Title: THE BLOOD BLADE
Category/Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 77,000
Is your main character hot or cold?
Both, because of his dual personalities. On his next birthday, Prince Arek will be king. And as leader, he’ll need to be level-headed to make the right decisions for his people. But as Rykter the assassin, he is a raging inferno of vengeance. Driven by his flaming, bloodthirsty blade, Rykter stalks his prey from the rooftops, inflicting death from the shadows.
Dear Awesome Agent,
When night falls, Prince Arek trades his crown for a mask and a blade. As an assassin, he’s unstoppable. . . except now he’s been hired to kill himself.
Seventeen-year-old Arek has a lot to learn before he takes the throne on his next birthday. Including the fact that when he thinks he’s sleeping, he’s actually prowling the rooftops of the city as Rykter, one of the best assassins in Troander. Although a lethal force, he’s a slave to his bloodthirsty blade, addicted to the power and strength it provides him.
When the Lord Regent, determined to usurp the throne, hires Rykter to assassinate Prince Arek, Rykter can’t find the prince in the royal chambers — until he looks in a mirror and removes his mask. Confronted with this secret life and unsure who he can trust, the prince flees the kingdom.
Now on the run with the Lord Regent’s army at his back, Prince Arek must decipher the fragments of memories he has as Rykter and learn how to manage when the assassin takes control. Without Rykter’s powers, he’ll have no chance against the soldiers hunting him.
But Prince Arek, as the only heir to the throne, is needed as well. He must reconcile his two personas to wrest his kingdom back from the corrupt Lord Regent — before it’s too late.
First 250 words:
Rykter balanced high on a rooftop, an endless carpet of city lights flickering below.
Just as before, he had no memory of how he got here.
What he did know was that son-of-a-dragonspawn would die tonight. An image of the orphan boy’s mutilated body flashed in Rykter’s mind, the boy’s dead eyes staring off into oblivion. When Rykter found his target, the man would get what he deserved.
Winds wrapped around him, fluttering the dark cowl of his thick black cloak, almost revealing his hidden face. He adjusted his leather mask, grateful for the added protection.
At Rykter’s hip, his sword hung heavy. He itched to toss the cursed thing off the rooftops and be done with it for good. But its hold on him was an iron fist, wrapped around his throat, crushing his windpipe.
Tonight’s kill would satisfy the blade’s bloodlust, but it was never sated for long.
From a cloak pocket, Rykter yanked out a long black rope with a grappling hook attached. He commanded shadows surrounding him to envelope the length of thick cord and cracked the rope like a bull whip through the air. The clawed end crunched around the lip of a nearby rooftop.
Running full tilt to the edge, he leapt into the void.