A Character Interview with Zera from Bring Me Their Hearts, by Sara Wolf **Summary-Teaser**
Bring Me Their Hearts
by Sara Wolf
Genre: YA Fantasy
Release Date: June 5th 2018
Entangled Teen
Zera is a Heartless—the immortal, unaging soldier of a witch. Bound to the witch Nightsinger ever since she saved her from the bandits who murdered her family, Zera longs for freedom from the woods they hide in. With her heart in a jar under Nightsinger’s control, she serves the witch unquestioningly.
Until Nightsinger asks Zera for a prince’s heart in exchange for her own, with one addendum: if she’s discovered infiltrating the court, Nightsinger will destroy Zera’s heart rather than see her tortured by the witch-hating nobles.
Crown Prince Lucien d’Malvane hates the royal court as much as it loves him—every tutor too afraid to correct him and every girl jockeying for a place at his darkly handsome side. No one can challenge him—until the arrival of Lady Zera. She’s inelegant, smart-mouthed, carefree, and out for his blood. The prince’s honor has him quickly aiming for her throat.
So begins a game of cat and mouse between a girl with nothing to lose and a boy who has it all.
Winner takes the loser’s heart.
Literally.
A Character Interview with Zera from Bring Me their Hearts
My name is Zera, and if anyone asks, you don’t know me.
Which, in all honesty, you don’t. You don’t know I’m a Heartless – the thrall of a witch kept alive by their magic. You don’t know that I can’t keep my mouth closed, but you’ll learn soon enough. You’re human, aren’t you? To the humans, knowing a Heartless these days is punishable by - at the bare minimum - a rousing dose of torture. So if you’re wise like I’m not, you’ll pretend you don’t know me. It makes it a little hard to make friends, but at least this way an innocent like you isn’t pulled into the awful spiral of hate Cavanos is sliding feet-first down, lately.
Oh, where are my manners? Here, have a cup of mint-ironthorn tea and a honey sweetround. My fake noblewoman aunt Y’shennria has been driving those into me lately, and manners demand you have a sweetround and tea in front of you before we ever talk about serious things. Not that we’re supposed to talk about serious things at all! That’s not the style of these stuffy nobles. They’d much rather talk about the weather and the golden gilding on their new greenhouses before they’d talk about how the city is burning from the inside out with witch-hate.
If there’s one thing the nobles love, it’s gossiping about other nobles. They’re cannibalistic like that – but not like I am. The dark hunger inside my Heartless body demands I kill humans and eat them, and no matter how hard I fight it, no matter how you look at it - that makes me the real cannibal, doesn’t it? No, the nobility like to cannibalize each other in a less literal way; throwing each other under the carriage with nasty rumors. There’s a rumor Prince Lucien hunts witches, which means if he ever finds out about what I really am, I’m dead. Except I can’t die. I suppose he’ll just torture me, won’t he? Until I break, or beg for a death that will never come.
But look at me – getting my maudlin all over your pretty, clean clothes. You’re human. You’re safe. Every human hates witches, so I understand if you hate me by proxy. I know what it’s like, to hate. To hate so much you want to kill. So much that you do kill. I’m not innocent in any way, so I won’t stop your sword if you decide to cut me. Every person should punish wicked things where they find them, and I’m the most wicked thing of all.
My name is Zera, and if anyone asks and you tell, you’re dead. So perhaps don’t tell.
About the Author
Sara Wolf is a twenty-something author who adores baking, screaming at her cats, and screaming at herself while she types hilarious things. When she was a kid, she was too busy eating dirt to write her first terrible book. Twenty years later, she picked up a keyboard and started mashing her fists on it and created the monster known as Lovely Vicious. She lives in San Diego with two cats, a crippling-yet-refreshing sense of self-doubt, and not enough fruit tarts ever.
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