The second novel in a brilliant fantasy trilogy from the international bestselling author of Prince of Thorns . Behind its walls, the Convent of Sweet Mercy has trained young girls to hone their skills for centuries. In Mystic Class, Novice Nona Grey has begun to learn the secrets of the universe. But so often even the deepest truths just make our choices harder. Before she leaves the convent, Nona must choose which order to dedicate herself to--and whether her path will lead to a life of prayer and service or one of the blade and the fist. All that stands between her and these choices are the pride of a thwarted assassin, the designs of a would-be empress wielding the Inquisition like a knife, and the vengeance of the empire's richest lord. As the world narrows around her, and her enemies attack her through the system she is sworn to, Nona must find her own path despite the competing pulls of friendship, revenge, ambition, and loyalty. And in all this only one thing is certain: there will be blood.

Praise for Grey Sister

"Vivid worldbuilding and fast-paced action...Readers who loved Red Sister will find this second series outing even more compelling."—Library Journal (starred review)

"Once again, Lawrence combines great world building and dynamic characters to craft an exciting, gritty fantasy novel."—Booklist (starred review)*

• "Lawrence’s suspenseful account of Nona’s efforts to complete her training and gain control over her powers balances action and introspection, and will keep readers hooked."—Publishers Weekly
• Praise for Red Sister
  
  "Fabulous, in-depth world building, great characters, and as always with Lawrence, plotting that is fresh and unpredictable...If you like fresh, take-no-prisoners fantasy, this is for you."—Rick Riordan, #1 *New York Times *bestselling author of The Burning Maze

“Dark, passionate, tense, with a female hero anyone could relate to—I was utterly fascinated! This is no pretty, flowery tale, but one of vastly different people struggling to survive when a hostile government comes to power.”—Tamora Pierce, #1 New York Times bestselling author of *Battle Magic

• “The lyrical excellence of previous books is present in full force here and it’s fair to say that Mark Lawrence has evolved into a master of his craft. In Red Sister he has produced a novel that is as thought provoking as it is entertaining, and as poignant as it is ferocious. Highly recommended.”—Anthony Ryan, *New York Times *bestselling author of The Legion of Flame

“In this stunning, action-filled series launch, Lawrence ('Broken Empire' trilogy) establishes a fantastic world in which religion and politics are sharp as swords, with magic and might held in the hands of wonderful and dangerous women. Impatient George R.R. Martin fans will find this a pleasing alternative until the next installment in his “A Song of Ice and Fire” saga arrives.”*—Library Journal (*starred review)

Autorentext
Mark Lawrence is the author of the Broken Empire trilogy, the Red Queen's War trilogy, and the Book of the Ancestor trilogy, and a former research scientist working on artificial intelligence. He is a dual national with both British and American citizenship, and has held secret-level clearance with both governments.

Leseprobe
1

There are many poisons that will induce madness but none perhaps quite so effective as love. Sister Apple carried a hundred antidotes but she had drunk that particular draught of her own free will, knowing there was no cure.

Thorn and briar tore at her, the ice-wind howled, even the land opposed her with its steepness, with the long miles, the ground iron-hard. The Poisoner pressed on, worn, feeling each of her thirty years, her range-coat shredded in places, the tatters dancing to please the wind.

When the deer-track broke from cover to cross a broad and rutted track Apple followed without hesitation, eyes on the ranks of trees resuming their march on the far side.

"Stop!" A harsh cry close at hand.

Apple ignored it. Kettle had summoned her. She knew the direction, the distance, and the pain. Kettle had called her. Kettle would never call her from her watch, not even if her life were in danger. But she had called.

"Stop!" More voices raised, the dialect sharp-angled and hard to attach meaning to.

The treeline stood ten yards away across a ditch. Once she reached the shadows beneath the branches she would be safe. An arrow zipped past her. Apple glanced along the road.

Five Durnishmen spanned the width, their quilted armour salt-stained and mud-spattered, the iron plates sewn on shoulders and forearms brown with rust. Apple could reach the trees before the men caught her-but not before the next arrow or spear did.

Cursing, she reached both hands into her coat pockets. Some of the obscenities she uttered had probably never been spoken by a nun before. Even the Durnishmen seemed surprised.

"Don't kill me. I'm worth more to you alive." Apple tried not to sound as if she were lecturing a class. She drew her hands out, a wax capsule of boneless in one, a wrap of grey mustard in the other, and a small white pill between finger and thumb. She popped the pill into her mouth, hoping it was bitterwill. She had all the antidotes ordered inside the many inner pockets of her habit, but reaching in to recover one would be asking to get shot, so she chanced to memory, feel, and luck, fishing in the outer pocket of her range-coat.

"You . . . are nun?" The tallest of them took a pace forward, spear levelled. He was older than the other four. Weathered.

"Yes. A Holy Sister." She swallowed the pill, grimacing. It tasted like bitterwill. The four younger raiders, all with the same dark and shaggy hair, tightened their grip on their weapons, muttering to pagan gods. Perhaps one nun in a hundred was anything other than a Holy Sister but with the stories told in Durn they couldn't be blamed for thinking every woman in a habit was a Red Sister, or a Holy Witch just itching to blast them to smoking ruin. "A nun. From the convent."

"Convent." The leader rolled the word around his mouth. "Convent." He spat it past frost-cracked lips.

Apple nodded. She bit back on her desire to say, "With the big golden statue." The men had to walk into the trap themselves. If they sensed her leading them she would be dead in moments.

The leader glanced back at his men, gabbling out words that so nearly made sense. Durnish was like empire tongue put through a mincer and sprinkled with spice. She had the feeling that if they would just speak a little more slowly and change the emphasis it would all become comprehensible. Apple caught the two words that might keep her alive though. "Convent" and "gold." She broke the capsule of boneless in her fist and rubbed her fingers over her palm to spread the syrupy contents before wiping the hand over the back of her other and her wrist.

"You. Take us to convent." The man advanced another two paces gesturing with his spear for her to move.

"I won't!" Apple tried to sound scared rather than impatient. She thought of Kettle in danger, injured maybe, and fear entered her voice. "I can't. It's forbidden." She had to get them close. She couldn't do much if they prodded her ahead of them at the point of a spear. She let her gaze flit between the faces of the men, offering a wavering defiance. A defiance that they might enjoy breaking.

The leader motioned and two of his men advanced to grab Apple's arms. A third kept his bow ready, half-drawn, arrow pointing her way, daring her to run. The last leaned on his spear, grinning vacantly. …