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She had lessons on politics, and found them annoying, as people talked too much, did too little.

Born of Blood

And what good were politics when reports claimed the government — such a vague word to her — had begun to rebuild in the third year after the Doom, only to fall again before the end of Year Five? Now, in the twelfth year, the capital of the United States — which didn't seem united to Fallon, then or now — remained a war zone. Factions of the Raiders, groups of the Dark Uncanny, and those faithful to the cult of the Purity Warriors battled for power, for land, for the smell of blood.

Against each other, it seemed, and against those who sought to rule or govern. Even though Fallon wanted peace, wanted to build, to grow, she understood the need, the duty to fight to protect and defend. More than once she'd seen her father arm himself and leave the farm to help protect a neighbor, to help defend the village. More than once she'd seen his eyes when he'd come home again, and had known there'd been blood, there'd been death. She'd been raised to fight, to defend, as had her brothers.

Even as the farm basked in summer, as the crops ripened and fruit hung heavy, as the woods ran thick with game, bitter battles raged beyond the fields and hills of home. On days when her brothers deviled her — why had she been plagued with brothers? Other times she raged.

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Why should she have no choice? No choice? She wanted to hunt and fish, to ride her horse, to run in the woods with her dogs. Even with her brothers. And often she grieved for what something beyond her, something beyond her parents, demanded she become. Grieved at the thought of leaving her family, her home. She grew tall and strong, and the light within her burned bright. The thought of her thirteenth birthday filled her with dread. She stewed about it — about all that was unfair in her world, all that was unfair in the world outside — as she helped her mother prepare the evening meal.

Go ahead and drain those potatoes I've got parboiling. Lana gently shook a covered bowl. Inside slices of peppers fresh from the garden marinated. Ethan, too — he's learning. But to answer the point of your question: I like to cook.

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I enjoy making food, especially for my family. Why do I have to do things I don't want to do? Lucky for you, on next week's rotation you move from under chef to cleanup. I need you to season those potatoes for the grill basket. I already chopped the herbs. Just as she knew they had the oil and spices because her mother and a witch from a neighboring farm had culled out three acres, and had cast a spell to turn it into the tropics. They'd planted olive trees, Piper nigrum for pepper, coffee beans, banana trees.

Figs, dates. Leading with her foul mood, Fallon stomped out of the house. Lana watched her daughter, her own summer-blue eyes clouding. She thought: More than one storm's coming. They ate at the big outdoor table her father had built, using colorful plates, with bright blue napkins and wildflowers in little pots. Her mother believed in setting a pretty table. She let Ethan light the candles with his breath because it always made him laugh. Fallon plopped down beside Ethan. She didn't consider him as much a pain in her butt as Colin or Travis. Simon, his mop of brown hair streaked from the sun, took his seat, smiled at Lana.

Lana lifted her wine, made from their own grapes. We're grateful," she added, with a glance at her daughter, "for the food grown and made by our own hands. We hope for the day when no one goes hungry.

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Colin waved his drumstick in the air before biting in. He had his father's eyes, that hazel that blurred gold and green, hair a few shades darker than his mother's going bright from the summer sun. As usual, it stood up in tufts that refused taming. He had his mother's blue eyes, her pretty blond hair, and the sunniest of dispositions. Then the village.

I'll name it Colinville and never wash dishes again. I can be president if I want. I can be anything I want. When Fallon surged to her feet, Simon started to speak, to shut things down, but caught Lana's eye. I know a leader has to be responsible for people, make sure they have food and shelter, has to decide who goes to war, who lives and dies. I know a leader has to fight, maybe even kill. Who everyone blames when things go wrong. A leader's the one who has to do the dirty work, even if it's the damn dishes. We're going to give her a little time alone, okay?

She'll apologize, Colin. Lana's heart tore a little. Since he'd created a half court on the side of the barn, basketball had become one of his boys' favorite pastimes. Fallon's temper burned out in a spate of self-pity tears. She flung herself on her bed to shed them — the bed her father had built to replicate one she'd seen in an old magazine.

Eventually the tears died away into headachy sulks. It wasn't fair, nothing was fair. And Colin started it. He always started something with his big, stupid ideas. Probably because he didn't have any magicks. Probably because he was jealous. See All Customer Reviews. Shop Books.

Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One Series #2) by Nora Roberts, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble®

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She is also the author of the bestselling In Death series written under the pen name J. There are more than million copies of her books in print. She lives in Maryland. Hometown: Keedysville, Maryland. Date of Birth: Place of Birth: Silver Spring, Maryland. It was, and would be, survival.

A wonder of a place to her, one she vowed to see someday.

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She imagined it often at night when she lay awake watching the faeries dance outside her window. I'm a lucky guy. She loves me, and she loves you, and Colin and Travis. She likes the wondering. Some are too hard. And her time, her childhood, she knew, was counting down like the ticks of a clock. She was The One. Olive oil, herbs, salt, pepper. Her dad had worked with others to construct olive presses for the oils, dryers for the fruits.

Everyone worked together, everyone benefited. She knew that.