By S. L. Farrell
The breathtaking first novel in a super new delusion seriesA masterwork of myth, The Nessantico Cycle is the epic story of an empire at its top, but poised close to what can be a devastating descent into wreck. advised from the viewpoints of diverse characters, it's a sweeping saga of homicide and magic (portrayed either as a strong faith and a forbidden art), of deception and betrayal, of Machiavellian politics, star-crossed fanatics, and a realm dealing with battle on each entrance.
Read or Download A Magic of Twilight: Book One of the Nessantico Cycle PDF
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Additional info for A Magic of Twilight: Book One of the Nessantico Cycle
L . FA R R E L L A barely-stiﬂed sigh escaped him. “I know, Matarh. You’ve said that often enough. ” He sniffed, looking away from her and back to the painting. “Then show me you understand,” she answered tartly, pressing her own lips together in annoyance at his tone. ” he asked, but didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I take it you have candidates in mind? Someone appropriately connected, no doubt. ” Marguerite sucked in her breath. “It wasn’t your wife’s fault that your children died. Why, little Henri was ﬁve and thriving when the Red Pox took him, and poor Margu .
He saw U’Teni cu’Dosteau put his hand over his mouth to cover a small, injudicious yawn. You bore even yourself, old man. Dhosti wondered whether this was 18 S . L . FA R R E L L what Cénzi had intended for him: a long, slow, and sleepy decline from the vigor of his younger years. He wondered if this was why he’d fought so hard to become Archigos. Half a turn of the glass later, he ended the Admonition and gave Cénzi’s Blessing to the congregation. They left the temple gratefully, the acolytes especially half-running from before the High Lectern as soon as they were dismissed.
Watching, as he always did. Even in the warmth of the sun, Mahri wrapped himself in several layers, his clothing rent with great tears and the hems all tattered, the patterns on the cloth smeared with ﬁlth and blackened where they dragged the ground. His hood was up, so that his scarred and ravaged face could only be glimpsed: the empty socket of his left eye, the smashed nose laying on the right cheek, the gaping darkness between his remaining teeth, the shiny white tracks of burns over the left side of his face, pulling and twisting at the ﬂesh.