Synopsis:
Tilde has always heard the whispers of the kithwood, the voices of her ancestors speaking through the mysterious forest of her homeland.
But now both the kithwood and her kingdom are in danger.
For Tilde is the only surviving heir of a conquered land. To unite the people and finally stop the bloodshed, she marries the ageing warlord, King Liran. Her duty is to bind their nations and bear him a son.
But the swan king’s court is dangerous. Tilde is a threat to the claim of Liran’s older sons, who will do whatever it takes to remove her, to the princess Elise who has only ever known loyalty to her family, and to the priests who own them all.
Yet none of them know that Tilde is a snake in their midst, with allies on her side and dark, forbidden power of her own. She wants her kingdom back, and she will sacrifice everything to claim it.
For the queen to rise, the swans must fall.
A dark and propulsive tale of warring kingdoms, female rage and a wild magic that refuses to be tamed, by the No.1 Sunday Times bestselling author of the Fallen Gods trilogy.
Review:
A dark fairy tale reimagining with a sentient forest, courtly politics, sapphic undertones, and just feminine rage.
Tilde begged her mother, the clan’s King, to trade her like a jewelled snake, bright and shining, to adorn the wrist of their conqueror. Close enough to bite. There, she is the barbarian bride, creating chaos secretly whilst orbiting around the innocent princess who sees too much.
‘Do not cut off the swan’s head and call it vengeance while its poison seeps out,’ she said, holding me so hard it almost hurt. ‘Pluck out its feathers, silence its beak, destroy its nest and set a snake on its young. This is not a hunt, Tilde. This must be a massacre.’
This is the strongest comparison to Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon and Children of Gods and Fighting Men by Shauna Lawless I have ever read.
It’s lush with descriptions, dark and dangerous with desire, and bristling with political machinations. There was also a tyrannical ‘saviour’ religion that was righteous and justified, but only to suit one side.
The prose was brittle with bitterness, yet softened by that fairytale cadence. The ending is what cements this as a reimagining and sets up the tone for the rest of the series.
‘You are barely a sapling, half grown and ever bending.’ At least I did not need to smile or rise above their vitriol. I could meet fire with fire. ‘And you’re a cragged old trunk that can’t feel the rot in its roots.’
Despite there being a forbidden, sapphic yearning; I wish there was more. More stolen conversations, more aching deliberations, more depth.
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