He cuts a sidelong glance. “Feels like bone. Tastes like bone. But it doesn’t look like bone, and it doesn’t cut like bone.”

The Witch Collector turns his stallion this way and that, scouring the village like he’s searching for someone. He shouts at a man who shrugs and shakes his head before running away. He yells at another man running past, but there’s too much noise to hear them.He presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “Don’t thank me, Raina,” he whispers. “Just don’t make me regret this.” The sound mingles with the revelry and ceremony chanting but soon builds into a clamor that brings everyone—even the musicians and dancing folk—to a standstill. Still, I would never call her foolish. Though a dreamer with her head in the stars, my mother is the wisest person I’ve ever known. It’s just that this day is never good, and this year it might be worse than ever before.

I am of the House of Lara, daughter of Elvira of Nailani, sister of witches, and I have come to reclaim my crown." After a groan and pointed glare, he rests his chair on all four legs and reaches for the God Knife. He’s still half asleep, and he’s either grown disinterested or annoyed.

I cannot say why they never tried,” I tell Finn. “Only that I am not them.” I grab the knife and animal skin and set them in my lap. “Will you help me or not? I need the blade sharpened. That is all I ask.” Don’t you look beautiful. I knew you’d be lovely in blue.” She runs a hand over the sleeve of the dress she made me and begins braiding some of the stardrops into my hair. “There. That’s perfect,” she says when she’s finished. “All this white is so pretty in your dark hair.” Surely he and Hel did the same as me. Surely, with all their weapons, they’ll stand against what’s coming. I just pray they stay safe.

But fate has other plans in store for Raina. On Collecting Day, an even more dangerous threat appears, and Raina’s world is turned upside down. Out of the chaos emerges the Witch Collector, Alexus Thibault, the very man Raina vowed to destroy. Now, he is the only one capable of helping her rescue her sister. Together, they venture into a world of ice, fire, and ancient gods with the fate of their empire at stake.

Most battles are hard-fought. Something must always be lost if you’re ever to gain. Don’t fear this. You will never move forward if you never leave things behind.” Every harvest moon, the Witch Collector rides into our valley and leads one of us to the home of the immortal Frost King, to remain forever. Today is that day-Collecting Day. This book left me completely breathless in the best; sort of way. Honestly, I don't feel like any review I can type can accurately portray just how incredible this story is and how brilliant Charissa Weaks is. Her writing is sumptuous and vivid, building a stunning world for the reader to escape to…It is perfect for fans of Jennifer L. Armentrout and Sarah J. Maas—trust me, you will not be disappointed.” — Ashley R. King, Author of Painting the Lines I’ve walked that boundary many times, helping to strengthen the protection with my silent song. To a stranger, the barrier is nothing more than a shimmer in the trees, dew sparkling on a spider’s web in morning light. But it’s much more than that. It’s an impenetrable fortress with a single guarded entry point to the west near Hampstead Loch, through which the king and his entourage—namely his Witch Collector—are said to travel. After stoking the fire, I exchange my cloak for a shawl and head to my worktable. The sun is almost up, which means that Finn will wake soon, and like the others carrying their apples, Mother will return from the orchard any moment. There’s work to do, a plan that I must see to the end, though it’s hard to imagine leaving all I’ve ever known.

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout comes book two in her Flesh and Fire series... Why would Nephele deny the entire kingdom such rare protection? And if the girl is all Nephele claims, why isn’t her power visible with one glance? My thudding heart all but stops. I snap my head around, searching his boyishly handsome face. Why is he saying this to me now?

Fixing my watering eyes on the horizon again, I do my damnedest not to think of all I could lose. I’m not only doing this for me—for a dream. I’m doing it for Finn and Hel and Saira, and anyone sweating with dread as we bide our time. At first, I’m without words. I want to be giddy, like hearing him say he loved me used to make me feel. I want to be moved, so much that his confession changes my mind. It doesn’t, though, and I don’t know what to think about that.