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It began with a theft. The theft of a boy.
Or, perhaps more accurately, the theft of a boy’s life and future. Young orphan Kellian could never have expected a grand life in the vibrant port city of Castellane if fate had not intervened, but fate did. At the tender age of 10, he is removed from his orphanage and offered a unique position: to become Sword Catcher to Conor Aurelian, Prince of Castellane and heir to its throne. Kel will be raised in luxury in the palace alongside Conor, trained and educated as befits a royal, and given every advantage in life–with one notable exception: His life will never be his own again. Bespelled to resemble Conor, Kel essentially becomes Conor for any occasions where the prince might be in danger, or at which he would rather not put in an appearance. He is Conor’s double, his shadow self, tied forever to a person he both loves and resents–and from whom he might never be free.
Eleven years on, tensions are growing–both personal and political. Conflicts with the neighboring countries are high, and Conor’s betrothal might be the only thing to calm the waters–an idea that Conor is furious about. And Kel is starting to chafe under the restrictions of his position, realizing as he grows how very many of the things he wants–like love and stability and a place to call his own–are simply not possible. But it is not until Kel catches an assassin’s blade meant for Conor that things really begin to escalate, for it is then that he meets Lin–a young physician and a member of the only people in the world still to hold a trace of magic. An outcast from society like Kel, Lin has her own ambitions and desires, and this fateful meeting is about to set a chain of events into motion that could alter the very fabric of both of their worlds.
“SWORD CATCHER gave me everything I look for in fantasy: mystery and magic (not too much, not too little), expert worldbuilding, swordplay and politics, a colorful cast of interesting characters, and a story that kept me reading from the first page to the last, with enough twists and turns to keep me turning the pages. It’s a big thick book, but it left me wanting more. When’s the next one coming out?” – George RR Martin, author of Game of Thrones
“A charming return to the big fat fantasy novels of happy memory, with a modern character-driven narrative. Vivid and clever.” — Scott Lynch, author of The Lies of Locke Lamora
“The tangle of political disputes and shadowy plots that leads to Kel and Lin crossing paths is not only thick enough to make the several hundred pages fly by, it will leave readers eager for a series full of twists and turns. Clare expertly balances the needs of a satisfying plot with dropping tantalizing hints of what’s to come in future installments. Her worldbuilding is instantly immersive, and the many characters are all detailed and memorable, so swapping between storylines flows easily for the reader. A wonderfully enjoyable series opener.” — Kirkus
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“If you were born here, then you owe the King and the city allegiance,” said Bensimon. “You are—” He wrinkled his brow—“ten years old, correct? You must be aware of the existence of the Crown Prince.”
From somewhere in the back of his mind, Kel dredged up the name. “Conor,” he said.
Bensimon’s eyebrows rose into his hairline of thick gray curls. “Prince Conor,” he corrected. “Tonight, a delegation from Sarthe will be visiting Marivent. As you may or may not know, there has been unrest between our kingdoms for quite some time.”
Sarthe and Castellane were neighbors and quarreled often over taxes, goods, and access to the Gold Roads. Most of the sailors at the docks referred to Sarthians as “those bastards on the border.”
Kel supposed that was what unrest meant.
“As always, the King—ever with the best interests of the citizens of Castellane at heart—is seeking peace with our neighbors. Among the political, ah, treasures of our city is our Crown Prince Conor. It is always possible that, at some point in the future, the King may wish to form an alliance between his son and one of the royal family of Sarthe. For that reason, it is important that, even at his young age, Prince Conor attend tonight’s banquet. Unfortunately, he is indisposed.” He looked closely at Kel. “Are you following me?”
“The Prince is sick, so he can’t go to a party,” said Kel. “But what’s that got to do with me?”
“The Prince cannot be seen to be absent from tonight’s affair. Therefore, you will take his place.”
The room seemed to turn upside down. “I’ll do what?”
“You will take his place. He isn’t expected to speak much. You are about his height, his age, his coloring—his mother the Queen is Marakandi, as you no doubt know. We will clean you up, dress you as a prince should be dressed. You will sit quietly through dinner. You will not speak or draw attention to yourself. You may eat as much as you like as long as you do not make yourself sick.” Bensimon crossed his arms over his chest. “At the end of the night, if you have performed satisfactorily, you will be given a purse of gold crowns to take back to the Sisters of Aigon. If not, you will earn nothing but a scolding. Do you understand the arrangement?”
Kel understood arrangements. He understood being given a coin or two to run a message for the Sisters, or the prize of an apple or candy for picking up a package from a tallship and delivering it to a merchant’s house. But the concept of a gold crown, much less a purse of them, was beyond comprehension.
“People will know what Con—Prince Conor—looks like,” said Kel. “They won’t be fooled.”
Bensimon slipped something out of his pocket. It was a hammered-silver oblong on a chain, not dissimilar to the one the adviser wore around his own neck. Etched into it and picked out by the flame of the firelight was a delicate pattern of numbers and letters. This was Ashkari magic. Only the Ashkar knew how to manipulate and combine letters and numbers in ways that wrung enchantment from their design; only the Ashkar, in fact, could perform any sort of magic at all. It had been that way since the Sundering.
With little ceremony, Bensimon dropped the chain over Kel’s head, letting the tablet slip below the collar of his ragged tunic.
“Will this make me look like the Prince?” asked Kel, trying to peer down his own shirt.
“Not quite. What it will do is make those who look at you, and already see a boy who resembles our Crown Prince in complexion and size, more inclined to regard you as Prince Conor. To hear his voice when you speak. Your eyes are wrong,” he added, half to himself, “but it does not matter; people see what they expect to see, and they will expect to see the Prince. It will not physically change your features, you understand? It will simply change the vision of those who look at you. No one who really knows who you are will be fooled, but all others will.”