Jay Kristoff - Kinslayer

Tsukiyomi—the God of the Moon. Son of Izanagi. He was born along with Amaterasu, Goddess of the Sun, and Susano-ō, God of Storms, when his father returned from Yomi and washed to purify himself of Yomi’s taint. Tsukiyomi angered his sister, Amaterasu, when he slaughtered Uke Mochi, the Goddess of Food. Amaterasu has refused to speak to him since, which is why the Sun and Moon never share the same sky. He is a quiet God, fond of stillness and learning. He is the patron of the Kitsune zaibatsu.

Yomi—the deepest level of the hells, where the evil dead are sent to rot and suffer for all eternity. Home of demons, and the Dark Mother, Lady Izanami.

Jay Kristoff would like to offer Big Scary Hugs to the following outstanding human beings:

Amanda, for the throwaway line that planted the seed for the entire book, reading it seventeen thousand times, being generally wonderful and forgiving of my silence, surliness and sarcasm.

Pete Wolverton, Julie Crisp and Anne Brewer, for handing me the hacksaw and blowtorch, and helping make this book something I’m truly proud of.

Brunch Bitch, Sharkgrrl, KK and The KitKat for telling me the parts that sucked and saying OMFG in all the right places. I love youse guys.

Matt Bialer and LT Ribar for shooting straight, changing my diapers and wiping the dribble away from my bubbling lips.

The fantabulous Cassie Galante, Rachel Howard and the PR/Marketing posse at St. Martin’s Press, Bella Pagan, Louise Buckley and all at Tor UK, Charlotte “Don’t call me Reetard” Ree, Hayley Crandell, Praveen Naidoo and crew @ PanMacMillan Aus. You people are awesome, and the energy you put into pimping my sorry ass is nothing short of amazing. Much love.

Scott Westerfeld, Pat Rothfuss, K. W. Jeter, Stephen Hunt, Marissa Meyer and Kevin “Droogie” Hearne for not only reading but pimping my warez.

Lance Hewett, Narita Misaki, Sudayama Aki and Paul Cechner for being my gurus in all things Japanese.

The mighty Kira Ostrovska for laying the smackdown on my Russki. “Imperatritsa dvenatseti stolits!”

Brad Carpenter, the web-mastah of disastah, the ayatollah of rock and rollah.

Marc, B-Money, Rafe, Weez, Surly Jim, Burglar, Eli, Beiber, The Dread Pirate Glouftis, Bertie, Tom, Steve, Mini, Chris, Gav and all other members of my nerd posse, past and present, for getting me out of the godsdamn house occasionally.

The inimitable Doctor Sam Bowden, for the hasty class on tension pneumothorax, and dragging his fiiiine self all the way across the country for my book launch.

Eamon Kenny, for setting me straight on all things radio (even though we cut 90 percent of it in edits).

Kristy Echeverria for allllll the gory details.

Araki Miho, once again, for her beautiful calligraphy.

Jimmy the Orrsome for our clan logos (shoulda charged a percentage, man), and Sir Christopher Tovo for the lurrrve on film.

Jason Chan, holy shit, dude. You can be my wingman anytime.

The book bloggers—too many to mention, never too many to remember—who did so much to get this thing’s clockwork wings off the ground. You people are so very, very metal. You know who you are. I know who you are. Never stop being awesome.

The incredible people who made me poetry or music or paintings or reviews, who took this thing I created and created something themselves. That, more than anything on this strange little ride, has struck me as extraordinary.

My family for never really changing, despite the distance and the years.

And last but far from least:

You.

JAY KRISTOFF grew up in the most isolated capital city on earth and fled at his earliest convenience, although he’s been known to trek back for weddings of the particularly nice and funerals of the particularly wealthy. Being the holder of an arts degree, he has no educaiton to speak of. He is six feet seven inches and has approximately 13,250 days to live.

He lives in Melbourne with his wife and the world’s laziest Jack Russell terrier. Visit him online at www.JayKristoff.com.