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"Step inside a fairy tale."-Stephanie Garber, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Caraval
"An eerie, lovely Twelve Dancing Princesses retelling full of ghosts and gods and a fascinating waterfront world and I'm reading it from behind my fingers."-Melissa Albert, New York Times bestselling author of The Hazel Wood
"Chilling and atmospheric."--Laura E. Weymouth, author of The Light Between Worlds
Evocative details and lyrical, moody prose . . . a richly conceived story that blends mythic and Gothic storytelling."--PW
"The novel's vivid, evocative atmosphere will please fans of the gothic . . . chills aplenty."--The Bulletin
"Equal parts gothic fairy tale and romance . . . compulsively readable."-SLJ
"This moody maritime retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses blends elements of suspense and horror for a gothic twist on a familiar tale. A memorably built world populated with a hauntingly doomed family."--Booklist
CANDLELIGHT REFLECTED OFF THE SILVER ANCHOR etched onto my sister's necklace. It was an ugly piece of jewelry and something Eulalie would never have picked out for herself. She loved simple strands of gold, extravagant collars of diamonds. Not . . . that. Papa must have selected it for her. I fumbled at my own necklace of black pearls, wanting to offer her something more stylish, but the battalion of pallbearers shut the coffin lid before I could undo the clasp.
"We, the People of the Salt, commit this body back to the sea," the High Mariner intoned as the wooden box slid deep into the waiting crypt.
I tried not to notice the smattering of lichens growing inside the gaping mouth, drawn wide to swallow her whole. Tried not to think of my sister-who was alive, and warm, and breathing just days before-being laid to rest. Tried not to imagine the thin bottom of the coffin growing fat with condensation and salt water before splitting asunder and spilling Eulalie's body into the watery depths beneath our family mausoleum.
I tried, instead, to cry.
I knew it would be expected of me, just as I knew the tears were unlikely to come. They would later on, probably this evening when I passed her bedroom and saw the black shrouds covering her wall of mirrors. Eulalie had had so many mirrors.
She'd been the prettiest of all my sisters. Her rosy lips were forever turned in a smile. She loved a good joke, her bright green eyes always ready for a quick wink. Scores of suitors vied for her attention, even before she became the eldest Thaumas daughter, the one set to inherit all of Papa's fortune.
"We are born of the Salt, we live by the Salt, and to the Salt we return," the High Mariner continued.
"To the Salt," the mourners repeated.
As Papa stepped forward to place two gold pieces at the foot of the crypt-payment to Pontus for easing my sister back into the Brine-I dared to sweep my eyes around the mausoleum. It was overflowing with guests bedecked in their finest black wools and crepes, many of them once would-be beaus of Eulalie. She would have been pleased to see so many brokenhearted young men openly lamenting her.
"Annaleigh," Camille whispered, nudging me.
"To the Salt," I murmured. I pressed a handkerchief to my eyes, feigning tears.
Papa's keen disapproval burned in my heart. His own eyes were soggy and his proud nose was red as the High Mariner stepped forward with a chalice lined with abalone shell and filled with seawater. He thrust it into the crypt and poured the water onto Eulalie's coffin, ceremonially beginning its decomposition. Once he doused the candles flanking the stony opening, the service was over.
Papa turned to the gathered mass, a wide shock of white streaked through his dark hair. Was it there yesterday?
"Thank you for coming to remember my daughter Eulalie." His voice, usually so big and bold, accustomed to addressing lords at court, creaked with uncertainty. "My family and I invite you to join us now at Highmoor for a celebration of her life. There will be food and drink and . . ." He cleared his throat, sounding more like a stammering clerk than the nineteenth Duke of the Salann Islands. "I know how much it would have meant to Eulalie to have you there."
He nodded once, speech over, his face a blank facade. I longed to reach out to ease his grief, but Morella, my stepmother, was already at his side, her hand knotted around his. They'd been married just months before and should have still been in the heady, blissful days of their joined life.
This was Morella's first trip to the Thaumas mausoleum. Did she feel uneasy under the watchful scrutiny of my mother's memorial statue? The sculptor used Mama's bridal portrait as reference, transmitting youthful radiance into the cool gray marble. Though her body returned to the sea many years ago, I still vis
Get swept away in Erin A. Craig's mesmerizing House of Salt and Sorrows. As one by one her beautiful sisters mysteriously die on their isolated island estate, Annaleigh must unravel the curse that haunts her family. Be careful who you dance with. . . .
In a manor by the sea, twelve sisters are cursed.
Annaleigh lives a sheltered life at Highmoor with her sisters and their father and stepmother. Once there were twelve, but loneliness fills the grand halls now that four of the girls' lives have been cut short. Each death was more tragic than the last--the plague, a plummeting fall, a drowning, a slippery plunge--and there are whispers throughout the surrounding villages that the family is cursed by the gods.
Disturbed by a series of ghostly visions, Annaleigh becomes increasingly suspicious that her sister's deaths were no accidents. The girls have been sneaking out every night to attend glittering balls, dancing until dawn in silk gowns and shimmering slippers, and Annaleigh isn't sure whether to try to stop them or to join their forbidden trysts. Because who--or what--are they really dancing with?
When Annaleigh's involvement with a mysterious stranger who has secrets of his own intensifies, it's a race to unravel the darkness that has fallen over her family--before it claims her next. House of Salt and Sorrows is a spellbinding novel filled with magic and the rustle of gossamer skirts down long, dark hallways. Get ready to be swept away.
Erin A. Craig has always loved telling stories. After getting her BFA in Theatre Design and Production from the University of Michigan, she stage managed tragic operas filled with hunchbacks, séances, and murderous clowns, then decided she wanted to write books that were just as spooky. An avid reader, decent quilter, rabid basketball fan, and collector of typewriters, Erin makes her home in Memphis with her husband and daughter. erinacraig.com @Penchant4Words on Twitter and Instagram
|Titel:||House of Salt and Sorrows|
|Autor:||Erin A. Craig|
|Verlag:||Random House US; Delacorte Press|
|ab 12 Jahre|
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