Full of fierce girls, bloodlust, tenuous alliances, and unapologetic quests for glory, this elegantly spun tale challenges the power of storytelling—and who gets to be the storyteller. Perfect for fans of Maggie Stiefvater, V.E. Schwab, and Heidi Heilig.
A dark and gorgeously drawn standalone YA fantasy about a band of mercenary girls in search of female glory.
Won in a major six-house auction!
Frey, Ovie, Juniper, and Runa are the Boneless Mercies—girls hired to kill quickly, quietly, and mercifully.
But Frey is weary of the death trade and, having been raised on the heroic sagas of her people, dreams of a bigger life.
When she hears of an unstoppable monster ravaging a nearby town, Frey decides this is the Mercies' one chance out.
The fame and fortune of bringing down such a beast would ensure a new future for all the Mercies.
In fact, her actions may change the story arc of women everywhere.
About the Author: April Genevieve Tucholke is the author of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, Between the Spark and the Burn, and Wink Poppy Midnight. She also curated the horror anthology Slasher Girls & Monster Boys. Her next novel is The Boneless Mercies, coming fall 2018. She has received five starred reviews and her novels have been chosen for the Junior Library Guild, Kids' Indie Next picks, YALSA Teens Top Ten, and YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults. When she's not writing, April likes walking in the woods with her two cheerful dogs, exploring abandoned houses, and drinking expensive coffee. She has lived in many places around the world, and currently resides in Oregon with her husband.
Part One
The Witches
Chapter One
They say dying makes you thirsty, so we always gave our marks one last drink.
I reached for the flask of black current Site I carried in my picket and put it to her mouth. “Here,” I said. “Drink this, lamb.”
She took a long sip. I pulled the flask away and ripped a drop from her lips. They felt plump and warm under my fingers, like a red plum in August just picked from the tree. I called all our marks lamb. Even the big ones, with thick beards and hands the size of boulders. Even the mean ones, with cold, shriveled hearts and dried blood under their fingernails. This lamb was neither.
She was covered in black silk, head to toe. The silk clung to her curves and moved lightly though the air as if woven from soft summer breezes. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to wear it. Our thick corse wool and furs kept us warm, but they were utilitarian, and plain next to her delicate dress.
“You’re from Iber.” Runa stared at the woman’s clothing as well.
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