Spotlight on The Last Legacy (Adrienne Young), Excerpt, Plus Giveaway! ~ (US Only)

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Today we're spotlighting The Last Legacy by Adrienne Young!

Read on for more about Adrienne, her book, and giveaway!

 

 

 

 

Meet Adrienne Young!

New York Times, USA Today and Indie list bestselling author of SKY IN THE DEEP, THE GIRL THE SEA GAVE BACK, FABLE, NAMESAKE & THE LAST LEGACY from Wednesday Books. Agent: Barbara Poelle, IGLA

Adrienne Young is the New York Times, USA Today, and Indie list bestselling author of the Fable duology and the Sky in the Deep duology. She is a foodie with a deep love of history and travel and a shameless addiction to coffee. When she’s not writing, you can find her on her yoga mat, sipping wine over long dinners or disappearing into her favorite art museums. She lives with her documentary filmmaker husband and their four little wildlings in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.

For information on release, appearances, ARCs, giveaways, and exclusive content, sign up for the newsletter at https://adrienneyoungbooks.com/

 

 

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Meet The Last Legacy!

New York Times bestselling author Adrienne Young returns with The Last Legacy, a captivating standalone about family and blood ties, reinventing yourself, and controlling your own destiny.

When a letter from her uncle Henrik arrives on Bryn Roth's eighteenth birthday, summoning her back to Bastian, Bryn is eager to prove herself and finally take her place in her long-lost family.

Henrik has plans for Bryn, but she must win everyone’s trust if she wants to hold any power in the delicate architecture of the family. It doesn’t take long for her to see that the Roths are entangled in shadows. Despite their growing influence in upscale Bastian, their hands are still in the kind of dirty business that got Bryn’s parents killed years ago. With a forbidden romance to contend with and dangerous work ahead, the cost of being accepted into the Roths may be more than Bryn can pay.

 

 

Amazon * B & N * Indiebound

 

 

 

 

~ Excerpt ~

 

ONE 

The docks were no place for a lady. 

My great-aunt Sariah’s words fell with the beat of  the heavy rain as I snatched up my skirts, realizing the hem  was soaked through. A rivulet of water rippled down the  steps, where I stood beneath the harbor’s entrance trying to  keep out of the downpour. 

It was one of many lessons she’d imparted to me in my  years beneath her watch. But while my great-aunt was many  things, she was certainly no lady. 

I pulled my skirts up higher as the water rose, looking  again to the street. The city of Bastian was gray, its pointed  rooftops cloaked in a thick, white fog. I’d arrived on the Jas per on schedule, but despite my uncle’s claims, there’d been  no one waiting to receive me. 

I shifted to the side when a cluster of men barreled past  me and their eyes cut back as they passed, raking me from 

2 ADRIENNE YOUNG 

head to toe. The ridiculous frock Sariah had me wear was  completely out of place among the hucksters, fishermen,  and trading crews that filled the docks. But I’d spent my  life not belonging anywhere and all of that was about to  change. 

The wind picked up, stinging my cheeks and pulling  strands of hair loose from where it was tightly pinned back.  By the time Murrow showed up, I’d look like I’d been hauled  up out of the water in a fishing net. My skirts were growing  heavier by the minute. 

I cursed, reaching into my pocket for the letter. It had ar rived on my eighteenth birthday, as expected. From the time  I was a tiny girl in ruffled skirts learning to hold my teacup  without spilling, I’d known about the letter. It was a harbin ger that followed me through every one of my memories in  Nimsmire. 

The morning I woke to eighteen years of age, I’d come  down the stairs of the gallery to find it sitting unopened on  the breakfast table. My great-aunt sat beside it, spectacles  propped up on the tip of her nose as she read the morning  reports from her many enterprises. As if it were any other  day. As if the very air we breathed hadn’t shifted the moment  that wax-sealed envelope was delivered. 

But it had. 

I found the softened edges of the parchment, pulling  it free. It was worn from where I’d unfolded it over and  over. And though I had the words memorized, I read them  again.

THE LAST LEGACY 3 

Bryn, 

It’s time to come home. I’ve booked you passage to Bastian  on the Jasper out of Nimsmire. Murrow will be waiting at the  docks. 

Henrik Roth 

It wasn’t an invitation or a request. My uncle was sum moning me home—part of a deal he’d made after my parents  died. The penmanship was almost flawless, the script slanted  in perfect black ink on pearl-white parchment. But there was an  unruly flick of the quill at the ends of the words that was  unrefined. Brutish, even. 

The thought sent a chill up my spine. 

I refolded the letter and slipped it into my cloak, grit ting my teeth. He’d called me back to Bastian from Nims mire, but he hadn’t had the decency to show up and greet  me himself. From everything Sariah had told me about her  nephew, it didn’t exactly come as a surprise. 

Ahead, the great city I couldn’t remember hid beneath the  mist, stretching along the rocky shore and disappearing into  the hills. It had been fourteen years since I boarded a ship in my  great-aunt’s arms and she took me from this place. She’d made  me a promise as a child—that she’d never lie to me. Through  the years, she’d answered my questions with a darkened gaze  about the family we’d left behind here. But her answers often  left me wishing I’d never asked. Because though I was the niece  of one of the most respected aristocrats in Nimsmire, there was  one thing I’d never been able to wash myself clean of: my name.

4 ADRIENNE YOUNG 

Bryn Roth. 

I’d never had a choice in the matter. It was a truth as simple  and as evident as the fact that I had brown eyes or that there  were five fingers on each of my hands. While the other girls in  Nimsmire’s merchant families were being matched and given  their own business ventures, I waited for my letter. I’d known  all my life that one day, I’d go to Bastian. I’d even hungered for  it, longing for the day that I could disappear out from under  Sariah’s attentive gaze and escape the dismal fate of my peers. 

The harbor bell rang out, signaling the opening of the  merchant’s house. There was already a long line of traders  waiting to pick up their inventories before they set out for  the next port city on their routes. More than one of them  glanced at me, eyeing the trunk at my feet. It was filled with  frocks and shoes and jewelry—things Sariah had packed for  me. My armor, she’d called it. All the things she said I’d need  if I was going to be of use in Bastian. That’s why I was here,  after all. 

I stared at the trunk, considering whether I could carry  it. Certainly not in these blasted, heavy skirts. If no one was  coming for me, I’d have to hire someone to deliver the trunk  to Lower Vale. If I did, I figured I had about as much chance  of seeing it again as I did of getting the mud out of the hem of  my frock. For a moment, I thought maybe that wasn’t such  a bad thing. 

“The long-lost Roth!” A smooth voice carried on the cold  wind, finding me. “Come home at last.” 

I dropped my skirts and turned in a circle, searching the  faces on the street until I spotted him. A young man with 

THE LAST LEGACY 5 

a fine wool coat leaned against a lamppost ahead, one foot  crossed over the other as he watched me. His hair was shorn  to the scalp on both sides, but its top was a mound of dark,  loose curls. 

I scowled as he grinned up one side of his face. “Murrow?” He smiled wider. “Bryn.” 

“How long have you been standing there?” I snapped,  climbing the stairs and abandoning the trunk. He had a sharp, handsome face, but it was his eyes that  caught my attention. They were a pale, silvery gray that caught  the light in a flash. He nodded in greeting and stood up off the  post, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Long enough.” He walked toward me slowly, and it was  only when he was standing a few feet away that I realized  how tall he was. He towered over me, tilting his head as he  looked down into my face. “It’s good to see you, cousin.” I glared at him. “Henrik’s letter said you’d be waiting  for me.” 

“And so I am.” 

Sariah had told me about Murrow. A rascal, she’d called  him. He’d been a boy when she left Bastian for Nimsmire,  but the entire family tree was etched into my mind, each  of the names that lived there branded into my memory. To  me, the tales of the Roths were like the fantastical myths  of the sea that the traders lived by. Except these tales were  true. 

“Sariah didn’t come with you?” he asked, absently check ing his pocket watch. 

“No.” In fact, Sariah had refused to come. She’d sworn 

6 ADRIENNE YOUNG 

when she left Bastian that she would never step foot in the  city again and that was another promise she intended to  keep. 

“Just as well.” He breathed out a sigh. “Come on.” He  jerked a chin toward the entrance to the harbor and started  up the docks without me. 

“But my things.” I turned back, but the trunk that had  been sitting at the bottom of the steps was gone. When I  searched the street for Murrow’s head bobbing above the  others, two men where striding ahead of him, my trunk  poised ungracefully on their shoulders. 

“Wait!” I called out, rushing to keep up. 

He slowed just long enough for me to fall into step be side him, pulling his hat low over his eyes. The rain beaded  on the dark gray tweed like tiny diamonds and the chain of  his gold pocket watch glimmered as it swung from his vest  pocket. At first glance, he was as elegantly dressed as any of  the young men in Nimsmire, but there was a roughness to  his countenance. 

Murrow tipped his hat at a man passing us and the man  promptly frowned, edging a step away. 

Murrow laughed, clearly amused. “He won’t like it if  we’re late.” 

“Who?” I looked back at the man, confused. 

“Henrik.” Murrow said his name with a finality that  made me pause. 

My uncle Henrik was the patriarch of a generations-old  trade in fake gemstones. He’d inherited the business from  his father, Felix, my great-aunt’s brother. When my parents 

THE LAST LEGACY 7 

were killed in a scheme gone wrong, Sariah struck a deal  with Henrik. If he let her raise me in Nimsmire, away from  the dangers of the family business, he could have me back on  my eighteenth birthday. He’d kept his end of the deal. Now  my great-aunt had kept hers. 

“How was the journey?” Murrow picked up his pace. I hauled up my skirts as we plowed into a puddle, dodg ing a rickety cart of red plums on the walk. “It was fine.” I’d been on the ship only one night and hadn’t slept, in stead staring at the stars out the window of the private cabin  Henrik had paid for. I’d been thinking of Sariah. How she’d  pulled me toward her and kissed me on the cheek before she  let me go. It was a rare show of affection that had made my  stomach twist with dread. Her soft skin had been cold against  mine and fleetingly I had thought, This could be the last time  I see her. Even so, I’d parted from her without so much as a  single tear. In addition to teaching me how to read, write, and  name every gemstone, Sariah had also taught me to behave.  And there was no one so unbecoming in her eyes as someone  who refused to accept their fate. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Murrow said sud denly, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. I stared up into his face, my eyes searching his. I didn’t.  There were moments when I thought I remembered the time  before Nimsmire. I’d wake from a vivid dream, with distantly  familiar images dissolving before my eyes. But they always  slipped away just as I reached for them, lost to the past once  more. 

“No,” I answered. “Do you remember me?”

8 ADRIENNE YOUNG 

Murrow’s eyes narrowed, as if he was sifting his memo ries. “Maybe.” 

Without another word, he turned onto the next street.  A half-bewildered laugh escaped my lips before I followed.  He might pass for well-bred in appearance, but Murrow was  a different creature than the ones I’d been brought up with.  There was a sly humor about him, and I wasn’t sure if I found  it a relief or an irritation. 

I followed him beyond the iron archway ahead, where  a knot of tangled streets lay between the rows of buildings.  The filtered light cast a glow over the rooftops, reflecting on  the hazy glass windows. In every direction, the walkways  were filled with people, and the smell of seawater and baking  bread was thick in the cold air. 

It was nothing like the small, quaint city of Nimsmire,  with its well-groomed thoroughfare and small harbor. And  for the slightest, fractured moment, I had the feeling that I  could remember this place. As if I could see myself standing  there at four years old, pulled along by Sariah’s hand, toward  the docks. But again, the threads of the image were frayed,  unraveling each time I tried to hold them in my mind. 

Ahead, Bastian unfolded like a book and a small smile  lifted on my lips. It was a city of stories. But not all of them  had happy endings.

 

 

 

 

 

   

The Last Legacy

Author: Adrienne Young

Publisher: Wednesday Books

 Publish Date: September 7th, 2021

 

 

 

 

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Three winners will receive a copy of The Last Legacy (Adrienne Young) ~ (US Only)

 

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