The Teller
The Changer
The Spinner
The Healer
The Teller - who have the power of words
The Changer - who can take any form of life
The Spinner - who spun and spun one things to another or from another
The Healer - who mend and harmonize things out of love
The story itself is precious. The plot, the words, the sentences, the feelings, the emotions, the characters, everything just fall into place with harmony - to describe with one word - Incredible
How could this story be stand-alone? This story should have a sequel! Or trilogy!!! Or Saga?? I don't know, what I know is I want more. It brings me joy, it brings me tears. It makes me love Amy Harmon more.
It started with Lark's power, Lark's mother and the King. Everyone - including me - thinks this story starts with Lark's mother, but no. (omg is this considered as spoiler?) But I won't tell you why or what. You'll learn at the very end of the book.
The King - merciless King - killed Lark's mother in front of Lark. In addition to that mother being killed in front of her trauma, Lark mistook her mother prophecy as a curse, everyone mistook it, even her father. (Because that era was where people hate witchcraft and thought witches are evil and monsters). So what's the curse? Read the book ~
Let's see what it makes of, shall we?
Twenty riders were gathered in the wide courtyard of the keep, and my husband was bowing and genuflecting when I arrived with Lark trailing behind my skirts. For one so disdainful of the king, my lord was quick to kiss the king’s boots. Fear made weaklings of us all.
“Lady Meshara!” the king boomed, and my husband rose and turned to me, relief in his face.
I curtsied deeply, as was required, and Lark mimicked my salutation, catching the king’s eye.
“What have we here? Your daughter, Meshara?”
I nodded once, but didn’t offer her name. Names had power and I didn’t want him to have hers. There had been a time when I’d considered vying for the king’s attention—I was the granddaughter of the Lord of Enoch and of noble birth, and I’d been drawn to the handsome King Zoltev of Degn. That was before I saw him cut off the hands of an old woman caught spinning wheat into long ribbons of gold. I’d begged my father to arrange a marriage with Lord Corvyn instead. Corvyn was weak, but he wasn’t evil, though I wondered if weakness wasn’t just as dangerous. The weak allowed evil to flourish.
Meshara is Lark's mother. She is a teller too. So the story started with her mother dead, (yes it wasn't a spoiler) in front of Lark on that day.
Then, if you haven't notice, family feud is one hell of famous forbidden sort of love (Romeo & Juliet??) Yeah, the King killed Meshara. But this is the story of Lark and the King's son "Tiras".
Let's see... there's something wrong with Tiras (well, that is not a spoiler but arguable)
The door of the king’s chambers burst open, and Kjell erupted into the room, making me bolt upright, sleep abandoned, the eagle forgotten.
“Where is he?” Kjell growled, as if I’d spun the king into gold while he slept. I shook my head helplessly and extended my arms, indicating the empty chamber.
Yes, there's one important character. Important not to the story but me// omgggg Kjell //
See, why would Lark be in the King's chamber? And it seemed obvious that she can't speak! (Aha! Spoiler!!! Oh not really XD)
Remember Lark is a teller not a healer???
Its gonna be a little bit confusing here,
The door closed softly, and I met the king’s gaze. He looked as troubled as I felt. He wasn’t writhing in horrible pain like he’d been the night he’d been shackled. He seemed more ill than wracked in pain, and I wondered again what was wrong.
“Put your hands on me,” he instructed softly. “Like you did before.”
I shook my head, stalling, wanting to understand. I pointed at his stomach and tilted my head in question. He shook his head. I placed my fingers on his throat and raised a brow. He shook his head once more. I touched his temples, his ears, his arms and his legs, and he finally spoke, answering my question.
“It hurts everywhere,” he explained softly.
“There is fire beneath my skin.”
Suddenly there was fire beneath my skin too, and I felt the heat warm my cheeks and flood my chest. Last time he was hardly conscious. This time, his eyes clung to my face making the act terribly intimate. I was already sitting beside him on the bed, but I pressed my hands to his heart and closed my eyes. My hands were trembling, and he pressed his hands over them, weighing them down.
“You are afraid,” he murmured. I nodded, not opening my eyes.
“Are you afraid of me?”
I nodded again. Yes, I was afraid of him. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to help him, or worse, that I would, and I would mark myself a Healer. I would mark myself for death.
His breath caught and his back arched in agony, his question forgotten. I pressed him back to the bed, smoothing my hands over him, trying to focus.
Pain be gone, illness leave, skin is cool, sleep now, breathe, I instructed, pushing the words into his skin through my fingertips.
Fire is gone,
Fever leaves,
Health in the marrow,
Rest now, breathe.
There, there.
Like a poem? Or a song? With a rhythm?
I'm not sure but I definitely love this! How did she come up with that? I love Amy Harmon <3
Read this book, you're not gonna regret this. NEVER gonna!!!
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