Literary Wardrobe: Daughter of Smoke & Bone

Madrigal felt the first feather-soft touch on her shoulder. She didn’t mistake it for Akiva’s touch, because his hands were at her waist. She looked down and saw that a gray-green hummingbird-moth had settled on her, one of many fluttering overhead, drawn to expansiveness of lantern light that must seem like a universe to them. The feathers of its tiny bird body gleamed, jewel-like, as its furred moth wings fanned against her skin. It was followed shortly by another, this one pale pink, and another, also pink, with orange eyespots on its lacework wings. More floated out of the air, and in a moment, a fine company of them covered Madrigal’s chest and shoulders.

“There you are, my lady,” said Akiva, “A living shawl.”

She was amazed. “How—? You are a magus.”

“No. It’s a trick, only.”

“It’s magic.”

“Not the most useful magic, herding moths.”

“Not useful? You made me a shawl.” She was awed by it. The magic she knew through Brimstone had little whimsy in it. This was beautiful, both in form — the wings were a dozen twilight colors, and as soft as lamb’s ears— and in purpose. He had covered her. 

Daughter of Smoke & Bone is a novel unlike anything. A story of angels and demons that aren’t quite what they seem. A cobalt-haired girl who finds out who she truly is.

Love. Sugar. Moths. Dances. Darkness.
It’s perfect.
And it suits Gorman’s Moth & Moon collection perfectly.

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