In this unique collaboration, four authors lyrically explore where they each come from–literally and metaphorically–as well as what unites all of us as humans.
Richly layered illustrations connect past and present, making for an accessible and visually striking look at history, family, and identity.
We come from stardust / our bodies made of ancient elements. / We come from single cells / evolving over billions of years. / We come from place, language, and spirit. / And each of us comes from story.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
I loved the idea of this book, seeming like a long form poem, and am so glad that I picked it up. It really is an exploration of how we are impacted by not only our present lives, but the lives of who came before us and who we came from. Everything that our ancestors struggled through to get us where we are was represented in this book. The art that accompanies the words makes it even more poignant and truly brings the words to life.
An enemies-to-lovers mash-up of THE HATING GAME and THE GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF, in which two rival hosts of a massively popular cooking show have to fake a relationship to save their careers after an explosive on-air fallout, only to find their feelings for each other becoming real.
Their feelings are about to boil over…
Chef Nina Lyon dreams of cooking her way to culinary stardom and becoming a household name. She thought hosting The Next Cooking Champ! was her golden ticket, but she and her co-host/arch-nemesis Leo O’Donnell go together like water and oil and he undercuts her at every turn.
So when Nina unexpectedly quits the show–on live TV, no less–to focus on her restaurant, she doesn’t anticipate the he-devil himself showing up at her door begging her to come back. Nor does she expect the paparazzi to catch them in what looks like a passionate kiss, but is actually Leo tripping into her. When the fans go crazy over Nina and Leo’s “secret romance”, keeping the ruse going might be the only way to save both their careers. That is, if they don’t kill each other first…
Perfect for fans of THE HATING GAME and Netflix’s GREAT BRITISH BAKE-OFF (…if Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood were hot thirty-somethings), FOR BUTTER OR WORSE is the escapist enemies-to-lovers romance we all need right now.
As soon as I saw the comparison to The Great British Bake Off I wanted to pick up this book. I have a fondness fo books that include food elements, so that right there had me hooked.
That being said, I actually enjoyed this book even more than I thought I would. Nina and Leo are both complex characters with a very complicated relationship. Because they are enemies they have a lot to work through and this book has a ton of different tropes at play from enemies to lovers to miscommunication, fake dating and more. I also appreciated the supporting characters such as Leo’s family, they brought an additional human element to the story.
Also, this story isn’t just a romance – there are a lot of real world issues that are tackled and presented not only in Leo and Nina’s relationship, but throughout the story itself. All in all it was a great read and I would definitely pick up more from the author.
ERIN LA ROSA is a writer living in Los Angeles. As a writer for BuzzFeed, she frequently writes about the perils and triumphs of being a redhead. Before BuzzFeed, Erin worked for the comedy websites Funny or Die and MadAtoms, as well as E!s Fashion Police, Wetpaint, and Ecorazzi. Erin has appeared on CNN, Headline News, Jimmy Kimmel, and The Today Show on behalf of BuzzFeed. She is the author of Womanskills and The Big Redhead Book.
When a cold-case serial killer returns, FBI special agent Fiona Kelly has one last chance to stop him before he claims the prize he’s always wanted—her.
The sight of a goose feather at a murder scene modeled after a children’s poem is enough to make FBI special agent Fiona Kelly’s blood turn to ice. Almost two decades ago, a feather was left with her sister’s body—and with every subsequent victim of the Nursery Rhyme Killer. Now he’s back. Only this time, his latest gruesome murder is a message to the only one who ever got away: Fiona.
Finding “Rhyme” is an obsession that’s fueled Fiona’s career—and destroyed her marriage to fellow FBI agent Asa Kodiak. Now Fiona and Asa have to put their past tensions aside and work together one last time. But Rhyme is watching, and catching this killer may force Fiona to reveal her biggest, darkest secret…the one only he knows.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
I hadn’t read from this author before, but the premise of the story had me hooked from the beginning. Right from the get go the story is intense and constantly driving forward as Asa and Fiona have to work together to try and catch the killer. There weren’t any characters which felt unneeded, everyone was very integral to the story. I was not expecting how dark the story would go, but couldn’t put it down. I obviously don’t want to say too much about the specifics of the story as I don’t want to spoil anything, but if you enjoy shows etc. that focus on serial killers then this would be up your alley. A compelling story/mystery/hunt for a killer along with fully developed characters that drove the story made this one an excellent read. I will definitely be picking up more from this author in the future!
Thank you again to the publisher for sending me a copy of this book in exchange for any honest review.
The small Oregon town of Pear Blossom welcomes the return of its prodigal daughter Ruby McKee. Found abandoned as a baby by the McKee family, Ruby is the unofficial town mascot, but when she and her adoptive sisters start investigating the true circumstances around her discovery, it soon becomes clear that this small town is hiding the biggest, and darkest, of secrets. A raw, powerful exploration of the lengths people go to protect their loved ones, for fans of Lori Wilde and Carolyn Brown.
Ruby McKee is a miracle.
It’s a miracle she survived, abandoned as a newborn baby. A miracle that she was found by the McKee sisters. Her discovery allowed the community of Pear Blossom, Oregon, broken by a devastating crime, to heal. Since then, Ruby has lived a charmed life. But she can’t let go of the need to know why she was abandoned, and she’s tired of not having answers.
Dahlia McKee knows it’s not right to resent Ruby for being special. But uncovering the truth about sister Ruby’s origins could allow Dahlia to carve her own place in Pear Blossom history… if she’s brave enough to follow her heart.
Widowed sister Lydia McKee doesn’t have time for Ruby’s what if’s – when Lydia’s right now is so, so hard. Her husband’s best friend Chase might be offering to share some of the load, but can Lydia ever trust her instincts around him?
Marianne Martin is glad that her youngest sister is back in town, but balancing Ruby’s crusade with the way her own life is imploding is turning into a bigger chore than she imagined. Especially when Ruby starts overturning secrets about the past that Marianne has spent a lifetime trying to pretend don’t exist.
And when the truth about Ruby’s miraculous origins, and the crime from long ago, turn out to be connected in ways no one could have expected, will the McKee sisters band together, or fall apart?
I’ve enjoyed the books I’ve read previously from Maisey Yates, so I was excited to pick this one up. I loved the setting, especially since it’s very similar to my neck of the woods. I did really like the individual personalities and situations of the three sisters, and the look at their past relationships as well as how their current relationships are being shaped through their experiences with each other. I also really enjoyed the mystery element that kept the story going and made it a read that flew by. Maisey Yates’ writing is easy to read and flows wonderfully, which also keeps the story moving at a great pace. All in all this was a read I really enjoyed.
Maisey Yates is a New York Times bestselling author of over one hundred romance novels. Whether she’s writing strong, hard working cowboys, dissolute princes or multigenerational family stories, she loves getting lost in fictional worlds. An avid knitter with a dangerous yarn addiction and an aversion to housework, Maisey lives with her husband and three kids in rural Oregon. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com or find her on Facebook.
Detective Anjelica Henley confronts a series of ritualistic murders in this heart-pounding thriller about race, power and the corrupt institutions that threaten usfor fans of S.A. Crosby and Tami Hoag
When Detective Anjelica Henley is called to investigate the murder of popular preacher in his own church, she discovers a second victim, tortured and tied to a bed in an upstairs room. He is alive, but barely, and his body show signs of a dark religious ritual.
With a revolving list of suspects and the media spotlight firmly on her, Henley is left with more questions than answers as she attempts to untangle both crimes. But when another body appears, the case takes on a new urgency. Unless she can apprehend the killer, the next victim may just be Henley herself.
Drawing on her experiences as a criminal attorney, Nadine Matheson’s new novel deftly explores issues of race, class and justice through an action-packed story that will hold you captive until the last terrifying page.
“We all lost,” said DS Paul Stanford as he held out a Quality Street tin in front of Henley.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Henley asked as she took off her coat and flung it onto a spare desk. “Are there any toffee pennies in there?”
“You might want to keep your coat on. The heating’s on the blink again. Either that or they’ve forgotten all about us and haven’t paid the bill. There’s a hundred and forty pounds in the pot and no toffee pennies.”
“Why is there a hundred and forty quid in there?”
Stanford rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Remember our bet?” he said. “On him. Our illustrious fully fledged Detective Constable Ramouter.”
“What have I done?” Ramouter asked from his position in the kitchen where he’d been eyeing the bottom of a mug with disgust.
“This is ridiculous,” Henley said. Her ears picked up the whirr coming from the electric fan heaters and the ice-fueled wind whistling outside and rattling the glass.
“You lasted, Ramouter; that’s what you did,” said Stanford. “We had a bet on how long you would last in the SCU.”
“And you didn’t think that I would last six months?” asked Ramouter as he picked up another mug.
“Mate, I didn’t think you would last six days. I’ll have a coffee if you’re making.”
“You shouldn’t be so mean to him,” said Henley as she took off her scarf and pushed it against the rotting frame of the window to block the icy draft that was sweeping across her desk.
“How am I being mean? I’m paying him a bloody compliment. After everything that happened, no one would have blamed him if he’d bolted for the door.”
“Well, he didn’t. He’s stuck with it. So, what are you going to do with the money?”
“I could give Ramouter the money. He could spend it on a train ticket to Bradford or something.”
“Now who’s getting soft?” Henley said. The phone on her desk started to ring.
“Or I could book a table at the curry house down the road. It will be teambuilding.”
“Or a normal Friday night out with you falling asleep in your chili chicken.”
“Rude,” Stanford replied as Henley picked up the phone and Ramouter appeared by his side with a mug of steaming coffee for him.
“Right. I see,” said Henley, reaching for the pad of blue Post-it notes on her desk and a ballpoint pen with a chewed cap. “I didn’t realize that we were still on duty. Can you send me the CAD details? No, I can’t get it myself because the system has crashed again. Thank you. Who found the body? Right.”
Henley pulled off the Post-it note and stuck it to the side of Ramouter’s mug. He peeled it off and looked at it quizzically. “Depending on traffic, we should be there in fifteen minutes.”
“You’re not going to have time to finish that,” said Henley, putting the phone down and grabbing her scarf.
“There’s a body in a church?” Ramouter said as he read the note. “Seriously?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Why are we dealing with this?”
“We’re dealing with it because the borough commander decided that the Serial Crime Unit should be helping out Homicide and Serious Crime with their caseload,” Henley replied wearily.
“Anyone would think that we were just sitting here watching Netflix all day,” Ramouter moaned. “Is it even a murder?”
“We won’t know until we get there, will we?”
“Can I say it?” asked Stanford, a grin spreading across his face.
“No, you can’t,” Henley replied. She picked up her bag and headed toward the door, with Ramouter in tow. She knew Stanford well enough to know exactly what he was going to say.
“I bet you a tenner that it was the Reverend Green with a candlestick in the library,” Stanford shouted out as Henley slammed the door shut behind her.
“I’m not telling you again. Step away from the tape.”
“What’s going on?”
“If I knew I was going to spend the afternoon standing out in the freezing cold I would have stayed in bed this morning.”
“I bet that they’ve found a body or something.”
“Look, those CSI lot have turned up.”
“I only popped out for a coffee and now the old bill are saying that I can’t go back into my own office.”
“F this. I’m going home.”
“I’m telling you that they’ve found a body.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I don’t understand these kids. Too busy stabbing each other up. No value for life.”
“You can dress it up as much as you like. It’s Deptford innit.”
The murmurings of the curious and disgruntled crowd met Henley and Ramouter as they walked toward the scene of the crime.
“This is a church?” Ramouter asked as he looked up at the cream-colored facade of the brickwork. “I was expecting something a bit more… I don’t know, church-like. Maybe a steeple. This looks like a bank.”
“It used to be a NatWest when I was seventeen. The space was once cheap to rent. Not so sure now,” Henley replied.
“I did a quick Google search—”
“Of course you did.”
“And there’s another seven churches on the Broadway.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Henley. “Betting shops, churches and chicken shops on literally every London high street.”
Henley and Ramouter held up their warrant cards to the officer behind the police tape. Henley scoped the gathering crowd. Nothing about them raised any alarms, but she knew from experience that some murderers were voyeuristic by nature.
“Look likes Dr. Choi is here,” Ramouter said, pointing out the car of Henley’s friend and the Serial Crime Unit’s favorite pathologist, parked between a police motorbike and small white transit van that had ‘Forensic Services Crime Scene Investigation’ marked in black font on the side.
Henley stopped and looked around the small car park. There were no security cameras. She felt a sense of calm as she walked closer to the crime scene. It was a welcome emotion and a respite from the anxiety that was usually coursing through her veins, which she could keep at bay if she bothered to take her prescription to the chemist. She spotted the police officer that she was looking for leaning against the side of a police car, flipping through the pages of his notebook with a pen in his mouth.
“PC Tanaka? DI Henley from the SCU.”
PC Tanaka looked up and then stood to attention a little bit too quickly as Henley walked toward him.
“Ma’am,” said PC Tanaka.
“This is my colleague, DC Ramouter.”
“Shit,” said PC Tanaka when he dropped his notebook. “Sorry.” He brushed off slush from the cover. “It’s bloody freezing.”
“You were first on scene?” Henley asked.
Tanaka nodded. Henley could tell that he wanted to get it right. Giving a senior officer information about a murder scene was a lot different to dealing with burglaries, domestics and breaking up a fight between a couple of crackheads at the bottom of the high street.
“We, that’s the sarge, Sergeant Rivers, and I were driving back to the station. We’re based around the corner at Deptford station. We had just finished our shifts and was coming back from the McDonald’s up the road…”
PC Tanaka paused and took a breath.
Henley felt sorry for him as nerves or possibly shock overtook him. She saw a look of sympathy on Ramouter’s face as they both waited for PC Tanaka to continue.
“Sorry, guv, I mean ma’am,” said PC Tanaka straightening himself again and lowering the volume on his crackling police radio. “As I said, we were heading back to the station and one of the guys who works in the design agency practically threw himself onto the bonnet of the car. He was screaming about a body. We found the cleaner in hysterics in the staffroom of the agency. She refused to leave and take us to the church. I left her with the sarge and I went into the church and yeah, I won’t forget what I saw.”
Nadine Matheson is a criminal defense attorney and winner of the City University Crime Writing competition. She lives in London, UK.
Rachel lands her dream summer job at a luxurious Tuscan villa. She’s quickly drawn into a new group of rich and beautiful sophisticates and their world of partying, toxic relationships, and even more toxic substances. They’ve never faced consequences, are used to getting everything. But then someone goes too far. Someone dies. And nothing will ever be the same.
Lizzy Barber’s debut A Girl Named Anna won the Daily Mail First Novel Competition. In her newest and even more unputdownable work, she weaves a clever and deadly web of manipulation and desire. A summer thriller rife with back-stabbing, bed-hopping, and murder, Out of Her Depth is a perfect escapist read for fans of Euphoria, J.T. Ellison’s Her Dark Lies, or Rachel Hawkins’s Reckless Girls.
Before you judge me, remember this: a girl died, but it wasn’t my fault.
I know that seems like a pathetic confessional. Even more pathetic because the confession itself has, until this point, never been uttered.
I’ve wanted to. Believe me, I’ve wanted to.
The words have formed themselves on the precipice of my tongue, palpitating with their ugly need to be heard, to make me part of the narrative. To declare to the A-level students when I see it coming up on their news feeds, languorously debating it, now, once more, as it has risen into public consciousness twenty-one years after the fact: I was there.
When they stumble in late to my lesson, less eager to talk of the trapassato prossimo than about who fucked whom at last night’s social, and whether crimped hair really is making a comeback.
I was there.
When they blink at me from faces still etched with yesterday’s makeup, reeking of the top-shelf vodka and menthol cigarettes that their house mistresses will studiously ignore.
I was there.
When they declare they “really struggled with this week’s essay” so they only have notes, and they say, “About that C on the mock exam… Did you know my parents funded the library?” and they don’t even bother to wait for the response as they pull out their laptops and glance at their watches, and they think to themselves, Boring bitch has never lived.
I was there.
I imagine each letter incubating in the saliva that pools in the side of my gums. I picture myself standing, drawing the blinds. An illicit eyebrow raise that will make them pause, look up at me anew, place their laptops on the floor as I edge toward them.
Screw Dante. Let me tell you a real story about Florence.
..….
Now
I am just leaving for dinner when I hear.
People talk of remembering exactly where they were when great events happened: Princess Di, the Twin Towers, Trump. I know this isn’t quite on the same scale, but I’ll remember exactly where I was, all the same.
I’ve had back-to-back lessons all day, but now, at last, I have an hour to myself, the only person left in the languages office. I spend it working on my paper “Pirandello and the Search for Truth” for the Modern Language Review, barely coming up for air. This is the part of academia I enjoy the most: the research, the pulling together of an idea, the rearranging of words and thoughts on the page until they start to take on a life of their own, form arguments, cohesion. I’m hoping that this will be the one they’ll finally agree to publish.
I am the only French and Italian teacher at Graybridge Hall,
have been for the last ten years. When they decided to introduce Italian for the younger years, as well as the older students, I did suggest that perhaps now it would be time to look at hiring someone else. But Ms. Graybridge, the eponymous head—and third of that name to have held the position—reminded me that the school’s ethos was “personal and continuous care for every girl.” Which didn’t really make sense as a rebuttal, but which I knew was shorthand for no, and which she knew—because of certain circumstances under which I assumed my position in the first place—I wouldn’t argue with.
Not that I don’t enjoy teaching. Sometimes. “shaping young minds” and all that seems like it should be a worthy cause. When I was younger, much younger, I imagined maybe I would do a PhD, become a professor. I also thought about diplomatic service, traveling the world as a translator, journalism, maybe, why not? Instead I sit through mock orals on topics as ground-breaking as Food and Eating Out, Cinema and TV, and My Family.
My rumbling stomach is the first signal I have that evening is approaching, and when I tear myself away from my laptop screen to look at the darkening sky, I decide to ditch my planned root around in the fridge, and be sociable instead. Wednesday is quiz night at the pub near school. A group of teachers go every week, the little thrill they get as their cerebral cortexes light up with a correct answer just about making up for a day spent asking the girls to kindly not look at their Apple Watches until break, and maybe not take their makeup out of their Marc Jacobs backpacks until class is over just this once.
I close down my laptop and do a brisk tidy of the room before slipping on my coat and scarf, and am just about to slide my phone into my rucksack when an alert catches my eye—specifically, a name, bouncing out of the BBC News push notification, one I have avoided all thought of for a long while, as much out of circumstance as necessity.
Sebastian Hale.
I freeze in the doorway—phone clutched in my hand as preciously as though it were the Rosetta stone—and look again, not quite believing I saw it right, presuming perhaps it was just wishful thinking, a long hour of screen-staring playing tricks on my eyes, that could have conjured his name before me.
But there it is. That name. Those five syllables. The six vowels and seven consonants that have held more significance for me than any word or sentence written in my entire attempted academic career.
And next to them, three words that throw my whole world off kilter, that see me reaching for the door handle and wrenching it shut, all thoughts of dinner gone from my mind:
Sebastian Hale Appeal Proceeds Tonight.
I sit at my desk, lights off, face illuminated by the white glow of my phone screen, and read someone else’s report of the story I know so well. The story I have lived. I place the phone facedown on the desk, snuffing out its light, and press my palms into the woodwork. The feel of my flesh rubbing against the desk’s smooth surface grounds me, helps me process the report—think.
I knew there had been requests for appeals over the years, all denied by the Corte d’Assise d’Appello. A change of lawyer, probably hoping that new eyes on the case could find something that was missed. But they’ve all come to nothing. How did I miss this?
If he is retried, if there is any possibility that he might be released…everything would change.
After the initial trial, after my part was done and I could finally go home and resume the life I had worked so hard to live. I tried—I really, truly tried—to put it behind me.
That was what she did, after all, and I wanted to follow her lead. I have always wanted to follow her lead. But that time has never truly left me. Sometimes, it will take the smallest thing—the light filtering through a window just so, a particular kind of humid heat, walking past a patisserie and being hit with a waft of baked vanilla sweetness—and it all comes back to me with cut-glass clarity. The sound of our laughter ricocheting off ocher-colored walls. The clink of glasses and the taste of hot weather, raw red wine. The touch of sweat-dewed skin. The scent of pine. The giddy, delightful feeling of being young and happy and having the rest of our lives spooling out in front of us.
These are the good things—the things I want to remember.
The bad things…those I have no choice but to remember.
And now, at the sight of his name alone, I am instantly transported: flying on the wings of a deep déjà vu, away from the cold late-autumn day and the dusty corners of my tired office and back, back, back to that time—that summer.
To those gold-tinged days and months that crescendoed so spectacularly into those final, onyx hours.
To the start.
Lizzy Barber studied English at Cambridge University. Having previously dabbled in acting and film development, she has spent the last ten years as head of marketing for a restaurant group. Her first novel, A Girl Named Anna, won the Daily Mail and Random House First Novel Prize. She lives in London with her family.
Kate, Eddie, and Angus are dazzled by pictures of Viking warriors’ deadly axes and blingy swords in their library books. But when they’re transported back in time to Scandinavia in 991 CE, they must figure out if they have what it takes to become Vikings themselves.
A big, burly Viking called Bjorn initiates the kids in the ways of wielding a battle ax, plundering and looting, and soon they learn all sorts of other tricks as well, including how to get shipshape and navigate the seven seas with just a stone, how to recite rude poems, and how to scare enemies into submission before a battle even begins. Hervor, the haunted shield-maiden, is also on hand to share her tips on how to take off with a handsome ransom and how to make it into Valhalla in the afterlife.
So You Want to Be a Viking? features the field’s latest scholarship and is illustrated throughout with zany illustrations by Japanese cartoonist Takayo Akiyama. Any kid who’s ever daydreamed about being a fierce Norse warrior will love this interactive guide.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
I got this book in an Owlcrate box and have wanted to at least give it a read through since it looked like a fun book for a middle grade audience. The art style is quirky and fun as you go through the book, learning little tidbits about Viking life and beliefs. It’s got a lot of good information that is written in a way that is easily digestible and was a fun read overall. I would definitely recommend it for its intended age group and then they would find the illustrations engaging and the text intriguing.
Hey everyone! I know I haven’t posted a TBR or a card challenge update in a while, so figured now was a good time. I’ve been in quite a bad slump the last few months but I’m trying to get myself out of it, especially since I’m behind on my goal for the year. That means a lot of mood reading, but I’m also trying to get back on my more structured picks such as through the cards.
I’m still working on some card challenges from previous months, but I do have audiobooks available for a number of them, so I’m hopeful I can knock those out pretty easily.
For this month I picked the following:
Nine of Clubs: Anthologies – Love Beyond Body, Space and Time
Ten of Hearts: Rich Pick – So You Want to be A Viking (he wanted to be kind and pick a short book)
Jack: Under 300 Pages – Wolf’s Rain Volume 1
Seven of Spades: Spin a Wheel – Nightbooks
Three of Hearts: Random Color – The Ex Hex
Four of Diamond: NetGalley – This one I’m leaving to just pick one on my list when I get to it.
Other than those I’m going to concentrate on ARCs that I have commitments to and mood read where I can. What’s everyone else reading this month?
In this whimsical book, you will find a treasure chest of twenty-six poems—one for each letter of the alphabet—that illustrate everything about growing up, from the buoyancy of balloons to the nobility of knights.
Much of Come Fly With Me was written and shared by Shayna Bresnick at the age of ten. As a teen, she decided to write about more of life’s adventures and release the entire collection for readers of all ages to enjoy. Come fly through these pages and join her as she explores our world, one special piece at a time.
A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to cancer research and children’s mental health programs.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
This collection of poetry was absolutely adorable and whimsical. I enjoyed the concept of a poem for each letter of the alphabet and found each poem to be varied and fun, but what really made the collection special was the artwork that accompanied each poem. Each image correlated to the poems themselves and give the collection it’s wonderful whimsy. While the poems were simple and to the point, they were a joy to read and very fun in nature.
In the second installment of the award-winning, critically acclaimed Lightfall series, Bea and Cad continue their quest to stop Kest, the mythic bird who stole the sun. Perfect for middle grade fans of Amulet and Avatar the Last Airbender, Lightfall: Shadow of the Bird is another breathtaking journey into the magical world of Irpa, where epic battles and powerful creatures abound.
After a battle that nearly cost them their lives, Bea and Cad awaken in the hidden settlement of the Arsai, mysterious creatures who can glimpse into the future. The Arsai’s vision paints a dire picture for their planet, as the bird Kest Ke Belenus–now awoken from a restless slumber–threatens to destroy all the Lights of Irpa. Desperate for a solution, Bea and Cad seek out the help of a water spirit known as Lorgon, whose ancient wisdom may help them find a way to take down Kest and save Irpa from utter destruction.
But when their time with Lorgon presents more questions than answers, Bea and Cad must decide what’s more important . . . stopping Kest or uncovering the truth.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
I was excited to see that the next volume in this series was out and had to grab it as quickly as I could. It was nice to return to the world I enjoyed in the last volume and to continue the story. I will say that in this one I didn’t love Cad as a character as much, he seemed so singularly focused that in most cases he was blinded by his one goal. I did enjoy the route of the story itself and the further information we are given about the world and what has happened in the past. I’m excited to see what happens going forward!
The Wandering Wordsmith 