Novels by Jennifer Rex

"You have a death wish, Stormbearer," Thalen Veyr muttered, his voice low and bitter, from the shadowed depths of a hidden cave in the Glass Deserts’ foothills."Keeping me alive is a mistake the Veilborn will not forgive." Kael’s dark turned to Thalen, who sat bound with rope, his wrists raw, his curved blade confiscated and lying near Kael’s feet. The crescent-moon-and-thorn dagger, taken from Veilborn assassins in Skalvir, burned in Kael’s belt, a reminder of the hunters on his trail.Thalen’s failed ambush in the canyon had confirmed the Veilborn’s desperation, their plan to use the blade and Serenya Nightfall’s blood to awaken the Celestial Gates for a divine reckoning. This cave, tucked beneath a cliff in the foothills, was no safe haven, and Thalen’s words carried a weight Kael could not ignore."Start talking," Kael said, his voice rough with exhaustion, barely rising above the distant storm’s rumble.His cloak was heavy with rain, his face stung by desert dust, but his hand

The wind howled through the Glass Deserts, dragging ribbons of ash and sand across the jagged dunes. Night hung heavy, torn by streaks of lightning that split the bruised sky.Somewhere in that storm, Kael Dorian rode alone, his black mare weaving between shards of glass that jutted from the earth like broken stars. The air crackled with the taste of metal and rain, the storm pressing close like a living thing.Unseen eyes watched him from the ridge above.Thalen Veyr crouched low behind a ridge of obsidian, cloak drawn tight, his breathing steady despite the cold. The Veilborn’s message had been clear: Kill the Stormbearer before he reaches the Ashen Peaks.The coin had been enough to buy a man’s silence, even his soul, and Thalen had sold both more than once. But this time felt different. The bounty was heavy, the target dangerous, and something about the blade on Kael’s back set his instincts on edge.Lightning flashed. For an instant, Kael’s profile was clear, strong, scarred and

Kael Dorian halted, his black mare snorting as shards of glass crunched beneath her hooves, the Stormreaver Blade pulsing with a sickly green glow under its leather sheath.“You carry death, Stormbearer,” the voice rasped, thin and brittle, from the crumbling shrine’s shadowed altar, its words slicing through the storm’s howl on the Glass Deserts’ edge.“The Veilborn will never let you keep it.”The speaker was barely visible, a hunched figure draped in tattered robes, standing before a cracked stone altar etched with faded runes. The shrine, half-swallowed by sand and time, stood alone in the desolate expanse, its walls scarred by wind and lightning. Kael’s cloak snapped in the gale, rain stinging his face, his hand hovering over the hilt.The crescent-moon-and-thorn dagger, taken from the Veilborn assassins in Skalvir, burned in his belt, a reminder of the hunters trailing him. He’d left Skalvir with Gavren’s warning ringing in his ears—the Veilborn’s apocalyptic vision of a world r

“You’re a dead man, Stormbearer,” the voice hissed, low and venomous, from the shadowed cleft of a cliffside cave overlooking Skalvir’s churning sea. “The Veilborn know your every step.”Kael Dorian froze, his boots crunching on the gravel-strewn ledge, the Stormreaver Blade pulsing with a sickly green glow beneath its leather sheath. The speaker was hidden in the cave’s darkness, their words sharp against the storm’s roar and the waves crashing below. His hand hovered over the hilt, instincts honed by years of blood and betrayal screaming that this was no idle threat. The crescent-moon-and-thorn dagger, taken from the Veilborn assassins in Skalvir’s alleys, burned in his belt, its symbol a constant reminder of the hunters on his trail. He’d come to this secluded cliff to plan his route to the Ashen Peaks, seeking solitude after the ambush, but Skalvir offered no refuge. This voice knew his name, his purpose, and it wasn’t alone.“Show yourself,” Kael called, his voice rough with slee

“Keep moving, princess,” Torren growled, his voice rough as the shale crunching under their boots, cutting through the wind’s howl in the Ashen Peaks. “Or you’ll be drake bait before dawn.”Serenya Nightfall shot him a sharp glance, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight as she pulled her cloak tighter against the biting chill. “I’m not the one slowing us down,” she said, her tone edged with defiance, though her legs ached from the steep climb. The path wound higher into the volcanic mountains, its jagged stones slick with drizzle and ash. The air reeked of sulfur, the Peaks’ fiery heart rumbling beneath them, and the distant roar of a fire drake sent a shiver down her spine. Torren, a grizzled loyalist with a scar-twisted face, led the way, his spear catching the faint light. Seven years in exile had taught Serenya to trust his instincts, but his grumbling tested her patience.“You’re still a royal,” Torren said, not looking back, his voice low but firm. “Doesn’t matter how long yo

“Careful, mercenary,” a voice snarled from the alley’s gloom, low and venomous, slicing through the howl of the wind battering Skalvir’s salt-crusted streets. “That blade on your back makes you a target.”Kael Dorian stopped cold, his boots grinding into the wet cobblestones, the Stormreaver Blade pulsing with a sickly green glow beneath its leather sheath. His hand hovered over the hilt, fingers twitching with the instinct of a man who’d survived too many ambushes. The speaker was hidden in the shadows of a leaning tavern, but the words carried a weight that wasn’t idle. Not like the sailor’s taunt on the pier. This was a threat, deliberate and sharp, from someone who knew exactly who he was. The Veilborn’s dagger, tucked in his belt from that earlier encounter, felt heavier now, its crescent-moon-and-thorn symbol a silent accusation. Whoever this was, they weren’t here to talk.“Step into the light,” Kael said, his voice rough as gravel, steady despite the storm’s roar. “Or I’ll com