The Kindle Nation Daily ad today is our second, but they included the excerpt from the first ad.
Here’s the excerpt for ICEFALL you want to read:
“He’s opening his eyes.” He being the boy who rescued us. The boy who risked life and limb to save us. The boy who has never seen any of us before today, yet put himself on the line to make sure we didn’t die at the bottom of a ravine. I don’t even know his name. “Good.” Seville is kneeling on his opposite side. She has a cut at her temple, and blood drips down her cheek, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn’t seem to care. “Check his pupils.” “Hello, you. Welcome back.” Winnie, who has the best bedside manner of any of us, almost coos as she cradles the boy’s head in a fur wrap she must’ve found in the coach. “Please don’t move your head just yet.” Following Seville’s orders, Winnie shines the small beam light out of her sleeve cuff into his eyes. His pupils react as they should, and he blinks. I blow out a breath of relief, and my chest relaxes. The thought of him suffering serious injury when he had no reason at all to do what he did, no investment in our health or well-being… Who is this boy, and why had I expected less compassion, less benevolence, less… humanity from Earthlanders? Is he different from the others? Have we been taught wrong all this time? “Ask him to wiggle his feet,” Lisbon says as she checks his pulse in his ankles. “Now hands, please.” Before I say anything, he lifts both and waves his fingers. I reach for his wrist, wanting to feel the strength of his pulse for myself, though Lisbon is perfectly capable. “What’s your name?” It’s suddenly vital that I know everything about him that I can. “What?” he asks and blinks again, giving a small shake of his head against Winnie’s orders. When he looks at me, directly this time, I see how green his irises are. The green, perhaps, of conifers, though I need better light. “What is your name?” I repeat the question before I start writing mental poetry. I’m strangely rattled. Or maybe it’s not so strange. I banged my shoulder on a cabinet edge when the coach rolled. The camp stove clipped my elbow as it, too, tumbled. And when we finally came to a stop, the scream of the metal being sheared by the road echoing in my ears, my palms found dozens of bits of window glass when I pushed to stand. “Oh, Rey,” the boy says, snapping me back to the present. “Orey? Or, Rey?” asks Seville. “Reynal. Rey.” He winces, but his mouth pulls into a bit of a smile at Seville’s wit. Then he levers up onto his elbows. His dark brows draw into a deep vee. “What happened? Where’s—” “I said don’t move your head.” Winnie brushes back some of his hair, but he ducks away from her hand and ignores her chiding, hanging his wrists over his updrawn knees as he sits. Continue reading The missing ICEFALL excerpt