What do you think?
Rate this book


THE SEQUEL TO THE LOCUS-AWARD WINNING AND HUGO, NEBULA AND WORLD FANTASY AWARD NOMINATED TRAIL OF LIGHTNING
'Storm of Locusts might be the rare sequel that's even better than the first' Tor.com
'A purely joyous reading experience. Roanhorse's latest is a killer' Kirkus Reviews
'A must-read for anyone interested in own-voices or speculative fiction' Booklist, Starred Review
Kai and Caleb Goodacre have been kidnapped just as rumours of a cult sweeping across the reservation leads Maggie and Hastiin to investigate an outpost, and what they find there will challenge everything they've come to know in this action-packed sequel to Trail of Lightning.
When the Goodacre twins show up at Maggie's door with the news that Kai and the youngest Goodacre, Caleb, have fallen in with a mysterious cult, led by a figure out of Navajo legend called the White Locust, she knows what has to be done. The Goodacres are convinced that Kai's a true believer, but Maggie suspects there's more to Kai's new faith than meets the eye and so she vows to track him down.
With the aid of a motley collection of allies, Maggie must battle body harvesters, new-born casino gods and, ultimately, the White Locust himself, and when the full scope of his plans are revealed, Maggie's burgeoning trust in her friends, and herself, will be pushed to the breaking point - and not everyone will survive.
321 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 23, 2019
“Your fame, Godslayer, precedes you.”
That name again. “Where did you hear that name?” I ask.
“On the tongue of a dying angel, from the mouth of a storm king. It is known.”
Kai is smart. He would know what those six words would do to me, how they would make me want to destroy worlds to reach him, how they would send me reeling toward something as terrible as hope.
“I thought you were turning over a new leaf,” Rissa says to me. “Trying not to kill people.”
“I was, but that was yesterday. Today, with the whole captured and drugged thing? I’m feeling pretty aggro.”
Rissa gestures to Aaron like there’s nothing she can do.

"You look good," I say stupidly. Because he does. He's taken off his blue jacket and the sleeves of his black button-up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the collar loose and open despite the cold. His familiar rings glint in the light, the big turquoise one I like so much. Everything about him is elegant, even the way he holds the softly glowing cigarette between his long fingers.
"You look good too," he whispers, perfectly sincere.
"Not like you," I gesture to his party clothes.
"Your hair got longer," he says.
"So did yours."