By Anne Bishop
Return to New York instances bestselling writer Anne Bishop's Ephemera, an international of odd and magical landscapes attached purely through bridges—bridges that can shipping you the place you actually belong, instead of the place you must go.
When wizards threaten Glorianna Belladonna and her paintings to maintain Ephemera balanced, her brother, Lee, sacrifices himself as a way to retailer her—and finally ends up an Asylum inmate within the urban of imaginative and prescient, distant from all he knows.
But a darkness is spreading via imaginative and prescient, difficult the Shamans who guard it—and Lee is the single one that can shed any mild on its mysteries....
INCLUDES THE EPHEMERA NOVELLA "THE VOICE"
Read or Download Bridge of Dreams (Ephemera, Book 3) PDF
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Extra info for Bridge of Dreams (Ephemera, Book 3)
Vanye reckoned again his worth to his liyo, and wondered whether she would yield him up to Kasedre if need be to escape this mad hall, a bit of human coin strewn along her way and forgotten. But so far she defended her rights with authoritative persistence, whether for his sake or in her own simple arrogance. " asked Kasedre. "Hardly," she said. "I took a shortcut. I was only here a month ago. " 51 Gate of Ivrel Kasedre's mad eyes glittered and blinked when she casually named a lord his ancestor, dead a hundred years.
It was bitter: he was a warrior— had been, at least; he had been proud, though bastard, and certainly Nhi Rijan's bastard ranked higher than this most notorious of hedge-lords. But he had seen ilinin at Ra-morij forced to such humiliation, refused Claiming, forgotten, ignored, no one reckoning what the man might have been before he became ilin and nameless. It was not worth protest now: the Leth was supremely dangerous. "I am intrigued to have the likes of you among us," said Leth Kasedre. " "I never claimed to be," said Morgaine.
When it did not yield, the visitor padded off down the hall. " he asked. " She nodded. This time there was a deliberate knock at the door. Vanye scrambled for his longsword, hooked it to his belt, convenient to the left hand. Morgaine moved the chair and opened the door. It was Flis again. The girl smiled uncertainly and bowed. Vanye saw her in clearer light this time, without the haze of fever. She was not as young as he had thought. It was paint that blushed her cheek and her dress was not country and innocence: it was blowsy.