Stories are never new. All accusations are written with the same ink. England, 1645. My name is Nicholas Pierce. I am a bastard and an aspiring playwright. Suddenly, my father commands me to return to my ancestral home and become...
the assistant to Judge William Percival, a former witch hunter. Only then does he promise to reveal my mother's name. But as is known, there are no former hunters, so I must be careful. I have more in common with the dead than with the living. Perhaps I inherited a dark gift from my mother. The dead sing to me of their sorrows, and I, listening to their songs, write my plays. But now I have been drawn into yet another dark hunt. The threat of the pyre is closer than ever. I feel like a puppet in the hands of fate. Will I be able to save myself? For fans of Bridget Collins.
Stories are never new. All accusations are written with the same ink. England, 1645. My name is Nicholas Pierce. I am a bastard and an aspiring playwright. Suddenly, my father commands me to return to my ancestral home and become the assistant to Judge William Percival, a former witch hunter. Only then does he promise to reveal my mother's name. But as is known, there are no former hunters, so I must be careful. I have more in common with the dead than with the living. Perhaps I inherited a dark gift from my mother. The dead sing to me of their sorrows, and I, listening to their songs, write my plays. But now I have been drawn into yet another dark hunt. The threat of the pyre is closer than ever. I feel like a puppet in the hands of fate. Will I be able to save myself? For fans of Bridget Collins.