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Nancy Paulsen Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0399171630
• ISBN 13: 9780399171635
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 416
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland