Demi Winters

Unedited Excerpt from The Road of Bones

“Let me distract you, Silla.”

As a shaky sigh left her lips, Jonas knew he had her.

They moved at the same moment—Jonas dipping his head, Silla pushing onto her toes. Their lips grazed softly against one another, a teasing kiss that sent heat shooting down low in his stomach.

“Just a distraction,” she whispered against his lips, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

Her hands slid around his shoulders, Jonas’s own landing on her hips, and their lips drew back together. She was warm and soft and smelled divine.

She pulled back, and Jonas blinked in disappointment. “To be clear,” she said, “this will never happen again.”

Surprise jostled through him. “Good.”

“Good.” Her gaze dropped back to his mouth. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll poison your food.”

His lips twitched. “Vicious little—”

She cut him off, pressing her lips firmly onto his, startling him. Then the restraint with which he’d held himself snapped.

Flíta: Similar to butterflies, their membranous wings were transparent and thin as silk. With each flap of their wings, orange light flashed like streaks of lightning from the wispy veins.

An unedited excerpt from The Road of Bones

A hush fell along the street, the flíta flickering serenely as indigo chased the last of the light from the sky.

At last, the old woman who’d passed out the baskets gave the signal. “Ljóma,” she said.

The crowd opened their baskets, and Silla rushed to do the same. The flíta flashed into the night, their transparent wings sparking orange light with each flap upward. She gazed up in raptured silence as thousands of flíta flew into the night, illuminating the sky like living stars. Lips parted in wonder, it was the most beautiful sight she’d ever laid eyes upon.

Silla’s eyes stung, and she suddenly felt so small, so sheltered. She was unreasonably angry at her father, this time for shielding her from so much. What had she been doing all these years? It wasn’t living. It had been surviving.

The past few weeks had been both terrifying and exhilarating, the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. But it was as if she’d awoken, as if she was truly living for the first time.

The echo of her mother’s voice rang in her ears. The flíta are Íseldur’s symbol of hope and rebirth, Moonflower. When they reach their old age, they go up in a blaze of light and glory. And when the ashes clear, a caterpillar emerges, and the cycle begins anew.

Silla smiled at the beautiful winged insects. How fitting to be reminded of them on this, of all nights. Perhaps she was a lot like the flíta. Emerging from the ashes, vulnerable and hungry.