What do you think?
Rate this book


560 pages, Hardcover
Expected publication January 13, 2026
Moc snorted. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. I’ve seen Rafi drowned, tortured, and left for dead more times than I can count. I would have to see him dead at my feet before I were to believe it true, and even then, I would prod him twice and wave a saga crisp under his nose, just to be certain.”
It was the feeling of coming up against something greater than herself, something vaster than she could imagine, something she did not understand and still could not name, and yet finding herself still standing there, remarkably unscathed. But not unchanged.
But if she had learned one thing over these months here in Nadaar, it was that ruin wasn’t necessarily the end. Some embers could be salvaged from the ashes.
But she plunged back into the fight in a shock of flame instead, and it wasn’t stubbornness that impelled her, not a reckless need for triumph or a refusal to accept the agony of defeat. It was hope. Foolish, desperate hope, perhaps, but hope nonetheless. Like defiant embers burning on, it fueled her.
Sometimes Aodh leads us by strange, twisting paths. We may not be able to see where those paths lead yet, but one day, I know we’ll look back and we’ll see that all of them have been made straight by Aodh’s hand.
“Maybe,” he murmured, “this is what matters. Maybe this is how we do it. Maybe it’s finding the courage to kneel in the ashes and wait for the sun to rise again.”
Rafi’s mouth twitched. “I was mostly curious how soon I could eat Saffa’s cooking again. Bushka bean soup, cala root crackers . . . saga crisps.” Somehow, he managed to infuse that last one with a reverence Ceridwen had aways heard reserved for creatures of lore, like dawnlings or winged leviathans or a tangle of sosswyrms.