The Knight and the Moth Book PDF Free by Rachel Gillig

Rory went to stand in front of Benji. When he slouched as he often did, Rory and the king stood exactly equal, eye to eye. “Perhaps that’s the system’s fatal flaw. If Aisling and the Omens have only ever painted a king as inconsequential, what does it say about them if a king is the…

And struck it. My vision spun. The chimes. The chimes. So dissonant they sounded like the notes within notes, rasping against one another. Against the walls of my head, where, in darkness, the abbess’s voice waited. “All your love and resentment and martyrdom were for nothing.” I slapped my hands against my ears. “My mind…

“What’s the birke?” “A name we have here. Birke-birch tree.” I could tell she wasn’t keen to talk about it. “And…?” Maude sighed, making a face at her own reflection. “They’re called birke because they look like the trees-only they aren’t. They’re sprites who prowl the Wood. Once, they fed on idleweed, but folk here…

The chime stopped ringing, and I was jolted back to the sacred glen, my mind righting. But then-gods, it rang again. Only this time the notes were not melodic. They were ugly, discordant-a horrible knell. Once again, my mind felt struck open, only now it hurt, disorienting agony radiating from my temples. I heard the…

“What would he want with my mouth?” Amazing how, even with a face entirely of stone, the gargoyle could admonish me with a single look. He’d been giving me that look for days now. Maude and Benji, too-though they’d taken to running like dogs who’d heard a high-pitched whistle every time Rory and I were…

Yellow light split the darkness. I blinked against it, and saw that there was a cart on the road, drawn by a gray horse, coming toward me. Driving the cart was a man with a gray beard, stooped over the reins. Next to him, lantern light catching along the angles of his face, his black…

I couldn’t move without pain. And my mind was dark. Violent. I imagined Diviners, lying still like they once did on Aisling’s chancel, only now their cheeks were wan with death. Omens loomed over them, fingers curling greedily over gossamer. When I slept, I dreamed of bodies, broken apart. Of wet, horrible sounds. Of blood…

“Well?” she said. “How do you feel?” “I don’t know.” I looked down at myself. I was naked. “Strange.” “You are. Sybil Delling is dead. What remains is strange. Special.” The abbess beckoned me forward. She tied the shroud around my eyes, then took my shoulders. Hugged me. “And new.” She shoved me into the…

I saw his art instead. Beautiful drawings, some in dark ink, others in faded color. He’d drawn sprites, a few I recognized, many I didn’t. Some looked like monsters-twisted bodies, hollowed-out eyes, jagged teeth and claws-while others were strange amalgamations of birds and reptiles and mammals. He’d drawn gargoyles, too, the detail striking, particularly their…

“Thought about that. Figured out a solution.” Maude hauled me off the bed. Surprised me with a fearsome hug. “Live.” The gargoyle’s stone fingers were blunt and clumsy, mostly because he was trilling with excitement. “Me, a squire.” He held up chainmail, fastened armor to my legs, my arms, snapped Maude’s breastplate over my chest….