ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I T TOOK ME QUITE A FEW YEARS TO WRITE THIS BOOK, with starts and stops along the way. Many people encouraged me, and all deserve thanks. I hope I will not leave anyone out, but lest I hope in vain: Thank you, all. You know who you are—even if I don’t.

Careful readers Holly Black, Gavin Grant, Kelly Link, Delia Sherman and Sarah Smith (the Massachusetts All-Stars) gave me the benefit of their whip-smart brains and nuance-sensitive souls this past year. Justine Larbalestier roused Katherine from her sleep in the file drawer and listened to me read for hours as I shuffled through dog-eared manuscript pages until I fell in love again. Eve Sweetser is one of Tremontaine’s very oldest friends, and proved true once more with keen insights and wise suggestions. Paula Kate Marmor made me a promise and kept it. The Rouges’ Ball was Skye Brainard’s idea. eluki bes shahar drew pictures. Debbie Notkin championed the Ugly Girl. Christopher Schelling made me do it before the smoke was cleared and Julie Fallowfield undoubtedly wants to know what took us so long? Mimi Panitch is an invaluable Serpent Chancellor and always says the right thing. Patrick J. O’Connor is generous with both love and erudition. Other wise and patient readers included Beth Bernobich, Cassandra Claire, Theodora Goss, Deborah Manning, Helen Pilinovsky, Terri Windling and of course my editor, Anne Groell.

Many people on LiveJournal generously shared their knowledge of trees and ducks and pregnancy. Joshua Kronengold and Lisa Padol did the fact-checking for an imaginary country; any slips or omissions are mine, not theirs—they did try to warn me. Nancy Hanger is one copy editor in a million. Office Archaeologist Davey Snyder dug me out large blocks of uninterrupted time.

Gavin Grant and Kelly Link gave me a country retreat to write in when I needed it most, and so did Leigh and Eleanor Hoagland.

Finally, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to British writer Mary Gentle, who introduced me to Dean Wayland, who introduced me to the true world of the sword. If not for him, I would not really understand how sharp a sword is and how dangerous; how hard it is to get one to hang properly on your hip, and how easy it is to stand perfectly still while a man with no central vision takes a swing at you with one.

This book and the author owe much of their present delightful existence to Delia Sherman, the perfect editor, lover and friend.