Меч Олеандра

ЭПИЛОГ ПРИЯ

Малини,

Было бы лучше, если бы я оставила тебе ответы? Написал бы тебе последнее письмо и положила его в твой сундук или в твою кровать, в то место, где я спала рядом с тобой?

Утешило бы тебя знание того, что я хотела любить тебя вечно? Что я хотела быть твоей до конца своих дней? Что я предпочла причинить тебе боль, чем позволить умереть тебе и всем, кого я люблю?

Может, и нет. Может, так будет лучше.

Ненавидь меня, Малини. Ненавидь меня и живи. Я могу любить так, что хватит на нас обоих.

Она шла одна. Ей казалось, что она пересекает весь мир.

Было бы легче, если бы она чувствовала себя больше зверем и меньше человеком. Если бы она не чувствовала себя самой собой, как разбитое сердце неудачницы, если бы шла, пока не сгорят ноги, или спала, искусанная комарами, под черным ночным небом. Но она все еще была Прией. Все еще бывшая служанка. Все еще дочь храма.

Она не знала, жива ли Малини или мертва. Но она знала, что везде, куда она ступает, растут цветы. Она знала, что гниль поет для нее, поет о неизбежном приходе, о рождении, о возвращении жизни там, где она была потеряна.

Она знала, что иногда вместо пота на ее коже выступает сок. Она знала, что выдолбила себя для якши, и первый из них, самый старый, назвал ее своей возлюбленной. Их жрицей.

«Мани Ара, — прошептала она в ночь. «Покажешь ли ты мне свое лицо?»

Земля задрожала вокруг нее и затихла.

Еще нет, тогда, еще нет.

Она ела, когда вспоминала о еде. Она ходила, когда помнила, что нужно ходить. Она тянулась в сангам к кому угодно и чему угодно и ничего не находила. Эхо, пульсирующее и не долетающее до нее. Никаких хранителей масок. Ни Бхумики.

Прия никогда еще не была так одинока.

Она добралась до края Ахираньи. Почувствовала, что он зовет ее, и встала на краю его зелени. Сангам плескался у ее ног. Зелень звала ее, наблюдала за ней. Деревья склонялись к ней при ее приближении.

У подножия Хираны она увидела того, кто ждал ее.

Не Бхумика. Не Рукх. Не Биллу, не хмурая Халида. Ни Критика с прямой спиной, ни Ганам со скрещенными руками.

Только один незнакомец.

Высокий, как никто другой, с дикими волосами, с листьями серебра, золота, зелени. Ветер подхватывал его волосы и заставлял их красиво развеваться, обвивая лицо.

Его лицо.

«Ашок, — прошептала она.

Он смотрел на нее с торжественным выражением, которое не было похоже на лицо ее брата. Как будто лицо ее брата было красиво вырезано из дерева. Как маска.

«Прия, — сказал он. «Сестра. Добро пожаловать домой».

История продолжается в...

ТРЕТЬЕЙ КНИГЕ «ПЫЛАЮЩИХ КОРОЛЕВСТВ

БЛАГОДАРНОСТИ

Мне было трудно писать«Меч Олеандра», и я никогда бы не смогла закончить ее без помощи, руководства и просто доброты целой армии людей, включая моего замечательного агента Лору Крокетт и всю команду Triada US. Спасибо всей команде издательства Orbit US и UK, особенно моему замечательному редактору Приянке Кришнан, Хиллари Сэймс, Эллен Райт, Анджеле Ман, Дженни Хилл, Назии Хатун, Анне Джексон, Тиму Холману, Брин А. Макдональд, Эми Дж. Шнайдер, Кейси Даворен и Лорен Панепинто. Спасибо Мике Эпштейну за потрясающе красивую обложку. И спасибо команде Hachette Audio и моему диктору аудиокниги, Широми Арсерио.

Я определенно кого-то забыл, и этому человеку: Спасибо. Мне очень жаль. Я куплю тебе шоколадки с извинениями. Просто дайте мне знать, что вам нравится.

Мне очень повезло, что у меня есть такие замечательные друзья. Спасибо всем вам (надеюсь, вы знаете, кто вы такие) за то, что были рядом со мной. Особенно моим друзьям по бункеру, а также друзьям в Лондоне. Любовь и благодарность моей семье, которая была очень добра ко мне на протяжении всего процесса написания книги, даже несмотря на то, что это превратило меня в гремлина. Особенно спасибо моей маме. И всегда спасибо Карли. Ты — лучшая из меня.

Спасибо моим читателям за то, что присоединились ко мне во второй книге этой серии. Я так рада, что вы здесь. Надеюсь, это было не слишком травматично.

И наконец, спасибо Асами, которая была писательской кошкой до мозга костей и сидела со мной каждую ночь, пока я работала над этой книгой. Надеюсь, тебе тепло и безопасно в огромной кошачьей корзине на небе.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ahiranyi

Amina — Scribe

Anil — Villager

Ashok — Rebel against Parijatdvipan rule, temple son, deceased

Bhumika — Temple elder, ruler of Ahiranya

Billu — Cook in the household of the regent of Ahiranya

Bojal — Temple elder, deceased

Chandni — Temple elder, deceased

Dhiren — Villager, rot sufferer

Ganam — Mask-keeper, once-born, ex-rebel against Parijatdvipan rule

Jeevan — Captain of the guard to the elders of Ahiranya

Karan — Ahiranyi soldier

Khalida — Maidservant to Lady Bhumika

Kritika — Mask-keeper, ex-rebel against Parijatdvipan rule

Mani Ara — Yaksa

Nandi — Temple son, deceased

Nitin — Ahiranyi soldier

Padma — Daughter of Bhumika

Priya — Temple elder, ruler of Ahiranya

Rukh — Young servant in the household of the temple elders, rot sufferer

Sanjana — Temple daughter, deceased

Sendhil — Temple elder, deceased

Sima — Priya's friend, advisor

Aloran

Alori — Princess of Alor, attendant of Princess Malini, deceased

Rao — Prince of Alor

Viraj — King of Alor

Yogesh — Military administrator

Dwarali

Khalil — Lord of the Lal Qila

Manvi — Archer, guardswoman of Lady Raziya

Raziya — Highborn lady, wife of Lord Khalil

Sahar — Archer, guardswoman of Lady Raziya

Parijati

Aditya — Ex — crown prince of Parijatdvipa; priest of the nameless

Chandra — Emperor of Parijatdvipa

Deepa — Daughter of Lord Mahesh

Divyanshi — First mother of flame, founder of Parijatdvipa, deceased

Hemanth — High Priest of the Mothers of Flame

Kartik — Priest of the Mothers of Flame; faceless son

Lata — Sage

Mahesh — Highborn lord, loyal to Prince Aditya

Mitul — Priest of the Mothers of Flame

Malini — Empress of Parijatdvipa

Narina — Noble attendant of Princess Malini, deceased

Sikander — Previous emperor of Parijatdvipa, deceased

Sushant — Highborn lord; advisor to Emperor Chandra

Vikram — Regent of Ahiranya, deceased

Saketan

Ashutosh — Low prince of Saketa

High Prince — Ruler of Saketa

Kunal — Son of the High Prince; royal heir to Saketa

Narayan — Highborn lord

Prem — Low prince of Saketa, deceased

Romesh — Liegeman to low prince Ashutosh; rot sufferer

Varsha — Daughter of the High Prince, wife of Emperor Chandra

Srugani

Prakash — Highborn lord

Rohit — Highborn lord

extras

meet the author

Photo Credit: Shekhar Bhatia

TASHA SURI is the author of the Burning Kingdoms trilogy, the Books of Ambha duology, and the YA novel What Souls Are Made Of. She studied English and creative writing at Warwick University and is now a cat-owning librarian in London. A love of period Bollywood films, history, and mythology led her to write South Asian — influenced fantasy. Find her on Twitter @tashadrinkstea.

Find out more about Tasha Suri and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at orbitbooks.net.

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THE OLEANDER SWORD

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THE CITY OF DUSK

Book One of The Dark Gods

by

Tara Sim

For every realm, there is a god.

For every god, there is an heir.

For every heir, there is a price.

The Four Realms — Life, Death, Light, and Darkness — all converge on the City of Dusk. But the gods have withdrawn their favor from the once thriving and vibrant metropolis. And without it, all the realms are dying.

Unwilling to stand by and watch the destruction, the four heirs to divine power — Angelica, an elementalist with her eyes set on the throne; Risha, a necromancer fighting to keep the peace; Nikolas, a soldier who struggles to see the light; and Taesia, a shadow-wielding rogue with a reckless heart — will become reluctant allies in the quest to save their city.

But their rebellion will cost them dearly.

I

Taesia Lastrider had never considered herself a good person, nor did she have any intention of becoming one.

She was fine with that. Beyond the confines of her House's villa, she was freer to do whatever she wanted. Be whomever she wanted.

The last breath of summer's heat coiled around her as she shifted in the shadow of a market awning. Shoppers were buying melon juice and sarab, a clear Parithvian alcohol served with a pinch of orange-colored spice that cooled the body down. Jewelry on a nearby cart glittered in the sunlight, cuffs of hammered silver and brass sending spangles into her vision. Taesia blinked and retreated even farther into the shade.

It put her in view of the building she had been adamantly trying to ignore. But it was almost impossible to overlook the size of it, the swirling, conch-like design of shimmering sandstone, the length of the shadow it cast across the city of Nexus.

It was quite lovely, for a prison. But crack that pretty shell open, and all its filth would come pouring out, the discarded and condemned souls of Nexus's convicts.

Someone bumped into her as they passed by, and the shadows twitched at her fingertips. She was so jumpy it took her a moment to realize it was merely a common thieves' tactic: make someone paranoid enough to pat their trousers or their sleeves to know where to strike later.

An amateur trick. It didn't matter there were more guards than usual patrolling the marketplace; pickpockets would take any chance they could get.

At the next stall over, a man was prying open boxes with a crowbar, chatting with the vendor as they checked the wares inside. “Would've gotten here sooner if I hadn't been held at the city gates,” the man with the crowbar said. “Guards were sniffing around me like the dogs they are.”

“King's got 'em on alert.” The vendor glanced at the nearest guards and lowered his voice. “Had an incident not too long ago. Some weird magic shit went down near the palace.”

“What kinda weird magic?”

“Wasn't there myself, but sounds to me like it was necromancy. Folks say a buncha spirits came and wrecked shit.”

“Spirits? Were the Vakaras acting up? I've heard they can kill with just a snap of their fingers.”

This caught Taesia's attention like thread on a nail. It was well known throughout Vaega — as well as beyond its borders — that those who made up House Vakara, descended from the god of death, were the only ones who possessed the power of necromancy. It was also well known that once in a while, a stray spirit managed to wander from Nexus's overcrowded necropolis to cause trouble.

But the incident the two men were gossiping about had been different: a sudden influx of violent spirits converging close to the palace square, destroying buildings and harming those unfortunate enough to be in their path. People had been rightfully terrified — and confused about who to blame.

“No idea,” the vendor mumbled. “But it was nasty stuff. Heard a man got his arm ripped clean off. Whole city's gonna be tighter than a clenched asshole from now on.”

A tremor rolled across her body as Taesia turned back to the Gravespire. When the vendor beside her wasn't looking, she grabbed a glass of sarab and downed it in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist.

Citizens blaming the Houses for their troubles wasn't anything new. But the thought of Risha getting caught up in it made her want to punch something.

The shadows twitched again. Impatience crackled at the base of her lungs, made her roll onto the balls of her feet as if poised on the edge of something reckless.

“Follow me,” a low voice whispered behind her.

She breathed a sigh of relief and waited a couple seconds before turning and following her brother through the market. Dante was dressed down today in a long, sleeveless tunic with a hood, the lean muscle of his dusky brown arms on display. A few people pretended not to stare as he stalked by. Not in recognition, but in appreciation of his features despite the hood's shadow. Or maybe they were drawn to the smooth, confident way he moved, the way Taesia never seemed to get quite right.

“Did you get the information you needed?” she whispered.

“I did. We should be—”

She nearly ran into his back when he suddenly stopped. He lifted a hand for her to stay put.

She soon saw why. A couple Greyhounds had descended on a confused vendor. They were inspecting jars from her stall, dropping what didn't interest them to the ground. The vendor flinched at the sound of breaking pottery.

Taesia cursed under her breath. Although the vendor had no horns, the bluish dark of her skin and the white tattoos on her forehead marked her as a Noctan. Perhaps a mixed-race offspring from one of the refugees. Mixed blood would explain how she could stand to be in this heat in the middle of the day; most of the night-dwellers from Noctus couldn't bear it, often getting sunsick if forced to endure it for too long.

“Please, I have no contraband,” the vendor said softly. They were beginning to draw spectators eagerly searching for a distraction from the heat. “These were all fairly traded within Vaega.”

“We're not looking for foreign goods,” one of the guards said.

His partner waved a small pot in his direction. The guard took it, sniffed, and scowled.

“Sulfur.” The single word was leveled at the vendor like an arrow. “A Conjuration ingredient.”

Taesia sucked in a breath. While many were eager to call the incident last week necromancy, the Vakaras had never been shy to demonstrate their magic, and their methods didn't line up with the attack. For in the ravaged spot where the spirits had congregated, something had been left behind: a cleverly drawn circle containing a seven-pointed star and a ring of strange glyphs.

Conjuration. An occult practice that hadn't been seen in decades.

The vendor shook. “I–I didn't know! I swear, I—”

The Greyhounds didn't waste time listening to her stammer. They shackled her wrists as excited murmurs ran through the small crowd they'd gathered.

“Wouldn't have bought from her anyway,” someone muttered. “Anything the Noctans touch is tainted.”

“Did they say Conjuration? Isn't that demon—?”

“Shh! The Greyhounds won't hesitate to haul you off, too.”

“She should have stayed in the Noctus Quarter.”

Taesia curled her hand into a fist. Dante grabbed her as she took a step forward.

“Don't,” he said. Not a warning, but an order.

“We're responsible for the refugees.”

“They're cracking down on Conjuration materials,” Dante whispered. “If you interfere, think about how it'll reflect on the House.”

She didn't give two shits about that. “You're saying you're all right with this?”

“Of course I'm not. But we can't do anything about it right now.”

Taesia watched the guards haul away the vendor, who was trying and failing to stifle her terrified tears. Dante didn't let Taesia go until the tension left her body. When he did, she spun to face him. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? You said it yourself: We can't have anything negatively impacting the House.” She dropped her voice to a murmur. “Especially considering what the Vakaras are going through. Even if you manage to find what you need, what are you going to do with it?”

“Not summon a horde of spirits, if that's what you're concerned about.”

It wasn't — not really — but there was so much about Conjuration they didn't understand, since all the old texts had been destroyed.

“You want to put a stop to these scenes, right?” Dante nodded in the direction of the vendor's abandoned stall. “To not have to worry about House politics when it comes to issues like defending the people?”

She swallowed, certain her hunger for that very thing was plain on her face. “What does that have to do with Conjuration?”

“Indulge me a little longer, and you'll see.” He paused, then leaned forward and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

“Don't worry about it.”

They walked past the beehive hum of the crowd and continued on to the edge of the market, where four children were playing with a couple of dogs. A gangly man was slumped over a counter. He watched the children with an air of someone who probably should be worried about their safety but couldn't muster up the energy.

“I don't want to be Thana,” one of the children was complaining in a nasal voice. “Thana's scary. I want to be Deia!”

“I'm Deia,” said another child, a tall girl with dirt smudged across her face. “I'm always Deia.”

“Just because you have weak earth magic doesn't mean you can be Deia every time,” mumbled a boy with Mariian black skin. Judging by the crown made of twigs and sticks resting on the tight coils of his hair, he was supposed to play the part of Nyx, god of night and shadow.

“It's not weak!” With a flick of her finger, she flung a pebble at his forehead, making him cry out.

“You can be Phos instead,” said the last child, likely the Mariian boy's brother. He handed the girl who didn't want to be Thana his toy wings made of fluttering leaves, which made her brighten. “And I'll be Thana. I'll put her in a cage of bones.”

Taesia smiled wryly. It was common for children to play at being gods; she herself had done it with her siblings when they were younger. That was before they'd understood only one god demanded their family's piety.

Dante rapped his knuckles on the wooden counter, making the gangly man start. “Heard you have good prices,” Dante said, his cautious inflection almost making it a question.

The corner of the man's mouth twitched. “Come see for yourself.”

Dante glanced at the children, the dogs barking and chasing after them when they ran. “Will they be all right on their own?”

The man shrugged and headed toward the nearest alley. They were led away from the market to a building that had seen better days, with a tarp-covered window and weeds sprouting along its base. The man eased the door open and ushered them inside. A second door on the far end of the room was open, revealing a set of stairs leading down. Taesia's nose wrinkled immediately at the smell, a bitter blend of ash and pepper.

“Ruben,” the gangly man called. “Customer.” He left to return to the market.

A heavyset man in shirtsleeves appeared on the stairs, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “Hello, hello. This way, please.”

Dante kept his hood up as he and Taesia descended into a basement. It might have once been a wine cellar, cramped and cool. But instead of racks of wine, the place was now stocked with sacks of herbs and roots, boxes of chalk, and jars of sulfur. There was even a display of small knives along the wall.

Dante's eyes lit up the way Taesia imagined a librarian's would at finding a rare book for their collection. He began to wade through the assortment, peering into sacks and running his hands through unknown substances. Taesia meandered toward the knives and inspected one with a serpentine blade.

The man, Ruben, cleared his throat. “Let's keep this brief, yes? No guards saw you come this way?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” Dante's voice was distant, the tone he got when someone tried to interrupt him. He picked up a jar and shook it, the black specks inside rattling. “What's this?”

“That would be powdered lodestone.”

“And what does it do?”

“It's a magnetized bit of mineral, known for attracting iron. Rich deposits of it along the eastern coast.”

“I'll take ten grams, as well as loose chalk.” Dante paused before pointing at a nearby sack. “Throw in some hellebore root as well.”

Taesia grimaced. For all his intelligence and charisma, her brother wasn't particularly skilled at pretending to be something he was not. The order strung through his words might as well have painted a broadsheet across his face reading I'm a noble, can't you tell?

Ruben didn't seem particularly affected by it either way. Taesia obediently held the sachet of hellebore root Dante handed to her while he tucked the vial of powdered lodestone and pouch of chalk into his own pockets. Coins exchanged hands, the clink of gold loud in the cellar.

“A pleasure,” Ruben said with a sickly smile.

Taesia took a much-needed deep breath once they were back on the street. “Again, are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I'll be careful.” Despite Dante's light tone, she noted the divot between his brows. He was nervous.

Spotting the tip of the Gravespire rising above the buildings, Taesia thought about the Noctan who had been hauled away and swallowed.

Nexus had once prided itself on harboring people from every country, every realm, to form an eclectic microcosm of their broad universe. Now it seemed as if they were doing their best to eradicate those who didn't belong, whatever that meant.

She was jolted from her thoughts when someone slammed into her and sent her crashing to the ground.

“Stop her!” someone shouted.

Taesia gaped up at the face staring down at hers. The girl couldn't have been much older than her, with lustrous black skin and a cloud of dark hair. She winked and scrambled off Taesia in a flash, slipping into the startled crowd like a fish.

Dante helped her up as a few Greyhounds ran by in pursuit. Taesia stared after the girl, rubbing a sore spot on her chest.

“You all right?” Dante asked.

“Yeah, I'm—” She checked her pockets. “She stole the hellebore root!” Not an amateur thief, then.

Dante shushed her. “It's fine, I can get by without — Tae!”

She charged after the thief with a fire kindled in her chest, stoked and restless since Dante had stopped her from interfering with the guards.

Finally, some damn action.

The Greyhounds were slowed by the crowd, but Taesia easily evaded limbs and bodies. The thief hoisted herself onto the roof of a stall, so Taesia did the same. She rolled across an awning and leapt onto the next roof, which swayed dangerously under her feet.

She lifted her hand. To anyone else, the silver ring on her fourth finger bore an onyx jewel, but the illusion broke when her shadow familiar spilled from the bezel and into her palm.

“Do something for me?” she panted as she leapt the space between two stalls.

Umbra elongated, forming a snakelike head of shadow. It tilted from side to side before it nodded.

Taesia flung out her hand and Umbra shot forward in a black, inky rope. One end lashed around the thief's wrist, making her stumble. With a sharp pull on Taesia's end, the thief crashed through an awning.

Taesia jumped down. The thief groaned and staggered away from cages full of exotic birds flapping their wings and squawking at the disturbance. The vendor gawked at them as Taesia summoned Umbra back to her ring and took off after the girl.

The last thing she wanted was for rumors of a Shade tussling in the market to reach her mother.

Taesia dove into a narrow alley to try and cut the thief off at the cross street, only to be met with an arm that swung out from around the corner. It collided with her chest and Taesia fell onto her back with a grunt.

The thief stood over her, breathless and smiling. “Well! Gotta admit, this is a first. Never stole from someone like you before.”

Taesia coughed. “You punched me in the tit.”

“And I'd do it again.”

Taesia braced herself on the ground and kicked the girl in the chest, sending her reeling backward. “Now we're almost even.”

The girl wheezed around a laugh. “Suit yourself.”

Taesia sprang to her feet and charged. The thief ducked and hit her in the back, dangerously close to her kidneys. Taesia caught her arm and twisted. The thief stomped on her instep, making her yelp and let go.

“Whew!” The girl's face was alive with glee despite the dirt and sweat streaked across it. “Must've stolen something you care about.”

“Not really.” The shadows trembled around her, ready to be called in, but she couldn't risk it. She'd already been too careless using Umbra. “Just needed to stretch my legs today.”

The girl barked a laugh as they circled. Her dark eyes flitted to the alley over Taesia's shoulder before a blow caught Taesia across the backs of her knees, sending her reeling forward.

As Taesia fell, a young woman — likely the thief's partner — ran to the nearest wall and made a broad swirling motion with her arms. Both of the thieves were caught in a sudden cyclone of wind that lifted them up onto the roof.

An air elementalist.

Cheater.

“Better luck next time,” the thief called with a mocking salute. Taesia gave a rude gesture in reply, and the girl laughed before she and her partner disappeared.

A moment later, Dante burst out of the alley. “Taesia, what the fuck—”

“She got away.”

“I don't care! I told you it didn't matter.” He ran a hand through his hair, hood fallen across his shoulders. “You're filthy. We can't let anyone in the villa see you like this.” He pointed a stern finger at her. “Do not do that again.”

She wasn't sure if he meant chasing after thieves or using her shadow magic out in the open. Before she could ask, he turned and began the trek home, not even bothering to see if Taesia would follow.

Like always, she did.

By Tasha Suri THE BURNING KINGDOMS

The Jasmine Throne

The Oleander Sword THE BOOKS OF AMBHA

Empire of Sand

Realm of Ash

Praise for THE JASMINE THRONE

“The Jasmine Throne pulls you under, sweeping you away on a current of gorgeous prose and intricately imagined magic and politics. It left me breathless.”

— Andrea Stewart, author of The Bone Shard Daughter

“Raises the bar for what epic fantasy should be. Tasha Suri has created a beautiful, ferocious world alongside an intimate study of the characters who will burn it all down.”

— Chloe Gong, author of These Violent Delights

“Tasha Suri writes the female characters I didn't realize I was aching to see in fantasy, to devastating effect. The Jasmine Throne is a fiercely and unapologetically feminist tale of endurance and revolution set against a gorgeous, unique magical world.”

— S. A. Chakraborty, author of The City of Brass

“Suri astounds with the spellbinding epic fantasy that launches her Burning Kingdoms trilogy.… A fierce, heart-wrenching exploration of the value and danger of love in a world of politics and power.… This is a blade-sharp, triumphant start to what promises to be an exciting series.”

— Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“The Jasmine Throne is an intimate, complex, magical study of empire and the people caught in its bloody teeth. It's about resistance and power, histories both personal and political, and the heroes who must become monsters to survive. I loved it.”

— Alix E. Harrow, author of The Once and Future Witches

“This powerful series opener will undoubtedly reshape the landscape of epic fantasy for years to come.”

— Booklist (starred review)

“Gripping and harrowing from the very start.”

— R. F. Kuang, author of The Poppy War

“This is a powerful and intense opening to an epic trilogy.… Lush, evocative, richly characterized, emotionally dense, with a scope that at first seems intimate and turns out to be much, much larger. Suri's skill — never minor — here seems to have taken a step or three up: there are few epic fantasies I have enjoyed, or admired, as greatly.”

— Tor.com, Liz Bourke

“A riveting and gorgeously written tale set in an intricate, expansive world. [The characters] will live in my imagination for a long time to come.”

— Genevieve Gornichec, author of The Witch's Heart

“Like the magic in this tale of reclaiming power, The Jasmine Throne will work its way under your skin with Suri's compelling characters and gorgeous, effortless prose.”

— Sam Hawke, author of City of Lies

“A masterpiece. The Jasmine Throne is the powerful, female-centric series I've hungered for — with deftly-woven prose and a pair of glorious women destined to wreck your heart.”

— Heather Walter, author of Malice

“Lush and stunning.… Inspired by Indian epics, this sapphic fantasy will rip your heart out.”

— BuzzFeed

“The Jasmine Throne more than lives up to the hype with its rich and expansive world, compelling characters, cool magic system and Suri's excellent writing, which holds it all together.”

— BookPage (starred review)

“Suri's incandescent feminist masterpiece hits like a steel fist inside a velvet glove. Blisteringly furious and astonishingly tender by turns, its women take on the patriarchal empire with every weapon at their disposal. Simply magnificent.”

— Shelley Parker-Chan, author of She Who Became the Sun

“Two fierce women. Magic, action and adventure. Folklore of the past and imagining the future. Masterful storytelling. Kaleidoscopic, queer world-building. Robust characters. The first book of Tasha Suri's new trilogy has it all!”

— Ms.

“This cutthroat and sapphic novel will grip you until the very end.”

— Vulture (Best of the Year)