Jovan and Kalina, noble siblings of art-loving Sjona, are heirs to a difficult responsibility: detecting poisons and preventing them from reaching the city’s Chancellor. When their father is felled along with the reigning monarch by a poison none of them can identify or detect, they are thrust into duty protecting their friend Tain—the newest ruler of Sjona. And then, with their military fighting a campaign far from home, they find an army of fanatics at their city’s gates, hell-bent on destroying Sjona and its people. Somehow, Jovan and Kalina must decide whom to trust in a city they barely recognize, while fighting a war neither of them fully understands.

City of Lies is only the beginning of the Poison War trilogy, but it functions as a standalone story as well. Sam Hawke’s tale of intrigue and betrayal comes to a seemingly pat ending, but knowing that the story is far from over casts a welcome patina of uncertainty over the state of affairs. This complexity is aided by Hawke’s skilful use of a first-person limited perspective to construct multifaceted and imperfect characters, although they sometimes fall into established fantasy archetypes. Sjona is a fascinating environment as well. Hawke’s politically fraught society is built on subterfuge in a fashion reminiscent of Robin Hobb’s Buckkeep Castle, and her magic system is an interesting take on the type of magic used by writers like Guy Gavriel Kay and Daniel Abraham.

Much of City of Lies’ appeal lies in Hawke’s writing style, and the depth and narrative potential of its world and characters. But the most interesting aspect is its approach to conflict. Unlike most typical fantasy works, Hawke presents both sides of a religious war as sympathetic. This is a plot that seems to be full of antagonists, but is actually populated with basically decent people who cannot communicate with each other, either because they do not understand each other’s concerns or because their complaints are too deeply held to be negotiable. Even the real masterminds are merely selfish rather than evil. As a result, City of Lies is a story that resonates beyond its pages without overtly moralizing, which is a rare achievement in any genre.

All told, Sam Hawke’s debut is an engaging, tense and deeply relevant story within an intriguing world that lends itself well to further exploration.

Imagine at the very instant of your birth, your soul’s twin was born somewhere in the world. From the moment you could walk, you were given a weapon and told that you existed to defend your soulmate. You are forged into a perfect warrior, a living avatar of the desert god, Parkoun the Scouring Wind. You have never felt fear. Maybe you’d think the world is filled with certainty. In Jaqueline Carey’s consistently enthralling and surprising Starless, you’d find there’s a lot more to the world than you first believed.

Khai is born into such a world. His soul’s twin, the Princess Zariya, lives in the House of the Ageless and is a member of an ancient ruling family blessed with near immortality. It is Khai’s purpose to be the princess’ Shadow and keep her safe from all danger. Though the connection he and Zariya share is achingly real, he is out of his element amongst the court, where the dangers aren’t as easy to spot as swords. But all of this doubt is pushed aside when an ancient darkness starts to rise. Pushed into an impossible mission by an ancient prophecy, Khai and Zariya hope that their link, and all the gifts it provides, is enough to help them survive a catastrophe of celestial proportions.

The gods in Starless walk the earth. Cast down from the sky for rebelling against their father, each god’s unique persona informs the people who worship it. Elemental, wondrous and terrifying, these deities are memorable, and each time the characters encounter them is epic. A tornado of sand and heat, an unseen jungle menace and a graceful rain spirit all make appearances on our heroes’ quest.

At its heart, Starless is profoundly interested in very personal questions. Khai must confront a significant truth about himself early in the story, and the resulting doubt and ambiguity are rendered with great care and tenderness. Even as the undead rise from the sea, we can’t help but be drawn to the feelings Khai must be grappling with in the wake of his personal revelation. It is one of the very best parts of the novel.

Another fantastic element is the back-and-forth between Khai and Zariya. In the hands of a lesser writer, the fated spark they share might not seem earned or, worse, believable. Let us dispel that thought—Carey has put to page one of the best pairs of protagonists in the last few years. Her lush, vibrant world just serves as the perfect backdrop for a relationship worthy of the prophecies it fulfills.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Jacqueline Carey.