As one age ends, another begins—and the hand that passes the torch is drenched in blood.

Soltaire was a great House once, laid low by the ravages of time. Now, their only hope of retribution lies with one man; Emre, bound by oath to avenge his slain brothers. Already countless blood has been spilled fighting over the last ever Well to grace mortal shores, and if Emre has his way in the name of resurrecting his line, more will spill yet. But with each passing day his mind drifts, replaced by the will of another; the Dawnmother.

So he thinks.

It is to that same god that his queen, Serilla Averil, serves. Yet she finds herself instead in the company of assassins, traitors, and conniving whoresons. Devoted allies number fewer by the day, and her only chance at saving herself and her kingdom from falling into ruin is by trusting the disgraced, discarded Cognitar Orhan. Together, they must find the man sowing discord amongst her court, before every seat lies empty.

Farther along the weave, Amina, the witch-niece of Cognitar Orhan, dreams of nights spent before hearths instead of corpse-carts. But the heavens would rather show her the breaking of the world. Then she stumbles upon something bloodier even than the war that rages; one that may be her only chance at stopping it.

While the Well blossoms in the shadows, so too does death.

No dream lies beyond reach.