Sambuciña “Buc” Alhurra, a former pickpocket and private detective who now sits on the board of the powerful Kanados Trading Company, has discovered that playing host to a piece of a sleeping god is an effective way to kick a drug habit, but it comes with some annoying side effects. Specifically, she is convinced that her best friend and star-crossed love interest, Eldritch “Eld” Nelson Rawlings, hates her now, and she is constantly arguing with said god-bit that she does not, in fact, want to be entirely possessed. Buc is especially reticent to entirely give in to her Sin, as the slivers of this particular god call themselves, because she is still committed to destroying all the gods, including Sin. And just to make things more complicated, the chair of the Kanados board is plotting to exile her, someone is trying to murder the ruler of Servenzan Empire, the gangs of the empire’s capitol city have started an all-out war and at some point, Buc will have to learn how to dance. Welcome to The Justice in Revenge.

Author Ryan Van Loan’s debut novel, The Sin in the Steel, was reminiscent of Scott Lynch’s Gentleman Bastards series, and his sophomore book hews closer than ever to that template: There are rival urban gangs being co-opted by a shadowy figure, a classic brains-and-muscle pairing in which the muscle is smarter than one would assume and even a city built on trade and canals. However, Van Loan puts his own stamp on this familiar territory, ably incorporating the romantic tension between Buc and Eld and fusing the setting with steampunk tendencies that feel necessary to the story, rather than merely tacked on for flavor. Buc’s interactions with her Sin (which is an evocative thing to name a god, or even part of one), with Eld and with the few people she dares call her friends are uniquely entertaining, and although they occasionally veer into cliché (in particular, Van Loan’s descriptions of Buc’s attempts at romance trend this way), they nevertheless remain convincing. Both Buc and Eld are well-written protagonists with complex morals and motivations. Van Loan excels at writing unexpectedly dark stories with quick, high-energy prose, propelling the reader through this fairly convoluted plot with a twisted kind of brio.

This speed contributes directly to what is, initially, The Justice in Revenge’s most infuriating aspect: Van Loan hides information from the reader by, well, just skipping things and filling them in later. Most of the time. Some gaps are never filled, so readers who want their novels to leave no questions unanswered should beware. But these spaces are never accidental, and the loose ends still dangling on the last page are clearly intended to be there. Van Loan carries off this stylistic choice with conviction, even starting the story in the middle of a plot that is not really explained for several chapters. It is a welcome reprieve from excessive exposition, as well as an incredibly effective hook. However, this lack of exposition means that The Justice in Revenge relies even more heavily on the reader’s familiarity with its predecessor than most fantasy sequels already do.

The Justice in Revenge may not be especially innovative, and it requires a lot of attention to read without getting horribly lost in Servenza’s labyrinthine subplots. But it is a lot of fun.

Brian Staveley’s previous trilogy, Chronicle of the Unhewn Throne, followed intricately intertwined political machinations in a vast world with an extensive history. The Empire’s Ruin begins a new arc set in the same universe and tells the stories of three characters: Gwenna, a member of an elite group of soldiers who serve the Annurian Empire; Akiil, a monk turned con artist; and Ruc, a priest trying to survive in the dangerous swamp town of Dombang. Even readers unfamiliar with Staveley's earlier books will enjoy this lengthy, immersive fantasy.

Staveley frequently narrates from triads of point-of-view characters, and while the three protagonists of The Empire’s Ruin start in dramatically different places, they all serve to tell the same story: the slow, inevitable decline of the Annurian Empire, which is still reeling from the events of the previous trilogy. Ruc experiences the consequences of the empire’s weakened grip firsthand, as a victim of the violent streets of Dombang, which has seceded from the empire. Gwenna carries out the Empress’s orders to explore and scavenge undiscovered territory across a vast ocean as Akiil attempts to work a con on the Empress herself.

The world of The Empire’s Ruin is unremittingly bleak, and while Staveley embraces the physical violence that’s all too common in this world, he focuses far more on the psychological impact of living in a crumbling society. Each character here, even beyond the three main characters, battles external corruption and violence while simultaneously battling their own fears of inadequacy, internal corruption and severe depression (except for Akiil, who is a dirtbag who deserves the comeuppance he will eventually receive).

Gwenna, Akiil and Ruc are all prone to monologuing and soliloquies, to the point that it sometimes feels as if Staveley has written three separate fantasy versions of Hamlet. At times, this focus on introspection can make certain sections feel interminable. And while this feels like an intentional choice on Staveley’s part, to demonstrate each character’s narrow focus on their own struggles, it does hurt the book’s overall pacing.

But by the end of The Empire’s Ruin, most readers will still be itching for more. Those looking for a thoughtful, dark fantasy with action and well-earned twists would do well to pick this one up.

Has there ever been a better time to be both a reader of fantasy and a lover of history? With greater and greater frequency, real history is inspiring new yet familiar fantasy worlds. The best authors of such fantasies faithfully harness the richness of the past and make it their own, and in The Jasmine Throne, author Tasha Suri does just that.

Inspired by the lush and shimmering epics of India, The Jasmine Throne is the story of two women: Princess Malini, the sister to an emperor who has been imprisoned for heresy, and Priya, a maidservant with a hidden past. Malini and Priya would never have met if it weren't for the Hirana. The massive temple-turned-prison is, for Malini, a structure of ancient, magical power. Even as Priya ascends its steps to wait on Malini for the first time, she can feel the Hirana’s magic calling to her. After Priya defends the princess from an assassin and reveals to Malini Priya's own magical abilities, the two women find their lives intertwined. Together, they’ll either overthrow Malini’s zealot brother and save Priya’s family, or die trying.

I couldn’t help but think of R.F. Kuang’s The Poppy War while reading Suri’s work. I immediately sank into The Jasmine Throne just as I did with Kuang’s dark military fantasy inspired by 20th-century China. Both authors use real places as the foundations for their fictional worlds, which grants the reader a rich sense of place from the first page. The Jasmine Throne is sumptuous and heady, mystical and intricate, with Suri’s natural, precise prose deftly shifting as she alternates among multiple charcters' perspectives.

But Malini and Priya's connection is what will have fans raving about this book. Their relationship evolves slowly and carefully, and one never gets the sense that the rest of the story is being artificially slowed down or altered in order for them to interact. A recurring theme of the narrative is fire, both cleansing and destructive, and without spoiling anything, that theme is embodied perfectly by these two characters. There are some moments between them that are absolutely electric on the page.

Both protagonists have to make some tough choices as the story unfolds, and neither one’s hands are clean by the end. Their moments of righteous vengeance will satisfy fans of other great writers of political intrigue, such as George R.R. Martin and Pierce Brown, but Suri maintains her hold on the reader’s affections even as Malini and Priya find themselves morally compromised in their journey.

The Jasmine Throne more than lives up to the hype with its rich and expansive world, compelling characters, cool magic system and Suri’s excellent writing, which holds it all together. But wait, there’s more good news! This book is the first of a trilogy, so if you’re already hooked, there’s more of Priya and Malini coming soon. I can’t wait to see where they take each other next.

T.L. Huchu’s first installment of the Edinburgh Nights series, The Library of the Dead, is a kaleidoscopic adventure that melds the phantasmagoric with the mundane.

Ropa Moyo is struggling to both make ends meet and take care of her beloved Gran and little sister, Izwi. She dropped out of school to work as a ghosttalker, a messenger between the deceased and the people they left behind. Ropa is always eager for a quick gig, but an eerie pattern has begun to emerge. Ghosts all over Edinburgh have been warning her of cursed and bewitched local children, and Ropa is wary of whatever powerful entity might be employing this dark magic. To help her figure out what’s going on, her childhood best friend, Jomo Maige, takes Ropa to the mysterious Library where his father works, an occult research facility where Ropa can check out books on magic to supplement her patient Gran’s ghosttalker lessons and where her library card is a desiccated ear. Huchu’s twisty and devilishly macabre novel follows Ropa, Jomo and Ropa's new Library ally, Priya, a healer who uses a wheelchair, as they unravel a mystery so chilling that even the ghosts of Edinburgh shudder in revulsion.

Huchu has crafted an unforgettable character in Ropa, from her green locs to her black lipstick to her sense of humor, which is sharp enough to rival the dagger she carries on her body at all times. Ropa is a smart-talking, intelligent survivor, and she wants to provide the best opportunities for Izwi and a safe, stable home for her benevolent Gran. Ropa secretly finds joy in helping set spirits free, though she hides this soft spot with her sardonic quips. She gives off the impression of being a lone wolf, but her friendship with Jomo is constantly endearing, and her connection with Priya provides her with a new ride-or-die pal who is just as passionate about all things strange and unusual.

Ropa conveys messages from the dead to their unrequited high school crushes and alleviates tensions to prevent intrafamily hauntings, so how difficult could this new adventure be? But her Library explorations push her skills further than she ever imagined, while helping her learn more about the magical abilities passed down through her Zimbabwean family. Ropa’s pursuit of greater power and knowledge is always tied to how she can best protect her community, which is one of the most charming aspects of this very charming book. She is dedicated to becoming not only a proper magician but also a more compassionate ghosttalker, trailing the footsteps of those who came before and forging a new path for those who will follow.

With a magic system that’s two parts enchantment and one part pseudoscience, The Helm of Midnight is a well-executed fantasy set in a heavily religious world reminiscent of Renaissance Europe. Author Marina Lostetter (Noumenon) brings together a cast of relatable, remarkably human characters across three separate timelines to tell a beautiful story of struggle, loss and, eventually, triumph.

Rather than spells and grand wizards, the world of The Helm of Midnight is built on a foundation of “scientific magic,” which is similar to traditional representations of alchemy. Magic is accessed via specific metals that each represent one of the five gods of the pantheon: Emotion, Knowledge, Unknown and twins Time and Nature. The twins are male and female; Emotion and Knowledge go by unique pronouns to represent their genders; and the Unknown's identification is undisclosed (perhaps representing nonbinary or genderfluid identity). These gods are central to everything in Lostetter’s world. Magic follows their rules, government is modeled on them and the plot circles around their religion.

In the present-day storyline, Krona, a Regulator of magical items and enchantments, is searching for two lost items: a death mask imbued with the spirit of a religious fanatic and serial killer and a stone of pure despair, enchanted to bestow grief on its wearer. As Krona continues her search, Lostetter weaves in the other two storylines, which unfold in the past, to paint a broader picture of the city-state and the greater history at play.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Marina Lostetter on why The Helm of Midnight needed to be told from three perspectives.

While the setting is rich and full of layered, complex culture, the core draw of The Helm of Midnight lies in its characters and their plights. These characters have suffered, are suffering or will suffer serious hardship. Dealing with grief, loss and emotional damage is as much a part of the book as the enchantments and murder wrought throughout. The city’s currency is literally lost time, which is taxed at birth, then bottled and sold. Emotions are drained away into stones in order to embrace good feelings and wash away painful ones. Masks are enchanted with the knowledge of the dead to avoid their disappearance into oblivion.

While clearly setting up for a series, Lostetter tells a complete and satisfying story within the 400 or so pages of The Helm of Midnight. Tears, smiles and surprise await any reader that opens this book.

Lieutenant Touraine is a conscript. Kidnapped as a small child from her homeland—once the Shāzan Empire, now the colony of Qazāl—she was forced into service in the Colonial Brigade of Balladaire, serving alongside others who, like her, were seized from their native desert lands.

They've recently been deployed to El-Wast, the capital of Qazāl and Touraine’s own hometown. Her immediate superior is a noble-born sadist who denigrates her and her companions any chance he gets. Her commanding officer is a woman both respected and feared for her single-minded devotion to the throne and pragmatic brutality. Her best friend yearns for revolution, her lover for safety, and Touraine herself for success, for a chance to prove her worth and the worth of her fellow fighters to their Balladairan overlords. When Touraine foils an assassination attempt against Luca Ancier, the princess of Balladaire, Touraine is hurled headlong into a whirlwind of intrigue, romance and rebellion. She encounters revenants from her past, as well as types of magic that the nobles of Balladaire have denied but that Touraine and her comrades know to be horrifyingly real.

Throughout The Unbroken, the first book in C.L. Clark's Magic of the Lost series, Clark introduces characters as if they're old friends, trusting the reader to infer the connections between Touraine and her fellow soldiers. Although this feels jarring at first—for the first several chapters, the reader almost constantly feels as though they have missed something—it quickly becomes one of The Unbroken’s greatest strengths. As the book submerges the reader in this way, it gives the story a unique urgency and drive, and it persuades the reader that if you just keep going, the answers will reveal themselves. Combined with Clark’s undeniable skill as both a writer and a world builder, this plunge into plot renders The Unbroken a remarkably active read. It requires attention from the reader in ways few speculative works do.

The Unbroken also follows in the grand tradition of speculative fiction that comments directly on the real world. Clark presents a searing and unflinching view of European colonization in North Africa, and of Africans' struggle against it, and she refuses to soften any of the harshness or resolve any of the complications inherent in those events.

In Clark’s world of Balladaire and Shālan, no benevolence goes untarnished and no grand ideal is left uncompromised. Even her villains are driven less by sadism or a desire for chaos than by simple selfishness, greed and the thoughtless cruelty of a bigot convinced their bigotry is, in fact, truth. And yet, for all the disturbingly plausible grime, gore and occasional horror that coat every surface of this tale, The Unbroken is not a dark fantasy. There is a current of optimism that flows throughout: optimism for Touraine and Luca, optimism for Shālan and Balladaire, and perhaps optimism for the real regions Clark has translated onto the page. It's a hope that all these people and places will somehow remain, in spite of the destruction that flawed, selfish, well-meaning people wreak on each other, unbroken.