Format: Hardcover, 432 pages
Release Date: August 29, 2023
Publisher: Knopf Books for Young Readers
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy / Epic
From the New York Times bestselling author of SIX CRIMSON
CRANES comes a tale of two sisters—one as beautiful as the other is
monstrous— who must fight to save each other when a betrothal contest
gone wrong unleashes an evil that could sever their bond forever.
One sister must fall for the other to rise.
Channi
was not born a monster. But when her own father offered her in
sacrifice to the tiger witch, she was forever changed. Cursed with a
serpent's face, Channi is the exact opposite of her beautiful sister
Vanna—the only person in the village who looks at Channi and doesn’t see a monster. The only person she trusts.
Now
seventeen, Vanna is to be auctioned off in a vulgar betrothal contest
that will enrich the coffers of the village leaders. Only Channi, who’s
had to rely on her strength and cunning all these years, can defend her
sister against the cruelest of the suitors. But in doing so, she becomes
the target of his wrath—launching a series of vicious gladiatorial
fights, a quest over land and sea, romance between sworn enemies, and a
choice that will strain Channi's heart to its breaking point.
Weaving together elements of The Selection and Ember in the Ashes
with classic tales like Beauty and the Beast and Helen of Troy,
Elizabeth Lim is at the absolute top of her game in this thrilling yet
heart-wrenching fantasy that explores the dark side of beauty and the
deepest bonds of sisterhood.
Elizabeth Lim's Her Radiant Curse can be considered the prequel to the authors Six Crimson Cranes duology or a spin-off if you so choose. But you don't have to have read Six Crimson Cranes to enjoy this series based on Asian mythology. Channeri was not born a monster. But when her own father offered her in
sacrifice to the tiger witch Angma, she's forever changed. Cursed with a
serpent's face, Channi is the exact opposite of her beautiful sister
Vanna, born with light surrounding her, and the only person in the village who looks at Channi and doesn’t see a monster. The only person she trusts. The only person she would die for.
For 16 years, Channi, along with her faithful snake companion Ukari, who is immune to Channi's toxic blood, have trained for the day when Angma returns. Ukari and his brothers and sisters are the only real family Channi has. Channi is all but looked down upon by everyone in her village, including her own father. Only her sister sees that Channi will do anything to protect her sister. Vanna's father Adah decides on a Selection day to see which powerful leader will make his daughter grant her wish by leaving Sundau forever, while also trying to make sure that Channi goes with her.
Now
seventeen, the day that Channi is supposed to hand over her sister, Vanna is to be auctioned off in a vulgar betrothal contest
that will enrich the coffers of the village leaders. Only Channi, who’s
had to rely on her strength and cunning all these years, can defend her
sister against the cruelest of the suitors. But in doing so, she becomes
the target of a series of vicious gladiatorial
fights, a quest over land and sea, an alliance with a diabolical dragon who wants something in return for his help, and a
choice that will strain Channi's heart to its breaking point.
*Thoughts* Having read the authors Six Crimson Cranes, and knowing a little bit about the history of Channi, I was eager to find out the real truth about how she ended up the step-mother in Six Crimson Cranes. There is magic and dragons, betrayal and trust, islands and jungles and snakes and tigers. The author poignantly shows two sisters who are set up to compete and resent each
other by their father, and their village, only to bond and lift up each other despite societal expectations. In the previous duology, Channi was considered to be the villain until her daughter discovered the real truth. I loved
Ukari, a snake and Channi's most loyal, and sarcastic, companion. There is a minor romantic angle to this story that is quickly smothered after a series of devastating events which I won't spoil.
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There was no moon or moonbow when my sister was
born. Contrary to the stories, she arrived late in the morning, close
to noon. I remember, because the sun was in my eyes, and its glaring
heat needled my skin until I bubbled with sweat.
I was very
young and playing outside, poking the ants crawling up my ankles with a
stick, when the sun suddenly receded--and I heard screams. Mama’s
screams.
They were faint at first. Thunder had begun to rumble,
swallowing the brunt of her cries. The loud cracks in the sky did not
frighten me; I was already used to the island’s fickle winds and the low
howls that rolled from the jungle at night. So I stayed, even as rain
unfolded from the sky and the chickens ran for cover. The dirt under my
toes became mud, and the warm, humid air chilled. The ants drowned as
the water climbed up my ankles.
Adah had told me not to come
inside until I was called, but the rain was getting harder. It came down
in sheets, soaking my shirt and sandals and drumming against my skull.
It hurt.
Kicking off my sandals, I clambered up the wooden
stairs to our house and ran inside to the kitchen. I shook my hair free
of rain and tried to warm myself by the fire, but only a few embers
remained.
“Adah?” I called, shivering. “Mama?”
No answer.
My stomach growled. Up beside the cooking pot was a plate of cakes Mama
had steamed for me yesterday. They’d made her hands smell like coconut
and her nails shine, sticky with syrup.
“Channi’s cakes are
ready!” she would always call when they were done. “Don’t eat too much
at once, or the sugar flies will come sweeping into your belly for
dinner.”
She didn’t call for me today.
I stood on my tiptoes and stretched my arms high, but I wasn’t tall enough to reach the plate.
“Mama!” I cried. “Can I have cake?”
Mama had stopped screaming, but I heard her breathing hard in the other
room. Our house was very small then, with only a curtain separating the
kitchen from Mama and Adah’s bedroom.
I stood on my side of the
curtain. Its coarse muslin chafed my nose as I breathed against it,
trying to see what was happening on the other side.
Three shadows. Mama, Adah, and an old woman--the midwife.
“You’ve another daughter,” the midwife was telling my parents. “Channi has a baby sister.”
A sister?
Forgetting Adah’s warning and my hunger, I ducked under the curtain and crawled toward my parents’ bed.
There Mama lay, propped up on a pillow. She looked like a fish, all
translucent and pale, her lips parted but not moving. I barely
recognized her.
Adah was hovering over her, and the restless
look on his face soured quickly as Mama locked her fists around the
edges of the bed--as if she were about to start screaming again.
Instead, she let out a gasp, and a gush of red swelled through the blankets.
“She’s bleeding!” Adah cried to the midwife. “Do something!”
The midwife lifted the blankets and went to work. I’d never seen so
much blood before, and especially not at once. Not knowing it was my
mother’s life flowing out of her, it almost looked beautiful. Vibrant
and bright, like a field of ruby hibiscuses.
But Mama’s face, twisted in pain, kept me quiet.
Something was wrong.
I stood rooted to my corner, unseen. I wanted to hold Mama’s hands. To
see if they still smelled like coconuts and if the sugar syrup had
seeped into the lines of her palms like always--and tasted sweet when I
kissed her skin. But all I smelled was salt and iron: blood.
“Mama,” I breathed, stepping forward.
Adah grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the bed. “Who let you in here? Get out.”
“It’s all right,” said Mama weakly. She turned her head to face me. “Come, Channi. Come meet your sister.”
I didn’t want to meet my sister. I wanted to talk to Mama. I reached to
squeeze her fingers, wan and blue, but the midwife intercepted me and
thrust my sister into my face.
Most newborns are ugly, but not
my sister. Her black hair was long enough to touch her shoulders; it was
smoother than glass, and softer than a young bird’s feathers. Her
complexion was gold and bronze at the same time, with a kiss of pink on
her plump, glowing cheeks and smiling lips.
Yet most enchanting
of all was the light that emanated from her, brightest around her chest,
as if a sliver of the sun were lodged inside her tiny heart.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” the midwife whispered. “Hundreds of babies I’ve
delivered--you included, Channi. Out of them all, only your sister
laughed when she came into this world. Look at her smile. I tell you,
kings and queens will bow down to that smile one day.” She touched my
sister’s chest, her palm covering that strange glow inside her. “And
this heart! Never have I ever seen a heart like this. She’s been graced
by the gods.”
“Vanna,” Mama whispered. Pride rippled in her voice. “We’ll call her Vanna.”
Golden.
I reached for my sister’s tiny hand. She was warm, and I could feel her
little heart pitter-patter against my finger. For someone who’d been in
the world only a few minutes, she smelled sweet, like mung beans and
honey. All I wanted to do was hold her close and press my nose against
her soft cheeks.
“Enough,” said Adah sharply. “Channi, go back outside. Now.”
“But, Adah,” I said, feeling small, “the rain.”
“Get out.”
“Let her stay,” Mama said, biting back another scream. Clearly, the pain was returning. “Let her. I don’t have long.”
I didn’t understand what Mama meant then, or why Adah wiped his eyes
with his arm. He folded onto his knees beside the bed and muttered
prayer after prayer to the gods, promising to be a better husband if
only Mama would live. The midwife tried to comfort him, but he jerked
away.
Shadows fell over his face. “Give me the baby.”
His look frightened me more than Mama’s screams. I’d never felt much for
my father; he was always working in the rice paddies while Mama took
care of me. But he’d never been cruel. He loved my mother, and I thought
he loved me too. This was the first time I’d heard him speak so
sharply, with an edge that bit.
The midwife noticed too. “Khuan, let’s not be rash. I’ll take care of your wife. You go to the temple and pray.”
My father would not listen. He seized my sister, and alarm flared in Mama’s tired eyes.
“Khuan!” she rasped. “Stop.”
Against Adah’s wide, hulking frame, Vanna looked no bigger than a
mouse. But my sister must have cast the same spell over my father that
she had cast over me, for once he cradled her in his arms, she began to
glow, brighter than before.
It was like magic, the way Adah
softened. He stroked her hair, black as obsidian. He kissed her cheeks,
pink like her lily-bud lips. He stared in awe at her skin, which shone
gold like the sun.
Then his shoulders fell, and he gave her back to the midwife. “Feed her.”
Mama wheezed with relief. “Come, Channi. Mama will hold you.”
Before I could go to her, Adah snatched me up, hooking a strong arm
around my waist. He threw me over his shoulder, so hard that I gasped
instead of screamed.
In three long strides, we were out of the
house, and quickly the midwife’s shouts faded behind us, consumed by the
rain and thunder. He ran through the thick of the jungle.
I kicked and shouted, “Adah! Stop!”
Fear spiked in my heart. I did not know where he was taking me, and
Mama wasn’t coming after us. The rain had grown stronger, and it
battered my face with such force I thought I might drown from it. I beat
at Adah’s back with my small fists, but this only irritated him. His
grip tightened as he continued running.
In the jungle the rain
weakened. All I could see were flashes of green and brown. I’d never
been in the forests before, and for a moment I forgot to be afraid.
Instead, I gazed in wonder at the trees with toothlike leaves, flowers
large enough to swallow me whole, and vines that looked like snakes
hanging from the sky. Gnats buzzed, mosquitoes bit Adah’s neck, and mud
splashed under his sandals.
Suddenly, Adah fell back in
surprise, almost crushing me. A magnificent red serpent hung from one of
the trees, its long, forked tongue drawn out to hiss at us.
Adah propped himself up on his elbows, and I clung to his neck as the serpent bared its fangs.
“Let her go,” it said.
Adah did not seem to understand. He got up, grabbing me by the waist so
tightly I let out a little gasp, and shuffled away from the creature.
The serpent followed. It did not speak again; instead, it wrapped its body around my father’s ankle.
Adah screamed and kicked his foot frantically, almost dropping me as he
struggled. He grabbed a fallen branch and started beating the snake.
“Don’t hurt it!” I squealed. “Adah!”
Freed from the serpent, my father ran faster than before, pounding deeper into the jungle.
The rain had ended. Mist layered the trees, and faint gold sunlight
streaked across the graying sky. I only noticed because Adah ran hard
and had to stop often, his chest shaking as he breathed. His back was
slippery, and my hair became drenched with his sweat and odor. At some
point, I craned my neck up for fresh air.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Quiet.”
The chill in Adah’s voice startled me, and I fell silent.
At last we came to a valley with a great clove tree at its center,
ringed by flat white rocks. Elsewhere in the jungle, trees wrestled for
space, their branches snarling against one another for a mere brush of
the sun’s nurturing light. But this crooked tree was alone. Not even
gnats or dragonflies or mosquitoes dared to encroach here. As soon as we
approached, they flittered away from Adah’s skin, done with him.
Adah set me down on the largest rock. Rain and sweat glistened in his beard.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Are you coming back?”
“I will come for you in the morning.”
He would not look at me as he said this.
“Adah. . . .” I began to cry. “Don’t go!”
“Stay, Channari.”
At the sound of my full name, I made a whimper and crouched obediently.
The rock’s face was cool and dry, shaded by the tree’s canopy. As Adah
turned back the way we’d come, I gathered my knees to my chest. In the
distance I saw a family of monkeys climbing a tree. One of them had a
baby on her hip, and I thought of Mama on that bed, screaming. Mama had
never allowed me to enter the jungle before. Why was I here now?
“Adah!”
He’d left. The bushes still rustled, betraying his proximity, but no
matter how I howled “Adah! Adah!” he did not come back for me. I was
alone.
Well, not completely alone.
Birds chirped unseen
in the trees. Centipedes and other mites skittered across the dirt
around the clearing. Then the serpent--the same one that had attacked
Adah earlier--appeared.
I backed away from it fearfully as it
slithered across the rock. Its eyes glittered like emeralds, and its
bright red scales were stark against the watery sunlight.
“Come with me,” said the snake.
I flinched, but not because the idea of a talking snake surprised me.
I’d heard enough about magic and demons not to be frightened by such
creatures. What made me hesitate was that this snake had tried to bite
Adah. I couldn’t trust him.
“Go away.”
“Follow me,” the snake said. “Angma is coming.”
Though I was very young, a chill swept down my spine when I heard that
name. Mama had told me about Angma, always in the same cautionary tone
she used to warn me when Adah was in a foul mood.
“Long ago,”
she’d begin, “Angma was a human witch whose daughter was stolen from
her. In her rage, she was transformed into a fearsome demon, wandering
the earth in search of her daughter. She devoured babies to maintain her
immortality and strength, and sometimes, when a child was offered
freely, she would grant a favor in return.”
Such as saving my mother’s life--or so Adah must have hoped.
I was too young to understand what “sacrifice” meant. I didn’t know why
I should be afraid of Angma. So I ignored the snake’s warning.
“Adah said for me to stay here,” I said stubbornly.
“Suit yourself,” hissed the snake. He paused. “Just don’t look into her eyes.”
He slid off the rock and disappeared.
It wasn’t long before a shadow cloaked the clove tree, and all the
music of the jungle--the twittering birds, chirping insects, and
rustling monkeys--was silenced.
I looked around me. A shadow darted from behind one of the bushes.
“Adah?” I called out again.
I climbed off the rock, digging my toes into the moist dirt. Tiny
pebbles pricked my feet. If only I hadn’t kicked off my sandals at home!
“Adah?”
A beast purred behind me, and I whirled around. A tiger!
She moved languidly, knowing I was trapped. Even if I tried to run, she
would catch up in fewer than five paces. Her powerful legs were longer
than my entire body, and her fur was copper, like the statues at the
Temple of Dawn, streaked with bolts of black.
There was
something odd about this tiger. I had never seen one in real life
before, but I had seen the sculptures in the village, the paintings and
scrolls hanging in the temple. I had seen the pelts that hunters brought
back to the village to sell, and they looked nothing like this tiger’s.
It wasn’t just that the tiger breathed smoke from her nostrils, or that
she had sharp ivory tusks like an elephant and a sheath of ancient
white hair that cascaded down her striped back. It was the glow of her
fur, both dark and radiant at the same time, like shadows burning under
moonlight. It made me feel cold.
“So,” rasped the tiger. Her
voice was low and guttural. It reverberated against the dirt beneath me
and nearly made me jump. “Your father has left you to me.”
Shadows swelled from wherever the tiger moved, enveloping me as she drew
close. She smelled strong, though I could not recognize the scent. It
was not of the trees or flowers or anything I had experienced before. A
spice, maybe.
