Broken Ground by Victoria Schwab

Author:Victoria Schwab
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

Abeke sat in a large tub, scrubbing the salt and sea grime from her skin and wondering what they were supposed to do if Tasha refused to go with them to Greenhaven. When she was done—with the bathing, not the wondering—she found her own cloak was gone. A fresh one, dazzling green, lay folded on her bed. A tray of hot food sat on the table beside it, and Abeke wondered if this was what it felt like to be a royal. She took an apple from the tray, its skin the vivid green of fresh grass.

She and Rollan had both been given elegant rooms in the southern wing of the castle—the castle itself had been divided into north, south, east, and west. The Greencloaks occupied the north and south wings, while the members of the council, a few noble families, and what was left of the royals (a few cousins of Shane’s family, mostly), took the east and west. It was strange, thought Abeke, that no one had tried to claim the throne in Shane’s absence. Even though Bern had said it was a relic, what with the council in power, she couldn’t help but feel like they’d left it empty on purpose. As if they were waiting for their young king to come home.

Abeke leaned her elbows on the window. Her room looked out not onto the city but into the castle grounds and a garden far below. Feeling suddenly restless, she decided to go exploring, in the hopes that a walk through the grounds would do more to clear her head than the bath had.

The sun was setting as she made her way down the stairs toward the gardens. She was nearly there, her mouth full of tart apple, when she almost collided with a boy.

The sight of him made her choke.

The boy—a noble, judging by his clothes—could have been Shane’s younger brother. He had the same fair hair, the same slight build, the same intense eyes. The only difference was his mouth. Where Shane’s had so often drawn into a smile, especially in those early days—they were, after all, friends before they were enemies—the boy’s mouth was a stern line, his eyes hawkish and sharp.

And he wasn’t alone.

A small ginger cat, little bigger than a kitten, danced around the boy’s legs. Abeke could tell—maybe by the boy’s feline grace, or the way they moved in sync—that they were bonded.

Without the Nectar or the Bile, children were bonding naturally. It was becoming even rarer to have a spirit animal, but Stetriol was no longer cut off from the gift.

“Sorry,” mumbled the boy, eyes darting over her cloak and face and skin.

“It’s okay,” said Abeke. “What’s your name?”

“James,” said the boy.

“And this?” asked Abeke, crouching. “Is she your spirit animal?”

“He,” corrected the boy, “is Barnabas.”

“Hello, Barnabas,” said Abeke, scratching the kitten’s ears. He purred against her palm.

“Do you have a spirit animal?” asked James, though the green of her cloak meant she obviously did.

“Maybe,” she said with a crooked smile.

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