Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romance. Show all posts

Thursday, July 23, 2026

#Review - Witch Season by Julia Blanco #Fantasy #Romance

Series:
 The Broken Coven # 1
Format: 
320 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: June 30, 2026
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Katherine Barnes is an enforcer, charged with upholding the rules of the notorious Los Angeles-based Aestas coven. It’s her job to maintain order and bring unsettled witches–people who aren’t aware they have magic until it explodes out of them in a catastrophic burst–into the coven’s fold. As a former unsettled witch, Katherine owes her life to Sylvia Page, coven leader and silver-haired rebel who founded Aestas years ago.

When Silas Khatri, heir to Noctis, the most powerful coven in the world, arrives to take Aestas to task for some of their more unconventional practices, Katherine’s dislike for him reaches blistering levels. She hates his money, his good looks, his coven’s dangerous attitude towards unsettled witches. She can absolutely overlook that he sets her off in more ways than one.

But a powerful threat is about to rise. Stronger than any one coven. More insidious than the decades-long power struggle that exists in the hidden witch world. One that will pull Katherine and Silas together despite their differences. And one that will lead to an all-out war.


Julia Blanco's Witch Season is the first installment in a new series, as well as the author's debut novel. The book is an urban fantasy story in a world of fantasy/romance novels that blends high-stakes coven politics, visceral magic, and fierce loyalty into a fast-paced, cinematic read set in modern Los Angeles. Katherine Barnes serves as an enforcer (or executor) for the Aestas coven, a notorious Los Angeles group. Her role involves maintaining order and guiding “unsettled” witches—people whose latent magic erupts catastrophically if not controlled—into the coven. 

As a former unsettled witch herself, Katherine owes everything to Sylvia Page, the coven’s silver-haired, rebellious leader. The magic system stands out as one of the book’s strongest elements. Magic demands a heavy price—not just blood, but real pain and sacrifice. It feels raw, dangerous, and grounded, avoiding the “sparkly effortless power” trope common in some fantasy. This cost shapes every character’s choices and adds tension to action scenes. 

When Silas Khatri, heir to the powerful Noctis coven (the most influential in the witch world), arrives for an audit of Aestas’s unconventional practices, sparks fly immediately. Katherine resents his privilege, good looks, and his coven’s stricter attitudes toward unsettled witches. Their initial antagonism crackles with tension, but a larger, insidious threat—stronger than inter-coven rivalries—forces them to collaborate. Murders, betrayals, and a rising war pull the story toward an explosive climax. 

Katherine Barnes is tough, loyal, and driven by her traumatic past. She pushes herself relentlessly to protect others, especially vulnerable, unsettled witches, because she sees herself in them. Her growth, moral compass, and vulnerability make her deeply relatable and root-worthy. Silas Khatri brings complexity as a privileged heir caught between family duty and personal desires. He’s charming and instantly smitten in a “she hates him, he’s hooked” dynamic. 

Sylvia Page steals scenes as a layered mentor figure with secrets that drive major twists. Supporting characters, including Katherine’s best friend and other coven members, add depth to the found-family and political elements. The romance is fiercely romantic and steamy. It moves quickly from antagonism to intense attraction. Expect tension, banter, and passionate moments amid the danger. 

The relationship evolves in ways that set up intriguing conflict for future books. If you are a fan of books like A Discovery of Witches, then you should read this book as well. If you enjoy witchy books that are political, bloody, unhinged in the best way, and packed with heart-pounding romance and betrayal, this one is for you.





Monday, May 18, 2026

#Review - The Sea Spinner by Julie Johnson #Fantasy #Romance

Series:
 Reign of Remnants # 2
Format: 
544 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: April 28, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Bursting with reawakened magic, a young woman challenges the tides of fate in this highly anticipated installment of Julie Johnson’s romantasy series.

Rhya Fleetwood is tired of being a pawn in other people’s wargames.

The fledgling wind weaver wants—needs—to master her magic before anything else is taken from her. She’s already lost her friends, her newfound home… will she lose Penn, too? There’s no denying the scorching heat between them, but in the aftermath of battle, the Remnant of Fire burns more than anything to rebuild his kingdom and sate his inextinguishable need for revenge.

And he’s not the only one whispering to Rhya across the wind. From the distant island city of Hylios, another voice calls. Another bond pulls.

King Soren, Remnant of Water, is as different from Penn as sparks are from mist. The more insight he offers into the magic that binds them together, the more confused Rhya feels—about her future as a Remnant, about her deepest desires, and about her role in the coming war.

Torn between fire and sea, between the king who could break her heart and the king who understands her potential, Rhya will have to finally step into her power…or risk losing it altogether.


The Sea Spinner is the second installment in author Julie Johnson's Reign of Remnants series. The story is set in a place called Anwyvn and focuses on a young woman named Rhya Fleetwood, who recently learned that she is the Remnant of Wind, one of four reincarnations of elemental magic prophesied to restore balance to war-torn Anwyvn. The story moves from the realm of Fire lead by Pendefyre, to the realm of Water, led by Soren.

The story picks up in the devastating aftermath of the Battle of Fyremas. Caeldera, the Fire Court’s capital, lies in ruins. Rhya Fleetwood, the fledgling wind weaver and Air Remnant, grapples with heavy grief, volatile rage, and the loss of friends and stability. Pendefyre (Penn), the Remnant of Fire and newly crowned king, has shut her out. He channels his energy into rebuilding his kingdom and pursuing revenge, leaving their once-scorching connection strained and distant. 

Rhya, tired of being a pawn, desperately needs to master her unpredictable powers. A twist of fate (or perhaps destiny) propels her to the Water Court in the island city of Hylios. There, she encounters King Soren of Llŷr, the enigmatic Remnant of Water. Their interactions force Rhya to confront the limits of her magic, her shifting desires, and her role in the escalating war. Enemies close in, ancient threats stir, and Rhya must decide where her true loyalties—and heart—lie amid fire, sea, and fate. 

Rhya's journey from grief-stricken novice to a woman embracing her autonomy and power feels authentic and empowering. She evolves significantly, questioning relationships, her magic, and her place in the world. Penn starts strong but becomes more complex (and frustrating) in his repression and grief. Soren emerges as a standout—charismatic, supportive, cunning, and refreshingly communicative. The middle builds through character-focused moments and training, then accelerates with kidnappings, battles, and revelations. 

The final act delivers gut punches and a devastating cliffhanger that sets up book three perfectly. Penn’s emotional unavailability can frustrate, especially early on. The love triangle (or evolution) may not appeal to everyone who shipped Rhya/Penn heavily in book one. The novel blends high-stakes fantasy action, court politics, magical training, and an evolving romantic triangle (or shift) while expanding the world with new locations, lore, and secondary characters.




Chapter
ONE

The metal handle sears my palm, a withering harbinger.

One I ignore.

I step into the throne room and nearly double over. It's hot as a furnace, the heat a shock to the system after the chill of the corridor. At my chest, my Remnant mark burns with contradictory cold, stirring awake in response to the maegic shimmering in the air. It is thick as syrup, a vermilion haze that suffuses the entire space.

The doors close behind me with a resolute click. The sound makes me want to bolt straight back the way I came. I don't want to be here. In truth, I would rather be almost anywhere else, given the fiery reception I am no doubt about to receive, but the memory of Mabon's deep voice rumbles in my head, imploring me to try.

Maybe this time you can get through to him.

If anyone can make the man see sense, it's you.

Please, Rhya. You know I would not put you in this position without good reason. You know I would not ask this of you unless . . .

I take a deep breath, struggling to fill my lungs, tasting the distinct tinge of elemental power on my tongue. Flame and ash, pressing in from all sides. My knees threaten to buckle as I make my way down a short flight of stone steps onto the gleaming floor.

Set deep in the earth, the cavernous chamber was spared the wrath of the ice giants that ravaged Caeldera two months ago. While the rest of the city is an unrecognizable ruin of glass and debris-roofs caved in from massive boulders that rained down, storefront windows shattered with axe hilts, facade columns crumbled into dust-the throne room looks just as I remember it. Dark stone of pure, petrified lava, veined with red. Massive columns with bases of caged fire holding up a distant ceiling. Trenches of flame lining the perimeter floors, extending up the back wall.

But no people.

On the night of Fyremas, spectators packed inside, shoulder to shoulder, angling for the best view of the ward-charging ceremony. Now it is even emptier than the once bustling shops on High Street. My boot falls echo loud as cannon fire as I make my way down the polished aisle that halves the room.

On the lofted dais, the steward's seat Queen Vanora occupied during her reign is vacant. For one who ruled so long, and with such spectacle, her departure from this world was decidedly commonplace. Crushed to pulp in her gilded ballroom like so many others, then reduced to cinders alongside her most common of subjects on the mass pyre erected outside the city walls a week after the battle.

Were she there to witness it, she would have seethed at the indignity of sharing her last rites with the masses. No mournful bugles or waxing eulogies on her behalf. No rare flowers laid or grand portraits commissioned. But these days no one is inclined toward fanfare.

Not even for a dead queen.

My eyes move to the king's heavy metal throne at the center of the dais. It, too, sits empty. Though I hardly expected to find him there. I doubt Dyved's new sovereign has spent more than a handful of minutes sitting down these past weeks-and certainly not in a stuffy ceremonial chair.

I skirt the platform and approach the back wall of the cavern. It is even hotter here, so near to the trenches of fire that leap high and hungry, so near to the source of the maegic that thrums unabated. One section of the wall juts slightly outward, concealing an old mine shaft that functions as a lift. I lay my palm against the warm stone where a peculiar pattern of gouges marks the surface-a glyph, carved there by some ancient ancestor. One short pulse of maegic is enough to activate it. A fiery glow filters between my fingers as the floor panel beneath me begins to rise swiftly upward.

I've grown somewhat more accustomed to using Caeldera's network of lifts over the past few months, but it is still never an entirely pleasant sensation. My innate predisposition toward claustrophobia are triggered anytime I find myself ensconced by earth. Even now, as I rise upward through the mine shaft, I'm itching for escape. The craving for fresh air, for sunlight and open sky, claws at my throat with razor-sharp talons.

The lift comes to a halt with a jolt that shakes my bones. I step out into a semi-enclosed chamber that overlooks the throne room far below and feel every hair on my body rise in response. This is a place of potent natural power, where the deep enchantment of Anwyvn's very core bubbles to the surface. Tears sting at my eyes, an irrepressible reaction to the thick cloud of maegic.

Around me, the curved walls and low-hanging ceiling are carved with countless glyphs. They are aglow, as though lit from within by pure power-the origin of which is crouched at the center of the chamber with his hands pressed flat to the floor of hardened lava, expelling pulse after pulse.

"Pendefyre," I call softly.

He does not look up.

"Pendefyre," I say again, louder. His head jerks, but he still does not look at me. In fact, he seems to redouble his focus, pressing even more firmly against the red-veined stone. Every knuckle of his strong, tanned hands is white from lack of circulation. Flames lick out between his fingers, burn twin paths up his arms, ignite a trail down his bare chest to where a dark design of whorls and spirals mars the flesh.

The Fire Remnant.

It is no less mesmerizing in this moment than it was the first time I saw it, furling outward across his right pectoral in a triangular pattern. But my awe is now laced with alarm as I watch Penn giving more and more of himself to the wards that shield his city from harm. For several long seconds I stand there, paralyzed, my vision consumed by the hungry flames that furl across his skin.

How much more can he give before he burns out completely? How much further can he push himself without causing permanent damage?

No wonder Mabon came for me. No wonder the Ember Guild is so concerned about their leader. The previous Fire Remnant, King Vorath, died here in this very room, doing this very thing. He reached for too much power, pushed himself too hard. And he lost his life because of it.

Angry as I may be at Penn for his attitude of late, I cannot stand idly by while he kills himself in his obsessive quest to make Caeldera safe.

Whether my efforts will be successful is another matter entirely. My teeth grit as recollections of the last time I found myself standing at this threshold-the result of Jac's relentless wheedling to accompany him a fortnight ago-sweep over me. Penn made his position clear that day. Incontrovertibly so, seeing as he bellowed loudly enough to bring what remains of this keep down around our ears about how we should both mind our godsdamned business and keep our noses out of his affairs.

All hail King Pendefyre, the Pigheaded.

Swallowing down the irritation that lingers bitterly on the back of my tongue, I take another faltering step. "Pendefyre. Look at me."

But Penn is unreachable. He is entirely engrossed by his task, pouring every bit of his power into the wards. My heart pangs as I watch him draining himself dry. His expression is savage-a mix of determination and agonized desperation. His face is white as parchment. An overgrown curl of burnished chestnut hair falls over his forehead, concealing his eyes from view, but I know without seeing that they are alive with maegic, the irises burning like hot coals.

The steadying breath I pull into my lungs has the opposite effect. It shimmies through me with intoxicating provocation. Penn's maegic is affecting me more than I want to admit. The Remnant at my chest prickles relentlessly, awake and alert, eager to come out and play. I steadfastly ignore it. Adding air maegic to this scenario will likely have the same effect as dashing a cup of spirits on an open flame while attempting to put it out.

Combustion.

A fresh pulse of power rolls through the chamber. I watch it ripple through his body, the muscles of his bare back flexing, the tendons of his arms going taut as raw maegic transfers from him into the stone. The wards around us throb bright as starlight. My legs buckle as it hits me, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending me to my knees. I land with a bruising thud.

Blinking away the pain, I bring Penn back into view. A sharp blade of panic sluices through me. The fire snaking up his arms and coiling around his chest has grown. It now surrounds his entire form in a thick cloak of flames. He crouches there, within a blazing ball of heat, immolating as I watch. Through the white-hot flickers, I see blood beginning to pour from his pointed ears, dripping down the broad column of his throat, pooling in the rigid indentation of his clavicles.

"Penn!" I cry, a ragged plea. "Pendefyre!"

This time, he does not react at all to the sound of my voice. He is lost in the throes of his power.

I have to put a stop to this. Now. Before it's too late.

Before I lose him.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself forward inch by inch, half crawling across the floor toward him. It is like crawling into the midday sun. Sweat pours down my spine, slicks down my neck. The heat on my face is an unrelenting scorch. Any trace of the tears glossing my eyes evaporates in an instant. They are dry as desert sand, each blink of my lids an unpleasant scrape. My lashes feel like tinder, ripe for catching.

I wonder at what temperature my tunic will ignite as I drag myself across the blistering floor. The petrified lava is so hot beneath my fingertips, I think it might turn molten as it was a millennium ago, the last time this volcano erupted. I push past the pain, forcing myself to continue forward. Closing the gap between us, one excruciating sliver at a time.

It is not only physical pain that thwarts my progress. My very soul seems to sear, fueled by the Remnant bond that links me irrevocably to Penn. Usually I find our connection calming. Comforting. An unconscious tether in the back of my mind, letting me know where he is and, in rarer times of great emotion, what he is feeling. Like the scent of burning leaves on an autumn wind, I can sense him from afar and find my way to him if necessary.

There is nothing calming about our bond in this moment. Nothing remotely comforting. It is a charred current of unadulterated energy that scorches a path from his heart to mine. Within my own reserves of maegic, deep within the wild storm that swirls inside, I feel the placid waters of my power beginning to simmer beneath Penn's heat. All that is cold and controlled at the core of my being seems suddenly in danger of sparking. By the time I reach him at the center of the chamber, I am struggling to keep my own destructive abilities in check.

"Penn, you have to stop this." I lift a hand toward him but jerk it back from the flame as pain bites at me, a stinging lash across my fingers. Blisters bloom on my skin. "Please, Penn. Please listen to me."

The fire is so bright, so hot, it is hard to see and even harder to breathe. I try three more times to reach him through the ball of flame that surrounds his body, telling myself it is only pain, that any burns I receive will heal quickly, but I never manage to touch him before snatching my hand back, my singed flesh smarting in agony.

More blood is pouring from his ears, dripping down his chest in rivulets. Within the ball of fire, his skin is stark white. Corpse white.

Please, a small voice cries out from somewhere deep within me. Please, Pendefyre. Hear me. Stop this.

But he does not.

I cannot use my power to help him any more than I can use my hands. In desperation, I reach within to the bond that burns between us. I grab hold of that invisible tether that connects my heart to his, connects fire to air, and begin to tug on it, a spool of yarn without end, unraveling his psyche into mine.

I am not certain it will work. Not until I see the flames consuming Penn starting to disperse, weakening as I absorb some of the damage he is inflicting upon himself. I nearly bite through my lip as my nerve endings bake, as the marrow in my bones crackles with heat.

Skies, how much pain he is in, if this is but a shade of his power.

I cannot handle much more without doing myself serious harm. But there is no choice. Blood pours from his eyes as well as his ears now, trickling down his cheeks, dripping off his sharp jawline. And so, I take more. I pull his fire toward me, into me, until I think the blood will boil in my veins, until I feel my limbs turn to kindling, until each breath burns like my lungs are full of embers.

I channel every bit of heat and flame into the deepest recesses of my own power, where the air currents within me blow hard enough to extinguish them. Candles in the wind, no match for my storm. The flames around Penn weaken further, growing faint and translucent as they lick across his flesh.

More.

The heat is unbearable. I think my body will crack apart, think my mind will cleave beneath the force of it. The world fades around me, blackness closing in at my peripherals. I am losing the battle against unconsciousness. Just before my final shred of strength falters, my inner voice cries out one last time-a pained and broken prayer to the man crouched beside me.

If you die here, you take me with you.

He hears me. Somehow, someway, he hears me. The flames splutter out with a whooshing sound that echoes off the walls. The relentless wave of heat subsides so fast, I am certain I must be hallucinating. In a blink, I can breathe again. Ragged, desperate gulps of superheated air-but at least I am breathing. I stare down at the veined lava floor of the chamber where my hands and knees are planted. My arms and legs tremble with the effort to keep from collapsing entirely. The sleeves of the plain uniform I wear to treat patients at the infirmary are scorched beyond repair, the skin beneath flushed the angry scarlet shade of a fresh burn. My fingers are a mess of char, the tips blackened. I stare at the damage for a moment before my arms and legs do finally give out and, in an exhausted heap, I fall.




Monday, May 4, 2026

#Review - Daughter of the Wind by Nora Carmody #Fantasy #Romance

Series:
 Riders of Earth and Sky trilogy #1
Format: 432 pages, Paperback
Release Date: April 14, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Darkness lurks in the shadows as a betrothed princess wrestles with a dangerous new magic that threatens her bond with her beloved horse—and a forbidden love for the enemy sworn to protect her.

Zara has never felt worthy of her title as First Daughter. Though next in line to lead her people, she hasn’t inherited what matters most—her mother’s sacred earth magic. While her people are tied to the land and their soul-bound horses, Zara has always felt a pull toward the wind.

As war rages against the enemy empire’s deadly Eagle Riders, her people edge closer to defeat. When a rider attacks Zara herself, she unleashes a wind magic strong enough to tear giant eagles from the sky. This power could turn the tide of the war—but at a terrible price: the slow unraveling of her psychic bond with her horse.

So when a marriage treaty is offered in exchange for peace, Zara agrees, sacrificing herself to protect her people. But the emperor’s palace is more treacherous than any battlefield. Hidden behind its gilded walls is a monstrous being long buried—and her power-hungry betrothed is determined to set it free.

Sworn to protect the future empress, Commander Talon soon realizes Zara is more than a political pawn—she’s the key to stopping the emperor’s dark ambitions. As their forbidden desire grows, they must face an ancient evil stirring beneath the throne. Even if it costs them everything.


Daughter of the Wind is the first installment in author Nora Carmody's The Riders of Earth and Sky series. This book is a debut that blends elemental magic, soul-bonded animal companions, political intrigue, and a slow-burning enemies-to-lovers romance. The story focuses on Zara, First Daughter of the Children of Earth, and Commander Talon of the hated Eagle Riders. 

Zara, the First Daughter and heir to the Children of the Earth, has never manifested the sacred earth magic expected of her lineage. Her people—nomadic warriors deeply connected to the land and soul-bonded to horses—face existential threat from the Zephyrian Empire's Eagle Riders, who dominate from mountain strongholds with giant eagles as their bonded partners. 

When war intensifies, Zara unleashes a rare and dangerous wind magic in a desperate moment, capable of downing eagles but at the cost of unraveling her psychic bond with her beloved horse, Shazeera. To secure peace for her people, she agrees to a political marriage with the enemy emperor. At the opulent yet treacherous Golden Eagle Palace, she navigates court dangers, an ancient evil stirring beneath the throne, and her growing connection to Commander Talon, the eagle rider sworn to protect her—who was once her enemy. 

The story explores themes of identity, sacrifice, cultural clash, the cost of power, and bonds (both human-animal and romantic). The soul bonds between riders and their horses/eagles form the emotional core. These telepathic connections feel heartfelt and central to the characters' motivations, especially to Zara and Shazeera's "heart sister" relationship.

The story starts strong with action but slows in the middle as it shifts to court life and world-building. The second half ramps up with palace conspiracies, a monstrous ancient evil (Ozul), family betrayals, and life-or-death choices. The finale delivers intense action, twists, and a compelling hook for Book 2. The slow-burning enemies-to-lovers dynamic between Zara and Talon builds gradually. Zara and Talon are likable and complex (Talon especially grows on readers), but side characters and some emotional beats can feel underdeveloped. 

Animal and magical beast lovers alike won't be able to resist the bonded animal companions and elemental magic at the heart of this story, which, combined with the accessible world-building, thrilling battles, and political intrigue, is sure to capture romantasy readers at large. With a heroine in her early twenties who must come to terms with her magic and identity and an angsty, slow-burning romance, new adult readers will likely flock to this angst-filled romantasy. The author and publisher plan another 2 books in this series, so if you want to wait until all 3 books are released, I would not try to change your mind in any way. 




1

Zara

There was something about living under the constant threat of violence that desensitized you. Maybe it was because there were only so many times I could wake up in a cold sweat in the night, sure that this night would be the one where the eagle warriors would descend and destroy everything I loved. Eventually, I had to shove all those fears to the very back of my mind for my own sanity.

After years of unending war, I had to trust that my mother's ability to keep our tribe hidden was everlasting. I never thought they would find us.

I should have known better.

As the morning dawned with a red-streaked sky, I traveled the short distance from our camp to a nearby stream. My blood bay mare Shazeera carried me at a leisurely gallop-we never walked when we could race across the plains, the long grasses parting for us like waves. The sky rapidly changed to blue as the sun rose. It was empty, for the moment, of clouds, making it easy to see that no enemy would swoop down on us.

Still, with a war that had raged for over a hundred and fifty years, we could never afford to let our guard down. Even within my mother's protective wards.

Wards that wouldn't last much longer if the queen's health was any indication. As her power waned, mine was meant to replace it. When it came to the powers that should be my birthright, though, I was completely useless.

Not useless. Shazeera interrupted my thoughts with a swish of her tail. It will come in time.

You may be the only one left who believes that, I thought.

She shook her head, her long black mane brushing the tops of my leather-clad knees. Considering I'm always right, isn't that all you need?

I laughed in spite of myself. I just wish there were some evidence of my supposed powers.

You come from a long line of First Daughters with powerful defensive earth magic. We wouldn't have bonded if you weren't meant for greatness.

I smiled inwardly at her proud thought. Shazeera was descended from not only the greatest endurance horses, but also the fastest.

She slowed to a springy trot as the stream came into view, and before I could even let out a yelp in surprise, she continued into the water with a powerful splash, carrying me with her. As the cold water droplets hit my bare arms, goose bumps immediately sprang up. The sun had just risen, and it was still unpleasantly cool outside.

Did you think I needed a bath, or what?

A little cold water might help clear your head, she replied, before shaking off and lowering her head to drink.

It's you who isn't seeing the situation clearly, I grumbled mentally as I jumped from her back onto the bank. I wanted to avoid getting my boots even wetter than they already were.

I crouched down and cupped water in my hands to drink, closing my eyes as the refreshing coolness slid down my throat. It always tasted better fresh from the source. Rising, I scanned the distant hills to the east, where a line of trees met the plains. Beyond that rose the mountains. I couldn't see them from here, but I imagined them soaring high above the foothills, just as they did on the map my mother-Ama to me, but Queen Rana, the Queen of All Queens, to everyone else-often brought out whenever General Isa came to talk strategy. In my mind, I could see the many clusters of triangles that represented the Angora Mountains to the east, where the Zephyrian Empire's capital city of Naharu and its palace clung to the highest peak of Crane Mountain.

As the sun rose higher, warming my dark hair, I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in the forest, constantly shaded. Out on the plains, the trees were few and far between. Generations ago my people's territory had expanded as far as the Black Forest to the north and the Ridgeline Foothills to the east. Now, the enemy's territory surrounded us on three sides. Shazeera and I had explored as far as the foothills, but that had been far more dangerous than I had anticipated.

Far, far away, a giant eagle screeched, and we both froze, as we'd been trained to do from a young age. A strange tension coiled in my chest, and I couldn't say it was entirely due to fear.

I reached out with my mind to feel for my mother's protective wards as she had taught me, but as usual, I could sense nothing at all. Even the weakest earth magic user could sense the protective shields that hid our people from our enemy. The fact that I couldn't was endlessly frustrating-especially to my mother. As First Daughter, how would I ever take over forming the wards if I couldn't even sense them?

The wards are still strong, Shazeera said gently. She knew how worthless I felt when I had to rely on her senses instead. The horses were born being able to sense earth magic-no training required. At least one of us could.

Her ears pricked toward the east as she listened for a moment, detecting another screech that I could barely make out. The eagle is flying away from us.

We both relaxed. It must have been a wild eagle, then. They were still dangerous, but not nearly as much as one carrying a Zephyrian rider. Our camp was currently only an hour away from the mountain foothills, where many wild eagles nested.

Just once, I would like to take a drink from this stream without worrying that a giant eagle was about to swoop down on my head, Shazeera said with an irritated swish of her tail.

Maybe none of them would be as hostile if it weren't for the Zephyrians.

The Zephyrians flew to our continent of Equnox on the backs of giant eagles a hundred and fifty years ago, from their much smaller continent of Darkhan-one of the four continents in our world. When they found our lands to be populated by mostly by peaceful tribes, they returned with battalions of highly trained infantry by ship. The Angorans of the eastern mountains were the first to fall under their rule, followed by the Nazcas of the northern forests, and then the Semalians of the western coastline. Only three tribes remain free.

Once, we had been known by our individual tribes, though we were all descended from the first six daughters who had been given magic by the Earth Mother. Out of necessity, we had banded together as the Children of Earth against our common enemy. And our numbers were dwindling.

Shazeera turned her head toward our camp, growing still as though concentrating.

What is it? I asked.

Nafalla has asked us to return.

I groaned. Nafalla was my mother's bonded mare. Ama wants to start training this early?

Considering I couldn't even detect the wards just now, I was sure it would go as well as it ever did.

Most considered it a useful ability that the horses could all communicate with each other mentally within a short distance, especially during battle. For me, though, it was just a way for Ama to track me down quickly.

I would say we could make a run for it, Shazeera said, stepping out of the stream, but Nafalla specifically said if we tried to skip training again, she would put me on foal duty for a month.

I thought you liked the babies, I said as I lightly grabbed hold of her withers and vaulted onto her back.

Only from afar, Shazeera replied. Up close, the little beasts bite and kick.

I smiled for a moment at that image. She wasn't wrong. The foals were like long-legged toddlers with boundless energy.

But Shazeera's amusing commentary could only briefly distract me before the dread pulled me down again. Nothing made me so aware of my inability as these training sessions with Ama. Especially since every one of them had ended in embarrassing failure.

Shazeera set the pace at a fast canter, and I tried to convince myself that maybe this time I would finally tap into the power that should be my birthright.

Before it was too late.

Shazeera slowed as we entered the camp, and many called out in greeting or simply stopped and bowed their heads as we passed. Our camp wasn't the largest of all the tribes, because of the frequency with which we had to pick up and move; the Queen of All Queens moved camp frequently to change the radius of the wards' protection. But of the ten tents here, all were large, with at least two rooms in each. The largest of all, though, was the pavilion, which had three distinct points to its top and golden thread woven amongst the bright colors. It was the queen's tent, and my home.

I stood before it now, breathing in the familiar scent of sage, which wafted from beyond the doorway of the pavilion.

Well met, daughter of my heart, Nafalla's greeting passed to me through Shazeera. She dipped her head to allow me to touch her velvety nose, the soft lamplight disappearing into the deep shadows of her onyx coat.

The pavilion soared above the tips of the horses' ears, supported by light wooden rods that were flexible and strong. It created a space large enough for everyone in the camp to fit inside the main room, which served as the throne room. There were bedrooms on either side, separated by vibrant blue silk drapery. The room to the left was mine, but I knew Ama would be waiting in the throne room.

Naomi, one of Ama's guards, quietly greeted Shazeera and me with a bow as we entered.

We found Ama sitting before a bowl of polished bone, filled with burning sage. Her dark eyes, heavily lined with kohl, lit up when she met my gaze. With a smile, she gestured for me to sit. Nafalla took her place beside Ama, while Shazeera stood by my side. I tucked my legs beneath me and joined Ama on the floor of the tent, where a plush rug of many colors had been spread.

"You were up early," Ama said to me as she handed me a cup of white flower tea. The bangles on her wrists jingled pleasantly, the sound as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted, taking a sip of the honey-sweetened tea.

Ama tilted her head sympathetically at me, her thick hair slipping off her shoulder. My own thick hair was tied back in a long braid. Everyone said we looked so much alike. That the blood passed down from First Daughter to First Daughter for generations was strong. We had the same golden-brown skin, deepened by the hot plains sun; high cheekbones; full lips. The same large eyes framed by dark lashes, though my eye color was a much lighter amber, where hers was a rich chocolate.

I may have looked like her on the outside, but I had none of the power given to her by the Earth Mother. At her full strength, she had been able to heal someone on the brink of death, from the inside out. She could even use her abilities offensively, by causing a wave of agony over a small battalion of soldiers, enough to cripple them.

But I couldn't even heal a scratch.

"I will admit that your power is taking longer to manifest than is common in our family," Ama said, reaching over to touch my hand, "but earth magic has always been strong in the Sorayan line. It will come. We just need to tap into it."

I glanced down at my cup with a frown. Ama believed that anything was possible if you just tried hard enough. And maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't put enough effort into it.

Nonsense, Shazeera said sharply. You tried so hard to connect to your abilities last time that your nose bled with the effort.

Yes, but I didn't pass out, so clearly I wasn't trying hard enough, I thought back with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Shazeera snorted beside me.

"Let's begin," Ama said, and with an inward sigh, I angled my body to face her. The horsehair mantle she wore brushed against my arms as she placed her hands on mine. It was as black as Nafalla's mane and tail, as it had been taken from them over the years, and dark as Ama's own hair where it wasn't streaked with silver. My own mantle, formed from the black hairs of Shazeera's mane and tail, was much smaller, as I hadn't had as many years to add to it. "Instead of trying again to sense the protective wards, let's try to access the healing side of your magic."

I shot her a confused glance. "Aren't the wards the most important?"

"Yes, but sometimes trying a different approach can help refresh your senses."

I nodded and tried not to argue, even though we had tried this months ago and it hadn't helped. Nothing did.

"The pulse points are where you can connect with the rivers and streams of blood within someone, following it to its source. The blood will always reveal what needs to be mended, whether it is sickness or injury. Now find my pulse with your fingertips."

I did as she asked. This part was easy. Anyone could feel a heartbeat in a pulse. Her wrists were warm, her heartbeat steady, as I pressed down gently with both hands.

"Close your eyes and go into the part of you that's connected to Shazeera."

In my mind, I reached for our bond, that gleaming chain of light that was unbreakable. I could sense Shazeera's emotions-hopeful and anxious that I would finally succeed. If I went deeper, I could even sense what she physically felt. Right now, the scent of the sage filled her nostrils, the smell so much more complex than I detected. Beneath the typically herbal scent were notes of rich loam and spicy peppercorn.

"Are you there?"

"Yes," I murmured, keeping my eyes closed tightly in concentration.

"I want you to reach into yourself where that same power comes from and reach for my pulse point instead."

But when I reached for my mother's life force, the one I should have been able to sense if I had healing abilities like her, there was only darkness.

"There's nothing there," I told her, barely able to keep the frustration from my voice.

"All you can do is try again," she said gently. "Our life force shines as brightly as the sun. With your inner eye, you should be able to detect the light radiating from my bloodstream. You must reach out with the part of you that's connected to the Earth Mother."




Monday, March 30, 2026

#Review - A Rose of Blood and Binding by Claire Legrand #Fantasy #Romance

Series:
 The Middlemist Trilogy # 3
Format: 
512 pages, Hardcover
Release Date: February 24, 2026
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy, Romance 

Third in the enchanting, sexy romantasy series from New York Times bestselling author Claire Legrand, perfect for readers of Sarah J. Maas and Jennifer Armentrout.

War is raging in Edyn. The battered Middlemist can barely hold itself together. Olden monsters terrorize the land. The gods are awakening from their ancient slumber, but if the vengeful Kilraith destroys them, all will be lost. And it’s up to the Ashbourne sisters—demigods, daughters of the goddess Kerezen—to stop him.

But the sisters are spread thin. Gemma and Talan travel the world in a desperate search for the gods. In the capital, Farrin and Ryder shelter countless refugees amid roiling unrest. And Mara Ashbourne, bound to the Middlemist and longing for a home she can never return to, is just trying to survive.

Every day is chaos as Mara battles invaders and fights to protect her fellow Roses. The presence of librarian Gareth Fontaine doesn’t help. Charming, brilliant, far too confident, and annoyingly reverent of the Roses—and Mara most of all—he’s a distraction Mara can’t avoid or afford. Especially since she can see the shadows of Mhorghast brimming underneath his dazzling smile. Shadows of violence, suffering, and shame that she knows all too well. Shadows that terrify her more than any monster.

As Mara and Gareth search the Old Country for Kilraith’s final three curse-anchors—and for signs of the late queen Yvaine—a slow-burning passion born of sorrow and solace sparks between them, one that could finally bring Mara to the very home she longs for…or drive her toward the dark fate she secretly craves, and bring both worlds crashing down alongside her.


A Rose of Blood and Binding is the third and final installment in author Claire Legrand's The Middlemist TrilogyThree sisters (Gemma, Farren, and Mara) in a noble magic family must fight to protect their home from invasion by the creatures of the Old Country—the realm of the gods and the birthplace of magic—before the weakening Middlemist, the boundary dividing the two worlds, disappears forever. This final installment focuses on the middle sister, Mara Ashbourne, a hardened soldier and Sentinel in the elite Order of the Rose. 

Trained from childhood as a weapon, bound to the Middlemist through a magical connection that allows the Warden to summon the Roses into beast-like battle forms, Mara has spent twelve years separated from her family, serving as a steadfast defender amid rising chaos. As war ravages Edyn, olden monsters terrorize the countryside, refugees flood the capital, and ancient gods awaken, the vengeful god Kilraith threatens to destroy them all and unravel the world. 

Mara is thrust into a high-stakes quest alongside the scholarly, charming librarian Gareth Fontaine to locate and destroy Kilraith’s remaining curse-anchors. Meanwhile, her sisters Gemma and Talan hunt for the gods elsewhere, and Farrin and Ryder manage unrest in the capital—bringing the family arcs together in a sweeping finale. Legrand’s world remains one of the trilogy’s greatest strengths: the Middlemist feels palpably alive yet decaying, a battered, magical landscape infused with menace, beauty, and melancholy. 

Descriptions of monsters, awakened gods, blood-soaked battles, and the eerie Old Country are vivid and immersive. The political unrest, refugee crises, and divine threats escalate naturally from the prior books (A Crown of Ivy and Glass and A Song of Ash and Moonlight), creating a cohesive sense of impending doom that pays off with satisfying twists. Mara stands out as a deeply flawed, compelling protagonist. 

Tough and capable on the battlefield, she grapples with profound depression, a crushing sense of displacement (having been sent away in place of her sister Gemma), suicidal ideation, and the psychological toll of her binding to the Order. Her internal struggles feel raw and authentic, adding significant emotional weight—readers sensitive to heavy mental health themes, graphic violence, and suicidal content should approach with care. Gareth Fontaine serves as the perfect foil: a brilliant, witty, glasses-wearing librarian with rakish charm and “bookish Finnick Odair” energy. 

Assigned to assist Mara, he’s reverent of the Roses (especially her), annoyingly confident, and provides sharp banter that sparks a classic slow-burn, jock/nerd romance with “he falls first” vibes. Their chemistry builds through shared danger, quiet vulnerability, and steamy tension, blending tenderness, angst, passion, and solace without overshadowing the larger plot. The supporting cast, including reunions with the other Ashbourne sisters and their partners, adds richness. 

The trilogy’s emphasis on sisterly bonds, flawed yet relatable characters, and realistic growth shines through, though some readers note that Mara’s arc can feel particularly heavy and that the ensemble moments occasionally take a back seat to her personal turmoil. The narrative mixes quest-driven adventure—hunting cursed objects through dangerous territories—with large-scale battles and political intrigue. It’s darker and more intense than the previous entries, leaning heavily into despair before offering hope and catharsis. My only gripe was the chapters filled with heavy sex scenes, which I had no desire to read about. I am still coping with loss, depression, and blame 2 weeks after losing my cat to a sudden illness. 

Otherwise, this book was a fitting end to the trilogy.