#Review - First Sign of Danger by Kelley Armstrong #Mystery #Suspense

Series: Haven's Rock # 4
Format: 337 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: February 17, 2026
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Source: Publisher
Genre: Mystery, Suspense

Detective Casey Duncan and her husband, Sheriff Eric Dalton, are entering a new chapter of life as parents to their six-month-old baby. Their family is hidden away in the sanctuary town of Haven's Rock where they can live safe and private lives. But when they encounter hikers too close to the borders of Haven's Rock, they realize they're in danger of being exposed.

When they find one of the hikers dead the next day, they realize that their paranoia was justified, but they're no closer to finding out who these people were and what they were doing in the vicinity of Haven's Rock. Only by tracing the hikers' movements, as well as examining the recent behavior of their closest neighbors, the workers of a secretive mining camp, will they be able to figure out where the threat is coming from and shut it down. Otherwise, the lives of everyone in Haven's Rock--and their safe, secure new existence--are at risk.

First Sign of Danger is the Fourth installment in author Kelley Armstrong's Haven's Rock series. The story picks up with Detective Casey Duncan and her husband, Sheriff Eric Dalton, now navigating life as new parents to their six-month-old baby, Rory. Haven's Rock remains the off-the-grid sanctuary it has always been—a hidden Yukon settlement designed for people who need to disappear and start over, where trust is hard-won, and secrecy is paramount. 

The couple's family outing takes a tense turn when they encounter suspicious hikers venturing too close to the town's carefully concealed borders. Paranoia sets in quickly: exposure could destroy everything the residents have built. The discovery of one hiker's body the next day—clearly a victim of murder—confirms their worst fears. What begins as a potential security breach spirals into a knotty investigation involving conspiracy, possible espionage, betrayal, high-stakes chases through rugged terrain, and unsettling connections to a secretive nearby mining operation. 

Casey and Eric must trace the hikers' movements, scrutinize their enigmatic neighbors, and protect their community while balancing the demands of parenthood in such an unforgiving environment. Casey, Eric, and crew are pushed to investigate what the mining camp is really doing, who is behind the operation, and how many people have died who have gotten too close to unraveling the facts behind the operation. 

Casey remains a compelling protagonist—smart, tough, and deeply protective—while her evolving dynamic with Eric feels authentic and layered, especially as they juggle sheriff duties with newborn life. The addition of the baby adds emotional weight without ever feeling forced; it grounds the high-stakes thriller elements in real human vulnerability. The supporting cast of Haven's Rock residents continues to shine, with quirks and backstories that make the community feel lived-in and believable. 

The mystery itself is intricate and satisfying. It weaves personal stakes with broader intrigue (murder, conspiracy, and hints of something larger), culminating in a resolution that ties up the central puzzle while advancing the series arc to what appears to be the ending of the series, and a final conflict with the people behind the former Rockton who seem eager to either destroy Haven's Rock, or lure Eric back under their thumbs. 

CHAPTER ONE

Our daughter is six months old, and our dog is still clearly convinced that we have no idea what we’re doing and, without her intervention, our child will crawl into the woods and be devoured by wolves. We’d been hiking for an hour, with Rory happily bouncing along in the carrier on Dalton’s back. I’d walked behind him, so I can ensure she’s okay … and make faces at her.

We’ve stopped in a clearing, taken her out, and put her on the ground, and Storm is in full herding mode. Despite the fact that Newfoundlands are not herding dogs. Despite the fact that Rory is crawling around gurgling gleefully. Also despite the fact that we walk this route once a week and put Rory down in the exact same spot every time.

When Storm’s anxious growls turn to full-throated Newfie woofs, I cover my ears and shout to be heard over the noise. “One of these days, we are leaving you behind, dog.”

She keeps barking. We keep wincing. And Rory grins up at her massive black-haired mop of a big sister.

I order Storm to lie down, which makes barking impossible, so she resorts to loud grumbling as she watches Rory, ready for … I don’t know, our baby to leap to her feet and make a run for it?

I drop to the ground beside Rory, which seems to calm Storm. Dalton roots around in my pack and pulls out the water canteen, granola bars, and one digestive cookie for our red-cheeked teething baby.

“See, Casey?” he says as he hands me the canteen. “She just needed a distraction from her teeth. Long walks always work. Now, the trick is to tire her out so she falls asleep on the way back and then we can ease her into her crib and really enjoy our day off.”

I stretch out in the long grass. “I’m enjoying this.”

His brows rise. “And that’s all you want for a very rare shared day off when the baby is actually sleeping?”

I smile. “No, I’ll take whatever you’re offering. I just mean that I like this. And not just because she’s finally quiet.”

“Rory? Or Storm?”

“Both.”

I lay my head on Storm’s flank as I watch our daughter grabbing at a grass strand. My miracle baby. A miracle in the sense that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to have children. And a miracle because I never thought I’d find someone I wanted to have them with.

Dalton and I wouldn’t have dared try for a child until the town was fully functional, but nature intervened and gave us Rory. As for Haven’s Rock, it’s been chugging along uneventfully for six months, and uneventful is exactly how we like it. The town continues to fill with people seeking refuge, and we’re growing confident in our ability to provide that refuge.

It’s early September now. In southern Canada, it’d still be summer, with fall on the horizon. Up here, it’s been autumn for a few weeks, the world turning golden and quiet as we begin the descent into another long winter.

Dalton finishes his bar, stretches out in front of Rory, and prods things for her to explore—twigs, rocks, a bug. He grew up in the wilderness and has never left, and I smile as I watch him engaging our daughter in her environment. Storm might not like seeing Rory crawling about on the ground, but this is the life she will lead, and she’s already happiest here, in the sunshine watching a bug crawl up a twig.

When Storm leaps up, unceremoniously dumping me to the ground, I barely have time to recover before she resumes barking.

“Really?” I say. “What’s wrong now? Rory hasn’t moved from…”

I trail off as I realize Storm is looking into the forest. Of course, my husband has already realized this and is on his feet, scanning the trees, fingers resting on the butt of his gun.

Yes, Dalton carries a sidearm. So do I. In Rockton, he was the sheriff and I was his detective, and we continue those roles in Haven’s Rock, mostly because we’ve learned it makes people feel safe, and when the majority of our residents are victims, feeling safe is critical.

We no longer wear the guns around town—that was a Wild West affectation the Rockton council insisted on. But we usually wear them when we leave Haven’s Rock. Dalton doesn’t take his out, though. Just rests his fingers there. We’re not readying our weapons when the “danger” is almost certainly a fox or moose.

Newfoundlands aren’t known to be vocal, and Storm never was … until we brought a baby into the house. Last week, she went into a barking frenzy at a vole that snuck into our chalet. Apparently, it wasn’t only wolves that could devour our child.

As she barks, I lay my hand on her head, telling her we’ve got this. It’s not until I scoop up Rory that Storm quiets. She moves beside Dalton, who’s listening intently. Something’s out there. Big enough that he can hear it moving.

Dalton surveys the clearing. He’s trying to decide whether it’s safe to leave me here while he investigates. If Storm’s barks didn’t send the animal fleeing, it’s not small, and at this time of year predators may actually come closer when they hear her. Snow on the mountaintops warns that winter is coming. Sick or elderly predators can become desperate. That goes double for bears, looking to store up fat to get them through hibernation. Stories of unavoidable grizzly attacks often happen at this time of year, and that’s why I’m not only carrying my sidearm—I also have a rifle on my back. We have a baby now. We are ridiculously careful.

I motion for Dalton to take the rifle and investigate. Then I hold Rory in one arm as I tug the bear spray from my pack and put it in my jacket pocket. Usually, if I saw a bear I’d go for the spray first. With Rory, I’ll make that judgment call when the time comes. Bear spray is very effective under normal circumstances, but a desperate bear does not behave normally.

It’s only after Storm and Dalton are gone that I realize I have too much to juggle here—baby, bear spray, gun.

Storm may have a point. As careful as we are, we’re still new parents.

I look around and then back against a thick pine.

Rory fusses. She was happily on the ground, playing with Daddy, and now Mom is awkwardly holding her in one arm, and Dad and Storm are gone, and it’s boring. Really boring. Which reminds her that her mouth hurts where her first tooth is breaking through.

I bounce her and put my other arm around her, while keeping it ready to grab my gun or spray. I whisper to her under my breath, singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” which is one of three nursery songs I know, and I’m probably getting the words wrong, but she’s six months old—it doesn’t matter. And it really doesn’t matter right now, as I try to keep her quiet—

Rory roars. She came into the world that way, and she’s never stopped. It’s even the joking version of how she got her name. I kiss her cheeks and her forehead and she roars in rage and the remembered pain of her teething, her round face going beet red up to the roots of her wild black hair.

“Shh, shh, shh,” I say as I bounce her faster.

Crashing sounds in the bushes. A dark shape appears maybe ten feet beyond the clearing.

My hand drops to my gun. Screw the spray. I have a baby, and I am not taking chances—

“Hey!” Dalton shouts. “Back the fuck up! Now!”

It is a testament to my fear that, for a moment, I think he might actually be talking to me.

When a human voice answers, I stop, hand on my gun. It sounds like a woman. It’s not Lilith, the wilderness photographer who lives out here. There’s also a mining camp, but there aren’t any women among the miners or staff.

Could it be one of our residents? We have thirty-three women in town now, and unless I know them well, I’m not going to recognize their voice when they’re freaking out … which they would be if Dalton caught them on a secret hike.

Rory has stopped, too, as she turns toward the voice. Something new. Something interesting. I move in that direction slowly, listening until I can make out words.

“—husband was trying to see where we are, and he slipped and fell. His ankle’s twisted. I heard the dog barking and came running. Then I heard a baby. Is there a town here? A settlement?”

I keep walking toward the voices as Dalton says no, there isn’t a town for a hundred kilometers or more. When I step out onto the path, he glowers my way, but I shake my head. It’s not as if she didn’t hear the baby.

I also see the reason for her panic. Dalton has his gun out. His finger isn’t anywhere near the trigger, but all she sees is a man with a gun and a very large dog. When she spots me, she makes a noise almost like a yelp of relief and hurries in my direction.

“Stop, please,” I say calmly. “I understand you’re in some trouble, but this isn’t a campground. We don’t expect to bump into anyone out here, so we’re naturally going to be cautious.”

“O-okay,” she stammers. “Right. Yes. Sorry. But that’s why I came running. We didn’t think we had a chance of finding anyone out here. Especially this time of year. I know it’s off-season for hiking, but this is when my husband had vacation time, and a friend said it was gorgeous here, and the forecast was good and—” She stops and takes a deep breath and then puts out her hand. “I’m Gretchen. We’re from Whitehorse.”

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#Review - Scorched Earth by Danielle L. Jensen #YA #Fantasy

Series: Dark Shores # 4
Format: 752 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: August 5, 2025
Publisher: Tor Teen
Source: Library
Genre: Young Adult / Epic Fantasy

The thrilling finale to #1 New York Times bestselling author Danielle L. Jensen's Dark Shores series, which Sarah J. Maas calls "everything I look for in a fantasy novel."

Lydia and Killian escaped their enemy’s grasp, but not without consequences. While they race to destroy the blight, Lydia fights an internal war against the Corrupter’s influence, knowing defeat means death for those she loves. Tormented by a battle that can’t be won with blades, Killian must find the queen they risked everything to rescue without falling prey to Corrupter’s weapons, both living and dead.

Teriana and Marcus thwarted an assassination, but now must live with the dark truths that have been revealed. As Teriana hunts for allies, she must face the dire circumstances of her imprisoned people, driving her to strike a dangerous deal with the Empire. Consumed by guilt over his crimes, Marcus embarks on an ambitious campaign to save those he condemned, which risks him becoming the conqueror the Empire desires him to be.

With the blight consuming everything in its path and the Empire crushing everyone who stands before it, Reath is falling beneath the tide of evil. Secrets will be revealed that break hearts even as they forge new alliances, but only the greatest sacrifices of all will turn the tide in the battle for the liberty of every nation on Reath.

Scorched Earth, by author Danielle L. Jensen, is the fourth and final installment in the author's Dark Shores series. A series that began in 2019, but took until 2025 to wrap up. This series is based loosely on Ancient Rome. Instead of being called the Roman Empire, it's called the Celendor Empire. The story revolves around four main characters: Teriana, Marcus, Lydia, and Killian. The story picks up with the core characters in dire straits after the events of previous books. 

Teriana's people, the Merrin, are seafaring (not calling them pirates), who rely on the gods to guide them on the seas. Marcus is the leader of the Thirty-Seventh legion, the notorious army that has led the Celendor Empire to conquer the entire East. Lydia Valerius, best friend to Teriana, has been marked by the Six Gods to stop the Corruptor and his puppets from destroying the Dark Shores. Lord Killian Calorian has turned into a solid companion to Lydia, protecting her and loving her as she battles internal demons and the pressure of stopping her home where she was born from being subjugated by evil. 

Torn between her growing allegiance to the Thirty-Seventh legion and her need to liberate her people, including her mother, who is being held in a terrifying prison and used as a pawn to get what Cassius wants, Teriana finds herself mired in a web of secrets. She embarks upon a path that will either save everyone she loves—or put them all in their graves. Lydia and Killian, having barely escaped their enemies, race against time to eradicate a devastating blight while Lydia battles the insidious internal influence of the Corrupter—a chaotic evil god whose defeat could cost the lives of everyone she holds dear. Killian faces his own torment, searching for a rescued queen amid threats both corporeal and undead. 

Meanwhile, Teriana hunts desperately for allies to save her imprisoned people, even striking risky deals with the oppressive Celendor Empire. Marcus, weighed down by crushing guilt over his past crimes, launches a bold campaign to rescue those he once condemned—yet this path risks transforming him into the very conqueror the Empire wants. The third-person limited POVs allow readers to experience the sprawling stakes from different angles: the supernatural horror of the blight consuming Reath, the Empire's brutal military expansion, and the fragile alliances forming amid betrayals and secrets. 

The worldbuilding remains one of Jensen's strongest assets—rich, immersive, and layered with Roman-esque legions, seafaring traders, meddling gods, and a mythology that feels lived-in and complex. The blend of high-fantasy elements (divine corruption, blight as a creeping apocalyptic force) with grounded military strategy and colonial themes creates a tense, morally gray atmosphere in which no victory comes without a profound cost. The series' cast receives arcs that feel earned and often heartbreaking. 

Teriana matures into a wiser leader navigating impossible choices, while supporting figures like Malahi and Agrippa show surprising growth and prioritize their people. The found-family dynamics, especially around Marcus's 37th legion, provide some of the book's most moving moments. Romances—steamy, slow-burning in origins but culminating here—are handled with care, delivering satisfying payoffs for long-time fans without overshadowing the larger plot. Multiple romantic threads weave through the action, adding heart to the chaos. 

The pacing is ambitious for such a lengthy finale: the first half can feel slower, with travel sequences and setup across viewpoints occasionally dragging, but the second half explodes into non-stop action, betrayals, massive battles, and escalating stakes that make it hard to put down. The ending is bittersweet and sacrificial—Jensen doesn't pull punches with consequences, losses, or emotional weight—but it resolves the major conflicts in ways that feel thematically consistent and gratifying for most. Themes of liberty, the cost of empire, guilt, redemption, and resisting corruption resonate powerfully, especially in a story where evil isn't abstract but actively manipulative.

I would absolutely suggest that, if you want to read this series, do it back-to-back so you don't forget previous novels or what transpired. Thankfully, I write pretty good notes, and I was able to go back and remind myself who each character was and why we needed to care about them. When this series began, the author gave readers a chance to choose. You can first start with Dark Shores, featuring Teriana and Marcus, which was set at the same time as Dark Skies, featuring Lydia and Killian. Gilded Serpent brought all 4 characters together in one book. There are plenty of things to talk about, but I prefer to not to reveal spoilers, especially the devastating losses that happen in this story. I will say that YES, you should have already been reading this series! 

1KILLIAN


Night was coming, and with it, the monsters.

Killian’s shoulders burned, every muscle of his body shuddering from exhaustion. His clothes were drenched with sweat from rowing all through the day on a lake that seemed as vast as an ocean, albeit as smooth as glass.

He needed to find cover.

With darkness, and no fog to conceal the tiny boat, it was only a matter of time until the deimos found them and all the wrath of Rufina’s army descended. A fate Killian was desperate to avoid, but one the corrupted in the boat with him reached toward.

Lydia was barely recognizable. Each passing hour since they’d escaped, the rage and hunger in her eyes had grown. Black windows to the underworld that he couldn’t bear to look into, because this was not Lydia.

This was not the girl he was in love with.

Except that it is, a voice whispered from the depths of his soul. That she contained that part of herself doesn’t make it any less her.

Gods, but he hated that dark truth. Needed to silence it, except to do so meant silencing himself.

If she contained it once, she can contain it again. She’s strong.

A sentiment he prayed was true despite much proof to the contrary. Three times she’d broken free of her bonds. His clothes were a shredded mess from all the strips he’d torn off to secure her incredible strength and to gag her to keep her from crying out for Rufina’s aid. In the space of hours, she’d gone from desperate to kill to the queen of Derin to seeing Rufina as her savior.

All because of the hunger that consumed every part of her.

He wanted to blindfold her. Wanted to hide from that malevolent gaze that set off every instinct in his soul, demanding that he fight. Demanding that he kill.

“I’m heading to shore.” He eyed the shadowed coast. “We need to find some form of cover for the night.” Against his will, Killian’s gaze flicked to Lydia’s face.

She was watching him, tangled dark hair clinging to her face.

Gone was the maddened, frenzied creature, and he almost wished for it to return, because now the dark pits staring at him were full of calculation. Cunning. She was waiting for a moment of weakness, waiting for an opportune time to strike, which removing her from the boat would surely give her.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he said. “You can fight back against the Corrupter. I’m going to help you.”

Killian waited for some sign that the goodness in her was still there. A gleam of hope that he could cling to. Instead, a feral smile curved up around her gag, Lydia’s teeth gleaming red from where fabric cut into her mouth.

Kill her.

Killian jerked his gaze back to the dark coast, sucking in a mouthful of air. Just row, he told himself. Your focus needs to be on evading the deimos.

The sun burned lower and lower behind him, illuminating what he first thought was a mangrove swamp but then realized was a dead forest. Trees of every sort jutted out of the murky water, their branches skeletal and barren of life but for the putrid fungus growing on their rotting bark. Finding a gap wide enough for the boat, Killian rowed beneath the dead canopy just as the sun’s glow faded below the horizon.

He paused in his rowing to catch his breath as the boat drifted deeper.

The moment night fell, the fungus on the trees came alive, glowing a deep green that provided just enough light to see by. The density of the tree trunks forced him to draw in one of the oars and use the other as a paddle, slowly weaving deeper into the dead forest and, he hoped, closer to land. The smell grew sulfurous and strange, and in the shadows of the trees, small shadows crawled, though they froze the moment his eyes fell upon them.

Then the water stirred.

Killian stopped paddling as a large form swam toward them, then under. It struck the hull of the boat, rocking it violently, and he held his breath, waiting for it to attack.

But the creature only moved on, reptilian tail drifting side to side as it continued down the path from which they had come. Lydia shifted her weight, and Killian tensed, but she made no move to test her bonds.

Not yet, at any rate.

He didn’t know if pressing onward was the right thing to do, for everything about this forest was wrong. Everything felt touched by the Corrupter. He was certain that daylight would reveal the same black veins as stretched across Mudamora. Veins that stole the life of everything they touched. The product of tenders—those chosen by Yara to have power over the earth—whose marks had been tainted by the underworld.

The thought brought Malahi to mind. She was perhaps the last uncorrupted tender on the continent, which meant the last person capable of reversing the tide.

If she still lived, that was.

He’d found unexpected allies in Agrippa, the defected general of Rufina’s armies, and Baird, a giant marked by Gespurn, but while they might have succeeded in their mad scheme to get the Queen of Mudamora out of Helatha, the half of Rufina’s army not pursuing Killian would be on their heels. Agrippa was resourceful, but there was only so much one man could do against all the tools Rufina had at her disposal.

It is what it is, he told himself. There is nothing you can do to help them right now. Focus on staying alive.

Yet he felt paralyzed with indecision, the weight of Lydia’s gaze making him want to scream. Making him want to lash out, because where were the Six? Why had they abandoned their marked so easily? Not just the marked, but the whole of Mudamora.

A shriek sounded overhead, and Lydia stiffened. Killian threw himself on top of her, pressing his gloved hand against her mouth to silence the scream that would summon the deimos patrolling the skies.

Because in denying Lydia the chance to steal life to ease the hunger burning inside of her, Killian had become her enemy. And the enemy of her enemy was her friend.

Her body jerked back and forth beneath him, and Killian prayed the cloth he’d wrapped around her hands stayed in place.

She’d gotten her hands on him once. Had stolen life from him in the few seconds before he wrenched away, and the memory of the sensation made his skin crawl.

“Shhh,” he whispered even as he felt her face press against him, trying to bite him around the gag. “They’ll move on soon enough.”

She only struggled harder. Made desperate mewling sounds.

“Stop.” He pressed his face into her matted hair. “I need you to fight this. Need you to come back to me.”

As the thud of the deimos’s wings faded, he let go of her. Lydia’s voice was garbled but clear enough for him to understand as she said, “I hate you.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but each time was a twist of the knife embedded in his gut. It was the hunger that drove the words, not her heart, but if she didn’t master the darkness in her, how long would it be until the hunger consumed her entirely? Killian didn’t acknowledge the vitriol, only retrieved the floating paddle and carried on deeper into the forest.

The trees grew denser, although equally dead and rotten, forcing him to backtrack and find different routes inland. Making him question whether there was a route to solid ground or whether he’d be forced to head back to the lake with the dawn. Or worse, get stuck and be forced to wade through the fouled water containing who knew what sort of creatures.

Though none more dangerous than the one he’d have to carry in his arms.

“Shit,” he growled. “Shit, shit!”

Lydia only chuckled around her gag, the sound making his stomach turn. Killian opened his mouth to tell her to be quiet when a light ahead caught his eye.

Not the eerie green glow of more fungus, but the yellow flicker of lamplight.

How had Rufina’s men found them? How had they moved so quickly?

Then a voice reached his ears.

Not the sharp bark of hunting soldiers, but the soft, wordless song of a woman.

Killian hesitated a heartbeat, then paddled closer, a large hillock appearing through the trees. There was a small cabin atop it, the glowing windows flung open so that the occupant’s song could spill forth.

Lydia tensed, seeming to dislike the voice. Yet there was something about it that drew Killian nearer. Jumping out, he hauled the small vessel out of the water and then hesitated. He didn’t want to face the unknown with her trussed over his shoulder, but neither did he trust that she wouldn’t find some way to escape in his absence.

Cursing under his breath, Killian checked that the fabric he’d wrapped around her hands was secure. Then he lifted Lydia into his arms, gritting his teeth as she thrashed. “Be still.”

He ignored her scowl as he carried her up the spongy slope to the cabin. The smell of woodsmoke overpowered the sulfur of the dead forest, and the grass beneath his feet was lush and alive. An island of life in a swamp of death. Killian fought the urge to walk faster.

The cabin was small and made of roughly hewn logs, but lace-trimmed pink curtains hung in the window, and the voice … Something about it soothed his battered soul. Flipping Lydia over his shoulder, Killian reached out to knock on the door, only for it to open, revealing an old woman with a long grey braid over one shoulder. The weight of her presence was something he’d only felt once before in his life, when he’d received his mark as a child.

Killian fought the urge to fall to his knees.

The stooped old woman smiled at him. “Come inside, dear ones. I’ve been waiting for you.”


2TERIANA


“Where is Marcus?”

All three men stared at her. Well, two men plus a boy, because for all Austornic was legatus of the Fifty-First legion, he was thirteen years old. That he was skinny as a rake and his forehead only came up to Teriana’s chin didn’t help his cause when it came to treating him seriously.

Commandant Wex cleared his throat. “Gone.”

Teriana drew in a steadying breath that did next to nothing to calm her nerves. She’d slept not a wink since Marcus had shattered her heart and abandoned her in Senator Valerius’s villa last night, all her hours dedicated to piecing together exactly what had happened from the bits of information she’d gleaned from Austornic’s men, who were just as keen to gossip as the Thirty-Seventh.

Central to what she’d learned was that Legatus Hostus of the Twenty-Ninth had been tasked with hunting Marcus down.

Marcus had told her dark things about Hostus. Austornic’s men had told her worse. The legatus of the Twenty-Ninth was not only a sadist, but apparently also a cannibal, and more than a few of his men had adopted his proclivities. Each time she blinked, Teriana saw Hostus’s green eyes. Felt his hands on her as he’d restrained her, his breath hot. The line his knife had scored down her neck was still sore. There will be a reckoning for this.

“Be more specific,” she said between her teeth.

Neither answered. Which was so gods-damned typical. There were dozens of players in this political mess of power games, all with agendas she couldn’t begin to keep straight, but despite the fact that Teriana was at the heart of it all, everyone wanted to keep her in the dark. For her own gods-damned good.

To keep her safe.

The only thing they had told her was that blame for everything fell at the feet of Lucius Cassius. The proconsul of Celendor aimed to rule all of Reath and did not care whether he had to blackmail, murder, or subjugate everyone he crossed paths with to do it. Cassius had tried to have Marcus and his family murdered, but Marcus had killed the assassins. One, apparently, by caving in his skull with a marble statue—the description of which Teriana could have done without. All of which had been quietly cleaned up by his mother and sister while his father argued Marcus’s case in the Senate, because apparently Cassius was trying to claim Marcus’s unsanctioned departure was treason and deserving of execution.

And it was not yet midmorning.

Teriana’s scowl grew, but beneath her anger, panic loomed. “At least tell me if he’s safe.”

“Domitius convinced the Senate that while Marcus’s choice to depart against orders was impulsive and deserving of reprimand, that it is not treason,” Valerius finally said. “A stern letter will be drafted. The precise language is currently under debate.”

A stern letter.

Teriana tucked a loose lock of hair back into the wrappings holding it off her face, already sick of the bureaucracy. Knowing that was all she’d get from Valerius, she shifted her glare to Wex. Marcus’s mentor was unreadable, but she suspected the man who ran the legion school of Lescendor had a soldier’s opinion of politicians. What’s more, she knew he had a soft spot for his library mouse. “Does that mean Hostus will stand down?”

Wex exhaled slowly, then said, “No. With Hostus’s men dead by Marcus’s own hand, the Twenty-Ninth will be on the hunt with vengeance in their hearts. There was bad blood between them before and this will only have made things worse.”

“But as long as Marcus makes it to the stem here”—Teriana held up her roughly sketched map showing the xenthier stem that led from Celendor to Bardeen—“before Hostus’s men, then there is no catching him. They won’t pursue him through the Bardeen stem to Arinoquia. Correct?”

Wex’s eyes flicked to Austornic, who shifted uncomfortably because the location of the stems was supposed to be a secret.

“Marcus showed me a master document with all the mapped and unmapped stems across the East. Your men only confirmed what I already knew.” Not entirely true, because while Marcus had shown her the map, it had only been for a moment. But the pretense had been enough to loosen the lips of Austornic’s primus on the matter.

“Teriana,” Austornic said gently, “sharing that particular map is considered—”

She gave him a flat stare, and he broke off.

Wex circled the library, occasionally taking sips from the glass of cucumber water in his hand. “This is a good lesson for you, Austornic. You’re used to functioning within the confines of Lescendor, where everyone plays by the rules. Not so in the real world, where the rules are broken for any number of reasons. Where the players on the board are not pieces of marble but human beings with their own goals, ambitions, and”—he glanced at Teriana—“lusts motivating their moves.”

She scratched her chin with her middle finger, but rather than taking insult, Wex gave her a sad smile. “Hostus might well hold the distinction of being the cruelest legatus in active service. That said, he’s no fool. He was trained to have contingencies in play, which means that he’d be prepared for Marcus to escape. Prepared for him to head to Bardeen. Which is why Marcus”—he tapped her map—“didn’t take this route.”

The palms of her hands turned cold. “But it’s the fastest route to Bardeen.”

“No,” Austornic said. “It’s just the most direct.”

“Madness.” Valerius shook his head even as Austornic walked to the map of the Empire framed on the library wall, running a hand over his shorn dark hair as he considered it.

“Why madness?” Their reaction made her stomach roil with tension. “You think he’ll make a mistake? That Hostus will catch him?”

Visions of Marcus being dragged before the Twenty-Ninth’s legatus filled her mind’s eye, and it was all Teriana could do to keep from vomiting as her imagination supplied all the awful things Hostus would do to him.

“There are options.” Austornic’s eyes moved over the unlabeled map as though it bore every xenthier stem that the Empire had ever found, which, in his mind’s eye, it obviously did. “But I can’t find a path with less than eight jumps.”

“Impossible.” Valerius ran a hand through his thinning blond hair. “The strain is too great for anyone to bear. He’ll die if he tries.”

Die?

“It’s been done,” Wex replied. “It’s not impossible, else I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

What had been done?

“The rule of three.” Austornic’s voice rose above the other two. “Never more than three jumps in a row.”

“What are you talking about!” Her words came out in a shout.

All three exchanged looks, but it was Austornic who answered. “Traveling through xenthier takes a physical toll. I’m sure you are familiar with the sensation of dizziness and disorientation, yes?” When she nodded, he continued, “There is endless speculation in the collegium as to the mechanics of xenthier, theories about the impact on the body from extreme acceleration and deceleration that I won’t bore you with, because you only care about the consequences.”

“Thank you for sparing me.”

“Each time you travel is like taking a minor knock on the head. Something easily recovered from. But if one travels through paths in quick succession, each knock on the head compounds on the next. Like being hit over and over, with obvious results. The rule is no more than three jumps in the space of a week to avoid lasting harm. What Marcus is doing is akin to a battering ram to the skull.”

“Does he know that?” She pressed her fingers to her own skull, feeling phantom pain within it. “Never mind. Of course he knows.”

“It’s possible he came up with a path with fewer jumps that allowed him to reach Hydrilla before the Twenty-Ninth,” Wex said. “There are hundreds and hundreds of paths across the Empire, and puzzles always were his strength. It’s equally possible that he determined it couldn’t be done and has gone to ground somewhere in the Empire.”

Except Marcus didn’t believe in the word couldn’t when it pertained to him, which meant he’d have done it, risks and all. “But you said others survived many consecutive jumps?”

But before any of them could answer, a servant appeared at the door with a tray bearing a folded note. Valerius crossed the room, snatching up the scrap of paper, his already grim expression darkening further as he lifted his eyes to meet Teriana’s. “Cassius has agreed to meet with you.”


3MARCUS


“What’s wrong with him? Why is he getting worse?”

Titus’s voice cut through the haze, but Marcus kept his eyes squeezed shut. The fog thickening his thoughts refused to clear, made worse by a throbbing ache in his skull that made Marcus want to curl in on himself. Made him want to hide from light and sound, because they made the pain so much worse.

He had only vague memories of what had occurred since he’d woken in Titus’s camp without his armor, the letter Wex had given him, or any of the other proof that he’d been in Celendrial. He’d faded in and out of consciousness, but the same dream repeated, of Titus leaning over him and whispering, I might not be able to stop the Thirty-Seventh from having their revenge on you. They’re angry, Marcus. And they’re not the same legion as when you left. Every time he regained consciousness, his first thought was, What has happened to them?

He hadn’t been moved from the floor of Titus’s tent, and he vaguely heard the sounds of legionnaires breaking camp, the air smelling of wet ash as they doused cook fires. Marcus’s name was mentioned often, but not half as often as another word.

Deserter.

“It has to be a head injury, sir. From when he was beaten.”

“You said his skull wasn’t cracked!”

“It’s not, but he’s got a black eye, so we know he was hit. Head injuries can be unpredictable like that.”

“No,” Marcus tried to say, but it only came out as unintelligible noise.

“Fix him!” Titus snarled. “You’re a fucking surgeon—do something!”

“There’s nothing to be done, Titus! Not even Racker could fix what’s wrong with him. He’s a dead man, sure and true.”

A dead man.

The weight of that pierced through the haze, the burden of failure making Marcus want to scream.

“Shit!” Titus raged. “Shit shit shit! If he dies, the Thirty-Seventh will blame us!”

“Why? They’d have killed him anyway.”

“Because it’s different!” Titus’s voice was like knives in Marcus’s brain. “They need to be the ones to kill him. It has to be them. Don’t you see?”

Merciful silence.

“How you choose to manage the complexities of this situation is up to you,” the surgeon eventually replied. “But he’s not going to survive the journey to Aracam. By your leave, I’ve other patients to see to who I can actually treat.”

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#Review - Gods Beneath the Ice by Alexandra Kennington #Fantasy #Romance

Series: Blood & Souls Duology
Format: 464 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: February 17, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Heartbroken and grappling with unwanted powers, Revna must work with the person she swore to forget if she’s to lead her people and unravel the secrets behind her new magic in this page-turning conclusion to the Blood & Souls Duology.

After winning the Bloodshed Trials, Revna has the crown she wanted. What she didn’t want was the newfound Lurae abilities she manifested. Still, she’s determined to bring equality to her people and end the holy war draining her kingdom’s resources. But the godtouched fear her, the godforsaken don’t trust her, and her best friend doesn’t know the truth she’s been hiding. When the war-ending treaty is signed, Revna will reveal her secrets and finally put the Hellbringer behind her.

Except the Kryllian Queen refuses to sign the treaty when she discovers how volatile Revna’s bloodsinging is. Desperate for any alliance, Revna begrudgingly agrees to the queen’s proposal: if Revna can learn to control her magic in three weeks, negotiations will resume. But there’s a catch—the queen’s general will be the one training her.

Revna will work with the Hellbringer once more, though she won’t make it easy. But when the general discovers that the dead are unable to pass on, they realize there’s more at stake than their tangled relationship. Ancient, powerful secrets tie the realm—and Revna and the Hellbringer—together, and their only hope of lasting peace is to unweave them.

Gods Beneath the Ice is the second and final installment in author Alexandra Kennington's Blood & Souls duology. This is a series inspired by Norse Mythology. A romantasy duology that follows a princess who, after winning the crown, must grapple with what it means to rule. The story picks up with Revna, our fierce and complex protagonist, now burdened by newly emerged, unwanted powers after the dramatic events of the first book. 

Heartbroken and still reeling from betrayal and loss, she finds herself forced into an uneasy alliance with the very person she vowed to erase from her life. She's keeping secrets about murder from her best friends, and she's mourning her favorite brother. However, everything changes when she sees the Hellbringer again while trying to negotiate peace with the neighboring Queen. 

This forced proximity reignites the slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers (or perhaps more accurately, rivals-to-lovers) tension that was one of the standout features of the duology. The narrative centers on Revna's struggle to lead her people amid political upheaval, uncover the ancient secrets tied to her magic, and confront the lingering gods and souls that haunt this frozen world. 

The wintry, Norse-inspired setting—complete with icy landscapes, ancient rituals, blood magic, and divine interference—feels fully realized and immersive. The lore surrounding the gods, souls, and the mysterious powers feels richer, with revelations that tie back cleverly to threads planted in book one. The politics of rival kingdoms, succession struggles, and the clash between traditional faith and forbidden magic add satisfying layers of intrigue and stakes. 

Revna's growth from a rebellious, justice-driven figure to a reluctant leader grappling with power she never wanted is portrayed with nuance and realism. Her internal conflict—balancing duty, grief, anger, and vulnerability—makes her deeply relatable. The romance, while angsty and devastating at times, earns its payoff through earned moments of trust, vulnerability, and hard-won understanding. 

There are numerous reasons for my rating, including the author's own personality, but I am not going to discourage others from reading this book. Overall, Revna got on my nerves a lot with her whining about everything. I found Revna's responses to be obnoxious at times. At first, she was just plain bull-headed & childish & thinking only about herself, all the while parading it as if she was really thinking about her kingdom or friends. I could not stand how she was justifying her anger at others & making all these excuses for herself while making the worst decisions. 

The self-sabotage was bordering on absurd, & I started to get really annoyed with her. Trust me, others have had a harder time than you. A few plot threads resolve a bit neatly, and certain secondary arcs could have benefited from more space. Although I skipped a large part of the second half of this book, I think the romance really saves Revna, as does the plot & most definitely the middle of the book.

1

Revna

I looked out at the crowd of exhausted soldiers, tense Nilurae, and scowling citizens and clenched my jaw as my thoughts told me again what I already knew to be true: every person here today hates you.

My eyes caught Freja's where she stood, just in front of the temple steps. Her foot tapped a steady, anxious rhythm against the cobblestones and she tried to muster a smile. It was a poor attempt-the result was far more grimace than anything else. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and tried not to think about how much more she would hate me tomorrow, when the treaty with Kryllian was officially signed and I told her the full truth of everything I'd been hiding.

The thought was another chip out of my carefully constructed, utterly porcelain armor. I winced as the slipup of my thoughts avalanched into something far worse.

Music.

My mother's lullaby was never far from the surface, but today, I'd shoved it down as far as possible. Now, of all times, was not an option for breaking. It was too late, though. The thud of my own heartbeat in my ears was now echoed by dozens, hundreds more as thin threads, invisible to everyone but me, stretched from my chest outward to latch my Lurae to everyone present.

Start the speech, I told myself, shuffling the papers in front of me on the podium we'd had carted down in front of the temple dais. My face itched, but I didn't scratch. The scars left by Björn three weeks ago were nearly healed now. That didn't keep them from pulling the skin of my cheekbones and forehead taut, leaving me constantly aware of the way my features were now mangled. Focus on the people. The Nilurae. You're here for them.

I opened my mouth. Words emerged, the product of nothing more than hours upon hours of rehearsing until I knew the speech better than I knew the foreign magic that was somehow a part of me now. But even as I spoke, the song of my Lurae crooned in my ears, and I heard none of what I said.

As I continued to read, more rote than anything else, I scanned the crowd again until I saw Volkan. My ex-fiancé stood at the back, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed with concentration as he listened.

My thoughts hissed, unwanted. How long until he looks disappointed in you again? Or worse-afraid?

My hands gripped the edges of my notes hard enough to nearly crumple them. And still, I kept speaking, allowing the memorized words to flow from me. Platitudes about peace and community despite our differences, congratulations to the soldiers for their valiant efforts in the war against Kryllian. The latter rang false, I was sure of it. Volkan had insisted on putting them in.

And still, the familiar melody in my mind had hold of me. My Lurae crept over my skin with every shuddering breath, desperate to take hold of the threads gathered in front of me and pull until the bodies in the crowd were broken and lifeless and-

"As we readjust to life without a looming battle around every corner, only generosity and a willingness to see each other as equals will allow Bhorglid to become the blessed land it longs to be. Thank you."

The end of the speech was so rushed, I would be amazed if anyone could decipher it. But it was over. I stepped down, away from the podium, and into the shadow of the temple rubble. Behind me, I heard the murmurs of the crowd grow louder as everyone chatted and caught up with their friends and loved ones returned from the front.

The song quieted a bit, but it was an ever-present grip along my spine now. There was no ridding myself of it. I allowed myself to rub my fingertips softly over my scars, easing the itch slightly, and looked up at the towering statue before me.

Aloisa. She was the only remaining statue from the pantheon of gods our country worshiped at the command of the priests. Ironically, her statue had refused to fall when Halvar and the other rebels took hammers to them all.

Before the Trials, Aloisa was the only deity I related to at all. I'd wondered whether she was lonely, the only woman in a room full of men. Even my freshly forged sword, only a couple of months old, was named after her.

Now, though, I found myself looking to the statue for any small semblance of comfort more often. Loneliness didn't even begin to cover the gaping hole living inside of my chest, caving in more and more every day. Once, it had been filled with purpose, with anger, with my mind-reading older brother and his endless jokes.

"She's not real," I whispered to myself as the crowd continued to disperse behind me. I knew some of the Nilurae had set up shopping stalls around the courtyard, hoping to capitalize on the returning soldiers' hunger for familiar fresh-baked goods. Plenty of people would linger. I straightened my shoulders and shoved a new piece of porcelain over the spider-webbing crack forming in my fragile armor.

"Everything okay?"

I turned as Volkan approached, his face carefully unreadable, and offered him a tight smile. "Good enough for now."

He hummed, hands in his pockets, and a bit of a wry note took residence in his voice. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but there's no prize for giving the speech as fast as possible. Even if you likely broke your own personal record."

A huff of laughter escaped me. "Maybe we can race next time. Start the speech simultaneously and see who finishes first."

Freja joined us on the dais, far less amused. Next to her was a woman around our age-early twenties. Her dark black hair was cut just above her chin, and her eyes radiated wariness. She rubbed one of her hands against the opposite wrist, and I noticed the grooves dug into the skin there. Only years of being handcuffed frequently chafed in such a way.

I knew exactly who this woman was. My shoulders tensed and the song in my head perked up with awareness, eager to latch on to another instance of conflict between Freja and me. But I took a deep breath and forced my voice to remain calm when I turned to her, lowering my voice as I said, "We talked about this."

Freja crossed her arms. "No. I talked and you argued. How else are we going to get to the Kryllian palace in the morning? If we were going to travel on foot, we needed to leave three days ago. A teleporter is our only option now."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms. I reminded myself that the square was still full of people-all of whom wanted to watch me fail, all of whom were waiting for me to slip up. I was no longer magic-less enough for the Nilurae, the people I'd fought for. And my Lurae abilities manifesting so late marked me as an impostor to the pompous upper class of Bhorglid. My taut leash on my magic was stretching thin, and the melody of my mother's lullaby twisted on a sharp note that made my ears ring.

Freja waited until now to ambush you with this, my thoughts whispered. She knew you weren't going to agree otherwise, and this is her revenge for your decision to bring the army home despite her arguments against it.

"And," Freja continued, lowering her voice and stepping closer to me, "we can't afford to waste our time on logistics tomorrow. Not when we know Queen Anja wants something from us, but we aren't sure what it is."

I stiffened. "I'm well aware." It was all we'd talked about over the last three weeks: her, Volkan, and me running over the possibilities again and again, trying to parse what we had to offer Kryllian to persuade them a treaty was worth it. None of us understood why the queen had put so much effort into securing my spot on the throne.

Volkan stepped up next to me and smiled at the woman, who had said nothing but was studying us all intensely. He extended his hand. "My name is Volkan. You're Astrid, right? Freja has told us a lot about you."

Indeed she had. Freja had spent more than six weeks in prison while I trained with the Hellbringer in the northern wastes and my family continued fighting the war against Kryllian. But her time in a cell hadn't been lonely. She'd been released with new friends-namely Valen, a Seeing One, and Astrid, a Lurae woman locked away for refusing to fight in the war.

I hadn't realized until a few days ago just how close Freja and Astrid had grown. When I'd mentioned we probably needed to find a teleporter loyal to our cause to ferry us to the upcoming treaty negotiations, Freja had volunteered Astrid immediately.

Astrid shook Volkan's hand quickly, but pulled back. I waited for her to speak, but instead, her hands moved as she signed her response. Blinking, I attempted to follow what she was saying, but it had been years since Halvar had taught us the basics of sign language to communicate without alerting the priests to our plans. Over time, we'd stopped using it as consistently, but Freja and I had been nearly fluent for a while.

I managed to catch a few words. War. Lurae. Deaf. Loyal. Queen.

Desperate, I waved my hands and she paused. "Slow down?" I signed. "Please?"

A half smile and a nod as Astrid acquiesced. "The war was wrong. I did not want to fight. If I was a soldier, my needs would never have been accommodated. My Lurae peers made my childhood miserable. Prison was a luxury, one I accepted happily."

There was nothing disingenuous about her movements or her body language-it all spoke of sincerity.

Still, I was wary. After the Trials, after the betrayal, I had to be.

My Lurae hummed at the thought of my brother's body frozen in the snowy wastelands, the melody of my mother's lullaby dancing tantalizingly just out of reach. I imagined myself pulling it back, strangling it, squeezing the life out of the magic.

I could not afford a mistake. Not here. Even now, I felt eyes on me from all sides. People watching, waiting for me to show weakness.

I studied Astrid for a long moment. Her gaze remained sharply on mine, never wavering for a second to ogle my scars.

My gut instincts? They told me she was trustworthy. But my instincts had done irreparable damage to me recently-the sting of the Hellbringer's betrayal still flooded my mind every time I allowed my thoughts to wander. And with everyone in the country calling for my head on a pike, trusting a Lurae was not easy.

Trusting anyone was not an easy task.

But Freja and Volkan were right, as much as I wanted to deny it. The meeting to sign the treaty between our warring nations was tomorrow, in the Kryllian palace. We needed a teleporter to get there on time. I didn't want to bring another person into my small circle of trust. But there was no other option.

I signed, stumbling over my words, "You must be loyal. Sharing secrets... not allowed."

A smile cracked across her face, brightening her features. She nodded enthusiastically.

"The war is over," I continued. "We plan to make the Lurae and Nilurae equals. We need a teleporter to join our cause."

"I will do it." Her jaw set with determination, and a flicker of something like excitement grew behind her eyes. "Just tell me what-"

Her attention flickered past me, to the desecrated remains of the temple.

Astrid lunged for me, wrapped her arms around my middle, and threw me to the ground. I may have been suspicious of her, but I was fully unprepared for her to tackle me. The back of my head slammed against the ground, and black spots danced in front of my eyes. Astrid's entire body weight pressed me into the ground. Freja was screaming something unintelligible, and cries of shock echoed across the buildings, bouncing back and forth to twine with the song of my Lurae.

My magic woke with a vengeance, moving without my permission. It latched on to Astrid and tossed her off me. She landed heavily with a grunt and a groan but didn't move. I spared half a thought to feel guilty, but my head was spinning.

When I sat up, my dress was covered in blood. Wounded. I was wounded. Shit. I ran my palms down my front, searching for the open gash I couldn't feel. Was I in shock? There was no other explanation for why I couldn't-

Freja's voice solidified. "Volkan! Help her!"

My best friend knelt beside Astrid, whose hands clutched her abdomen on the right side. The hilt of a dagger peered out from them, and I realized suddenly that it had been meant for me. Astrid had seen the danger and attempted to push me out of the way.

I stood and the world swayed around me. An assassination attempt. I wanted to laugh, but my head throbbed so painfully I almost collapsed again. The perfect timing for a true test of Astrid's loyalty-one she'd passed with flying colors.

The song of my Lurae swelled, taking over until I could hear only the melody. It moved in tempo with my rushing heartbeat. I watched Volkan run over to Astrid, kneel beside her. The threads stretching from me yearned to move closer. There, there, where the blood is pooling on the ground-

I forced myself to my feet. I couldn't look out at the crowd of once-friendly Nilurae and returned Lurae soldiers, not when I already knew the variety of expressions that would face me. Instead, I focused on Freja's tear-strewn face, Volkan's concentrated expression as he ran his hands over the wound. He grimaced when he grabbed the blood-slick hilt and wrenched the dagger from Astrid's flesh. She groaned, the sound making its way straight to me.

Someone had tried to kill me. To remove me from the throne permanently. And in the process, they'd hurt an innocent person instead.

The song in my veins rose in a crescendo.

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