In Mark Lawrence ’s first trilogy , the Broken Empire , we trace an ambitious unseasoned prince name Jorg . But in the second trilogy , set in the same humans , we ’re meet a prince whose muckle are set pretty … lower . contain out an exclusive excerpt ofPrince of Foolsbelow .
Here ’s the prescribed synopsis of Prince of Fools , which is out June 3 :
The Red Queen is sure-enough but the kings of the Broken Empire fear her like no other . For all her sovereignty , she has press the long war , repugn in mystical , against the major power that stand behind nations , for higher stakes than domain or atomic number 79 . Her heavy weapon is The Silent Sister — unseen by most and unspoken of by all .
The Red Queen ’s grandson , Prince Jalan Kendeth — imbiber , gambler , ladies' man of woman — is one who can see The Silent Sister . Tenth in line for the throne and content with his function as a minor royal , he feign that the horrid crone is not there . But war is coming . Witnesses claim an undead army is on the march , and the Red Queen has called on her family to defend the realm . Jal cerebrate it ’s all a rumor — nothing that will affect him — but he is wrong .
After escaping a death yap set by the Silent Sister , Jal finds his circumstances as if by magic intertwined with a tearing Norse warrior . As the two take on a journeying across the Empire to undo the patch , see grievous dangers , unforced woman , and an upstart prince named Jorg Ancrath along the way , Jalan step by step catch a glimmer of the truth : he and the Norseman are but pieces in a biz , part of a serial of moves in the long war — and the Red Queen controls the table .
And here ’s the third chapter :
Chapter 3
I came recently to the throne way with the second toll ’s echo dying before I arrive at the bronze doors , huge out - of - place things stolen from some still - grander palace by one of my distant and bloody - handed relatives . The guard duty eyed me as if I might be shuttlecock shit that had sailed uninvited through a high-pitched windowpane to splat before them .
“ Prince Jalan . ” I wrap my hands to chivvy them along . “ You may have heard of me ? I am invite . ”
Without comment the largest of them , a whale in fire - bronze ring mail and crimson - hook helm , haul the left door wide enough to admit me . My military campaign to befriend every guard in the palace had never get across as far as Grandmother ’s picked men ; they thought too much of themselves for that . Also they were too well paid to be strike by my magnanimity , and perhaps forewarned against me in any case .
I crept in unannounced and speed across the echoing surface area of marble . I ’ve never liked the throne room . Not for the arching grandness of it , or the history set in grim - face up stone and star at us from every rampart , but because the place has no escape road . Guards , guards , and more guards , along with the examination of that awful old woman who claim to be my grandmother .
I made my way towards my nine sibling and cousin . It seemed this was to be an interview exclusively for the royal grandchildren : the nine third-year prince and unique princess of Red March . By rightfulness I should have been tenth in line to the throne after my two uncle , their sons , and my father and sr. sidekick , but the older witch who ’d keep on that finicky seat affectionate these past forty years had dissimilar ideas about successiveness . Cousin Serah , still a month unsure of her 18th birthday , and containing not an ounce of whatever it is that makes a princess , was the orchard apple tree of the Red Queen ’s eye . I wo n’t lie , Serah had more than several ounces of whatever it is that lets a womanhood slip the sense from a man , and accordingly I would gladly have snub the common views on what first cousin should and should n’t get up to . Indeed I ’d tried to dismiss them several times , but Serah had a vicious right hook and a bent for kicking the tenderest of spots that a man owns . She ’d come today wearing some form of riding courtship in grayish brown and suede leather that looked better suit to the hunt than to court . But bloody , she look good .
I sweep past her and elbow my way in between my comrade near the front of the group . I ’m a comme il faut - sized fellow , marvellous enough to give men pause , but I do n’t normally care to stand by Martus and Darin . They make me face small and , with nothing to set us apart , all with the same dark - gold hair and hazel eyes , I get cite to as “ the little one . ” That I do n’t like . On this occasion , though , I was inclined to be overlooked . It was n’t just being in the throne way that made me nervous . Nor even because of Grandmother ’s pointed disfavor . It was the unreasoning - heart woman . She pit the hell out of me .
I first saw her when they fetch me before the throne on my fifth natal day , my name day , flank by Martus and Darin in their church finest , Father in his cardinal ’s hat , sober despite the sun having passed its zenith , my mother in silk and drop , a batch of churchmen and court ladies forming the periphery . The Red Queen sat forrader in her great chair booming out something about her grandad ’s granddaddy , Jalan , the Fist of the Emperor , but it passed me by — I’d seen her . An ancient char , so old it turned my stomach to look at her . She crouched in the shadow of the crapper , hunch up so she ’d be hidden aside if you looked from the other side . She had a boldness like composition that had been soaked then left to dry , her lips a gray blood line , cheekbones sharp . Clad in sheet and tag , she had no place in that throne way , at odds with the finery , the fire - bronzed guards and the glint retinue follow to see my name determine in position upon me . There was no motion in the crone ; she could almost have been a trick of the light , a discarded cloak , an illusion of lines and shade .
“ . . . Jalan ? ” The Red Queen stopped her litany with a motion .
I had reply with silence , tearing my regard from the creature at her side .
“ Well ? ” Grandmother narrowed her respect to a sharp point that held me .
Still I had nothing . Martus had elbow me hard enough to make my rib creak . It had n’t helped . I want to look back at the old woman . Was she still there ? Had she moved the second my eyes entrust her ? I ideate how she ’d move . Quick like a wanderer . My stomach made a tight air mile of itself .
“ Do you accept the commission I have laid upon you , tike ? ” Grandmother asked , attempting forgivingness .
My glance flickered back to the hag . Still there , exactly the same , her face half - turn from me , fixed on Grandmother . I had n’t noticed her eye at first , but now it take in me . One of the cats at the Hall had an eye like that . Milky . Pearly almost . Blind , my nurse called it . But to me it seemed to see more than the other eye .
“ What ’s awry with the boy ? Is he simple ? ” Grandmother ’s displeasure had guggle through the motor hotel , silencing their grumble .
I could n’t look away . I stood there sweating . hardly able to keep from wet myself . Too scared to verbalize , too scared even to lie . Too frightened to do anything but sudate and keep my eyes on that old charwoman .
When she moved , I nearly hollo and carry . Instead just a close shave break loose me . “ Don - don’t you see her ? ”
She slip into motion . So slacken at first you had to evaluate her against the background to be certain it was n’t imagination . Then speed up , suave and trusted . She turn that nasty cheek towards me , one eye darkness , the other milk and pearl . It had feel hot , dead , as if all the great fireside had yawl into living with one scorch voice , sparked into craze on a all right summer ’s day , the flames leaping from iron grates as if they want nothing more than to be amongst us .
She was magniloquent . I saw that now , hump but tall . And thinly , like a osseous tissue .
“ Do n’t you see her ? ” My words arise to a screaming , I pointed and she ill-treat towards me , a snowy hand reaching .
“ Who ? ” Darin beside me , nine years under his belt and too quondam for such unwiseness .
I had no voice to do him . The blind - optic charwoman had laid her hand of theme and pearl over mine . She smiled at me , an ugly overrefinement of her face , like worms wrestle over each other . She smiled , and I fell .
put up by system with Ace Books , a fellow member of Penguin Group ( USA ) LLC , A Penguin Random House Company . Copyright © Mark Lawrence , 2014 .
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