TIFFANY WANG’S debut fantasy, Inferno’s Heir, is filled with blackmail, heists and a slow-burn romance.

Read on for an extract.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Blackmail. Murder. Betrayal. There isn’t anything Teia won’t do to stay alive.

Half Carthan and half Shaylani with the ability to manipulate both fire and water, she is an outcast in her own kingdom and has survived innumerable assassination attempts. All of which have been orchestrated by her half-brother. But once he is crowned king, nothing can save her.

When a rebellion seeks to overthrow the monarchy, Teia grabs at the chance to infiltrate the rebels, locate their base . . . and trade their lives for her own.

But as she gains their trust, Teia begins to question everything she knows. What if the rebels are right? What if the monarchy should be destroyed?

Or what if Teia took the throne for herself?

EXTRACT

Chapter 8

Teia was going to strangle Kyra.

She felt her fingers clench the many layers of her skirt, nails pressing into her knee. Did this girl not have a shred of self-preservation? Was it really so difficult to fly under the radar and not martyr herself up like some hopeless saint?

Apparently so, Teia thought miserably. The partygoers had split into a perfect semicircle, pressing in around Kyra. They buzzed among themselves about the audacity of servants nowadays, who spoke like they owned the Golden Palace. The dignitaries, too, seemed intrigued by the situation, although Teia caught the Ismetian representative making a hasty exit. Perhaps she had already seen a similar scene and had no desire to spectate another.

A crevice formed between Jura’s brows. ‘And you are?’

Kyra set down her tray of appetizers. She dropped into an impressive curtsy, keeping the servant boy shielded from view. ‘Apologies, Highness. I bumped into Dalton, which is why he spilled the wine. If anyone should be at fault, it’s me.’

Jura inspected Kyra. The court tittered. Abbott preened. A second later, Jura stood.

His robes spread behind him in a wave of crimson. The Golden Palace’s outline had been hand-stitched onto the back, displaying each tower and turret as he strode over to Kyra. When he motioned for her to rise, his tone was uncannily gentle. ‘What’s your name, girl?’

As Kyra stumbled over an alias, Teia suppressed a groan. Kyra wasn’t just an amateur – she also had the acting skills of a withered shrub.

Jura nodded. Teia doubted he’d registered the name at all, as he said, ‘Excellent. How long have you worked at the palace?’

‘Just over a month, Highness.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘Very.’

‘Well-fed?’

‘Yes,’ Kyra said, clearly perplexed about where this was going.

‘Good,’ Jura said with a smile. ‘Good. Now tell me – how would you like to play a game?’

The rebel girl drew a quick breath. ‘What type of game?’

‘Oh, it’s very simple.’ He snapped his fingers, and a page scampered out from behind the thrones. He pressed something into the crown prince’s hand, which Jura held up for the room to see. ‘If the card has a black pattern, we forget this entire ordeal ever took place. If it’s red, I let Minister Abbott do whatever he wants, first to your friend and then to you.’

Kyra’s gaze widened, but the explanation was hardly a request. The cards were beautiful, custom-made and leafed in gold. Dramatically, each movement exaggerated, Jura pulled the top card from the deck. He studied it with a theatrical slowness, before flipping it around for the court to see.

‘Blank,’ Jura said, his voice ringing with false disappointment. Then, before she could react, he jerked his hand aside, backhanding Kyra across the face. His rings ripped open her skin. Welts blossomed on the rebel girl’s cheek, the cuts weeping blood.

She recoiled, gasping in pain as Jura advanced on her. The card he was holding collapsed into ash as he reached to retrieve another. ‘That’s poor luck, serving girl,’ he purred. ‘Should we try again?’

Teia said a silent prayer. She said two, in case the Goddess happened to have a spare minute to strike Jura down. The last servant who had crossed Jura was a cheerful girl with long yellow braids. After she’d knocked over a pedestal during Jura’s coronation rehearsal, he’d forced her to draw cards to decide her own punishment. Teia could still hear the maid’s screams as he gripped her hair, scorching her from braids to scalp.

Teia hated Jura for this outburst. She hated Kyra for her hero complex. Curse this girl and all her ancestors, she thought fiercely, as she tried to imagine what horrors Jura had waiting when he finished the deck. In the span of minutes, he’d burned through another three cards, all heartrendingly blank. Kyra had crumpled to the ground. Open gashes tore down to her chin, extending to her throat. The left side of her face was so bloodied that it shone.

Teia pushed away from her seat, her heart pounding ferociously. ‘Jura?’ she said. Her voice rang throughout the room, louder than she’d anticipated.

He rotated her way. ‘Halfling,’ he said casually, as if they were having a nice chat about the weather. ‘You have something to add?’

‘I do,’ Teia said bracingly. ‘This servant. I know her.’

‘You know her?’

‘She’s my maidservant. I brought her on a few weeks ago.’

Jura raised an eyebrow. ‘You certainly chose a clumsy one.’

‘You know how new hires can be.’

‘Inept. Incompetent.’

‘It’s hard to find good help nowadays.’

‘Indeed. Although this one takes after her mistress.’

Loose chuckles scattered across the room. One woman batted her lashes at Jura, and Teia gritted her teeth. Let him have this, then – let everyone here have a good laugh at her expense, if it meant they could all move on from what had happened.

‘Yes,’ Teia said. ‘I’m sorry, Jura. I’ll make sure she’s properly disciplined.’

‘That’s all I ask for,’ Jura said agreeably. Just like that, the cards disappeared into his pocket. He frowned at the blood on the tile and waved disdainfully at Kyra. ‘Clean that up. I’d hate to leave a mess.’

As he strutted back to his throne, the musicians sprang to life. A lilting melody flooded the hall, and any unpleasantness washed away. Courtiers resumed their chatter. Servants whirled about with trays of honeyed fruits and candied tarts. Jura was once again beside Teia, polishing his rings against his tunic. The one on his middle finger – a golden Serkawr wound protectively around a large ruby – had been flecked with Kyra’s blood.

Nobody spared a glance for the so-called servant girl. Kyra stood off to the side, a hand cupped over her injuries. Teia could sense the fury rippling off her, could tell how badly the rebel champion wanted to burn. It would have been child’s play to take in the heat, coaxing the flames to dance against the golden drapes.

It was a feeling that Teia was well accustomed to.

She managed to catch Kyra’s eye. There was no way to communicate further, not without the entire court seeing, but Teia gave the barest shake of her head. She held on to the enduring optimism that Kyra’s righteousness would win out, her good nature preventing her from broiling a banquet hall full of people.

Teia’s reasons were a smidge less selfless. Either way, though, the general message was the same.

Don’t.

It was an excruciatingly long minute before Kyra relaxed. She dropped her hand, her fingers smeared with blood, and melted away into an ocean of skirts.

Teia slid back into her seat. She released a sigh of relief and grabbed for her glass of wine. Nobody else had heeded the exchange that had happened – nobody cared to. The courtiers had their sights set on Jura as they flocked thick around his throne. They kissed his knuckles and knelt before him. They murmured about his potential as king.

Teia downed her drink, while merrymaking continued in the Golden Palace.

***

Teia knew the knock was coming. She waited for it all night, pacing her room until her legs ached from the strain. At one point, she thought about marching down to the kitchens and demanding to see Kyra, which wouldn’t be completely unwarranted. After all, the rebel girl was supposedly Teia’s maidservant – and a favoured one at that, considering the Halfling Princess had spoken for her. To the endless eyes within the palace, the two of them were now inextricably linked, for better or for worse.

For worse, Teia thought. Definitely for worse.

It was early morning when she heard the knock. The sky had broken dapple grey against the windows, casting a pale light over the room. It was enough for Teia to count the cuts across Kyra’s face, framed by a smattering of bruises. The rebel girl gripped a burnished tea tray, holding it like a shield before her.

Tension lingered when Kyra walked inside. She chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek and peered up at the new tapestry, which shimmered a gossamer blue. ‘That’s nice,’ she said.

‘I’ve done some redecorating since you were here.’

Kyra, at the very least, had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, setting the tray onto the desk. ‘When you said you could help me before, I didn’t really believe you.’

Teia shrugged nonchalantly. It was remarkable acting, considering her palms were slick with sweat. ‘It’s all right. I wouldn’t have believed me either.’

Kyra offered her a small smile. It was unusually genuine, which caught Teia off guard. Smiles like that were rare in the Golden Palace. ‘Thank you. For what you did during the ball.’

‘You don’t have to thank me – I’m just glad it didn’t go further.’

‘It would have gone further?’

‘I’d say you got off easy.’

Kyra sat slowly on the edge of the bed. ‘What your brother did back there—’

‘Half brother,’ Teia said.

‘Half brother. Is it . . . common?’

‘It can be.’

‘And nobody stops him?’

‘Not unless they’re tired of living.’

‘So is this it?’ Kyra’s voice had a shaky undertone. ‘Did he recognise me? Should I leave Bhanot?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Teia said quickly. A bit too quickly, and she had to hurry to rein herself in. ‘People see what they want to – and all they saw was a servant, not some chosen rebel champion. I doubt Jura even remembers what you look like.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No. But if I were you, I would stay. Especially if you feel like there’s more you could do.’ She paused, studying Kyra thoroughly. ‘That servant back there – the one you took the blame for. He’s a Dawnbreaker?’

He had seemed a bit young to be a rebel, but who was Teia to judge? If the boy could brave courtroom politics, perhaps he was ready to swing a sword. She herself had started dabbling with blackmail when she was 12 and hadn’t looked back since.

To her surprise, Kyra shook her head. ‘Dalton? No. I work with him in the kitchens. That would have been his third offense.’ She touched her cheek gingerly. ‘He has two siblings to feed. If he’d been fired by the palace, he would have never found work anywhere else.’

Teia fell quiet. Her thoughts congealed in an untidy bunch as she pondered what Kyra had said.

Someone else – someone better – might have given up on their plans. They would have understood that the rebels were in good hands, with Kyra Medoh as their champion. They would have reflected on the implications of the Dawnbreaker movement. But Teia had never claimed to be morally sound. Her freedom awaited – her future. If she wanted to rid herself of Ralis, to better Erisia through the Council, she needed to topple the rebellion first.

Teia exhaled. ‘Kyra,’ she said simply. ‘I want to meet the other Dawnbreakers. I want to help.’

Kyra didn’t answer. And she might have hesitated forever, discovering infinite ways to stave off Teia’s requests, if the sun hadn’t parted the clouds outside. A ray of light slanted through the window. They were caught in a blazing swath of gold, something materialised from a fairy story. It was like the Goddess herself was descending from the heavens, returning to extend one more blessing.

When Teia reminisced on things later, she wondered if this was what had changed Kyra’s mind.

Kyra nodded. She held Teia’s gaze. She said, ‘Tonight.’

***

Kyra had given her a set of strict instructions. Meet at midnight. Go to Sunset Tower. Don’t be late.

The palace halls were empty as Teia slipped from her room, wincing at each creak of the stairs. Luckily, the guard stationed at the back gate was one Teia knew well. When he saw the black billow of her cloak, he merely ducked his head and thrust the gates open. She pushed by him without a word, although she sensed his trepidation as he flinched away.

He had no reason to be worried, so long as he kept her goings quiet and his post intact. She’d made the terms of their agreement exceedingly clear the day she caught him lifting guilds from the palace treasury. Teia Carthan might be a source of nightmares, the thing that prowled in the dark, but she’d also given him her word. In her world, that meant something.

The cold hit her first. The wind was a monster, slashing straight through as she hurried down the Royal District’s streets, turning east toward the golden gates of the foreign embassies, the weathered buildings of the Carmine District, and in the far distance, the glistening spectacle of the Flats. Toppled metal barricades were stacked haphazardly to her left, remnants of the earlier commotion from the parade. Crinkled newspapers and broken stems littered the gutters. Farther down, closer to where the road bent toward Embassy Row, beggars slept by streetlamps for warmth.

Teia was intensely glad when Sunset Tower came into sight. It stood before the arched bridge that marked the end of the district, notched with flames and built from polished sandstone. During the summer months, the tower was often overrun by tourists who munched on candied pecans and waited patiently for sunset. When the sky reddened and the sun fell, the entire structure gleamed scarlet as a symbol of Carthan might.

The tower was empty tonight, a deadened piece of rock devoid of any tourists. Kyra stood at the base, shivering furiously, but she brightened when she saw Teia. ‘You came!’

A black strip of cloth hung from her pocket. Teia eyed it apprehensively. This could all be an elaborate assassination plot, which ended with the rebel girl strangling her and dumping her in the Dark Sea. ‘What’s that?’

‘I have to blindfold you first,’ Kyra said apologetically. ‘Lehm wanted to take precautions.’

‘Not with a knife?’ Teia muttered, thinking again of when the rebel leader had popped out Miran’s eye.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ Teia said. ‘I said it’s not a problem.’

The rebel girl tied the cloth securely around Teia’s eyes, and the rest of the world vanished. There was nothing but the wind and the cobblestones and Kyra’s hand on her arm, steering her to the right. ‘This way.’

Teia lost track of time. She counted the corners they rounded at first, but soon realised it was a useless task. Kyra might be an insufferable do-gooder, but she excelled at propelling Teia in seemingly random circles, making it impossible to tell how long they’d walked or the path they’d taken. Before long, everything had blurred into an unending stretch of darkness, punctuated by the occasional whine from a stray dog.

They’d reached the outskirts of the Flats by the time they stopped, where the neatly paved streets transitioned into hard-packed stretches of dirt. There was the sound of a key fitted into a lock, before Kyra guided Teia forward. ‘This way,’ she whispered, as a smothering dampness cropped up around them. Teia nearly choked on the cloying scent of floral perfume.

‘Hello?’ Kyra ventured, pitching her voice louder. She tugged at the blindfold, and the cloth fluttered to the ground. As Teia glanced around, she blinked hard, trying to discern any movement. The room was shrouded in shadows. Bleary shapes moved against them, too vague to make out.

Then an arm hooked around her shoulders. Teia’s feet left the ground as someone knocked her off balance, dragging her backward forcefully. Alarm ripped through her, a delayed warning to react. To fight, to burn.

To do anything at all, if it meant escaping the blade pushed against her throat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tiffany hails from a town in North Texas, although she’s currently wandering her way through New York City. She studied communication and international relations at the University of Pennsylvania. In her spare time, she enjoys reading a variety of books (especially in YA!) and snacking on a questionable amount of Cheetos.

Visit Tiffany Wang’s website