Format: Paperback, 432 pages
Release Date: October 10, 2023
Publisher: Berkley
Source: Publisher
Genre: Romance / Fantasy
Arwen Valondale never expected to be the brave one, offering her life to
save her brother’s. Now she’s been taken prisoner by the most dangerous
kingdom on the continent, and made to use her rare magical abilities to
heal the soldiers of the vicious Onyx King.
Arwen knows better
than to face the ancient, wicked woods that surround the castle on her
own, which means working with a fellow prisoner might be her only path
to freedom. Unfortunately, he’s as infuriating as he is cunning—and
seems to take twisted pleasure in playing on Arwen’s deepest fears.
But here in Onyx Kingdom, trust is a luxury she can’t afford.
To
make it out of enemy territory, she'll have to navigate back-stabbing
royals, dark magic, and dangerous beasts. But untold power lies inside
Arwen, dormant and waiting for a spark. If she can harness it, she just
might be able to escape with her life—and hopefully, her heart.
A Dawn of Onyx, by Kate Golden, is the first installment in the authors The Sacred Stones series. 20 something Arwen Valondale lives in the Kingdom of Amber in a small village along with her ailing mother, and her younger sister, Leigh. 18 months ago, her brother Ryder and best friend Halden went to war against the Kingdom of Onyx and their dangerous King Ravenwood. Arwen, who has lived somewhat of a sheltered live, is an apprentice healer in the village, and has tried for years to find a way to help her mother who gets sicker by the day.
Then one day, Ryder returns, but he brings trouble with him in the form of the Army of the Kingdom of Onyx. They are looking for the Onyx gold that he apparently stole from them. Arwen pushes the family to leave before they are captured. But after Arwen runs back to get something for her mother, she is captured by soldiers of the Onyx
Kingdom. Arwen offers herself and her healing abilities in exchange for her families lives. Arwen soon finds herself being transported to Onyx on a black dragon.
Now she’s been taken prisoner by the most
dangerous kingdom on the continent, and made to use her rare magical
abilities to heal the soldiers of the vicious Onyx King, Kane Ravenwood who has a reputation as a sadist womanizer. Arwen makes plans to escape, but every time she does, she ends up right back to where she started. After meeting a woman named Mari, Arwen understands that there might be a cure for her mother in the dangerous woods that surround Shadowhold if she can wait until the eclipse.
Arwen's escape attempts leads to sword training from a man named Dagan who is the silent deadly type until he actually has something to say. It was apparent that Dagan felt an obligation to help Arwen fight back against those who misjudged her character and her curious healing abilities which Dagan also makes suggestions to help her feel less worn out. Mari is a another character who has some curious secrets about herself, but her love of books, and her love of research, helped Arwen fell less alone.
In the heart of Onyx's Army, she starts
uncovering truths about the war, the Fae, as well as her own heritage. She undergoes significant character development
as she confronts new challenges and learns more about herself and the
world around her. After meeting Kane
Ravenwood, she finds it hard to get him out of her head. He's not the monster that most people have made him out to be. He's a man who has been trying to find a way to keep his people safe, while avoiding an all out war with other kingdoms who appear to be lining up with the mysterious Fae King Lazarus.
In her fantasy debut, Golden pulls from the best of the best tropes with a Chosen One
prophecy, enemies-to-lovers romance, and forced proximity, fae vs humans
storyline. Arwen would do anything to save her family, even coming face to face with the boy she thought she was in love with, only to find out that he and others have been searching for a prophesied woman who can kill the Fae King. I admit that the book could have used a dual narrative from Kane and Arwen's perspective. There was a whole lot going on that we don't get to understand until much later in the book.
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1
Ryder and Halden were probably dead.
I wasn't sure what
was making me feel sicker, finally admitting that truth to myself or my
aching, burning lungs. The misery of the latter was, admittedly,
self-induced-this section of my morning run was always the most
brutal-but today marked one year since the letters had stopped coming,
and while I'd sworn not to think the worst until there was reason to,
the epistolary silence was hard to argue with.
My heart gave a miserable thump.
Attempting
to slip the unpleasant thoughts under the floorboards of my mind, I
focused on making it to the edge of the clearing without vomiting. I
pumped my legs, swung my elbows back, and felt my braid land between my
shoulder blades, as rhythmic as a drumbeat. Just a few more feet-
Finally
reaching the expanse of cool grass, I staggered to a halt, bracing my
hands on my knees and inhaling deeply. It smelled like the Kingdom of
Amber always did-of morning dew, woodfire from a nearby hearth, and the
crisp, earthy notes of slowly decaying leaves.
But deep breaths
weren't enough to keep my vision from blurring, and I collapsed backward
onto the ground, the weight of my body crushing the leaves beneath me
with a satisfying crunch. The clearing was littered with them-the last
remnants of winter.
Eighteen months ago, the night before all the
men in our town were conscripted to fight for our kingdom, my family
had gathered on the grassy knoll just behind our home. We had watched
the pink-hued sunset fade like a bruise behind our town of Abbington all
together, one last time. Then, Halden and I had snuck away to this very
glade and pretended he and my brother, Ryder, weren't leaving.
That they'd be back one day.
The
bells chimed in the town square, distant but clear enough to jar me
from the melancholy memory. I eased up to sitting, my tangled hair now
littered with leaves and twigs. I was going to be late. Again.
Bleeding Stones.
Or-shit.
I winced as I stood. I was trying to swear less on the nine Holy
Gemstones that made up the continent's core. I didn't care so much about
damning the divinity of Evendell's creation, but I hated the force of
habit that came from growing up in Amber, the kingdom that worshipped
the Stones most devoutly.
I jogged back through the glade, down
the path behind our cottage, and toward a town just waking up. As I
hurried through alleyways that could barely accommodate two people
heading in opposite directions, a depressing thought filtered in.
Abbington really used to have more charm.
At least it was
charming in my memories. Cobblestone streets once swept clean and
sprinkled with street musicians and idle merchants were now strewn with
garbage and abandoned. Mismatched brick buildings covered with vines and
warmed by flickering lanterns had been reduced to crumbling
decay-abandoned, burned, or broken down, if not all three. It was like
watching an apple core rot, slowly turning less and less vibrant over
time until, one day, it was just gone.
I shivered, both at the
thoughts and the weather. Hopefully, the chilly air had dried some of
the dampness from my forehead; Nora did not like a sweaty apprentice. As
I pushed the creaky door open, ethanol and astringent mint assaulted my
nostrils. My favorite scent.
"Arwen, is that you?" Nora called,
her voice echoing through the infirmary's hallway. "You're late. Mr.
Doyle's gangrene is getting worse. He might lose the finger."
"Lose my what?" a male voice squawked from behind a curtain.
I shot Nora a withering look and slipped inside the makeshift room separated by cotton sheets.
Bleeding Stones.
Mr.
Doyle, an elderly bald man who was all forehead and earlobes, was in
his bed, cradling his damaged hand like a stolen dessert that someone
aimed to take from him.
"Nora's only kidding," I said, pulling up
a chair. "That's her fun and very professional sense of humor. I'll
make sure all fingers remain attached, I promise."
With a skeptical huff, Mr. Doyle relinquished his hand, and I got to work carefully peeling away the layers of rotting skin.
My
ability twitched at my fingertips, eager to help. I wasn't sure I
needed it today; I liked the meticulous work, and gangrene was fairly
routine.
But I would never forgive myself if I broke my promise to cranky Mr. Doyle.
I
covered one hand with the other, as if I didn't want him to see how
gruesome his injury was-I had gotten very good at finding ways to sneak
my powers into patients. Mr. Doyle closed his eyes and leaned his head
back, and I allowed a flicker of pure light to seep from my fingers like
juice from a lemon.
The decaying flesh warmed and blushed pink once more, healing before my eyes.
I
was a good healer. I had a steady hand, was calm under pressure, and
never got squeamish at the sight of someone's insides. But I could also
heal in ways that couldn't be taught. My power was a pulsing, erratic
light that poured out of my hands and seeped into others, spreading
through their veins and vessels. I could fuse a broken bone, give color
back to a flu-ravaged face, or stitch a gash closed with no needle.
But
it wasn't common witchcraft. I had no witches or warlocks in my family
heritage, and even if I had, when I used my powers, there was no uttered
spell followed by a flurry of wind and static. Instead, my gift seeped
from my body, draining my energy and mind each time. Witches could do
endless magic with the right grimoires and tutelage. My abilities would
fizzle out if worked too hard, leaving me depleted. Sometimes it could
even take days for the power to come back fully.
The first time I
exhausted myself on a particularly brutal burn victim, I thought my
gift was actually gone for good, leaving me with an inexplicable mix of
relief and horror. When it finally returned, I told myself I was
grateful. Grateful that when I was growing up and was covered in welts
or had limbs cracked at odd angles, I could heal myself before my mother
or siblings could notice what my stepfather had done. Grateful that I
could help those around me who were suffering. And grateful that I could
make a decent amount of coin doing it when times were as tough as they
were now.
"All right, Mr. Doyle, good as new."
The older
man shot me a toothless grin. "Thank you," he said, before leaning in
conspiratorially. "I didn't think you'd be able to save it."
"The lack of faith hurts," I joked.
He
moved gingerly out of the room, and I followed him into the hall. Once
he was through the front doors, Nora shook her head at me.
"What?"
"Too chipper," she said, but her mouth lifted in a smile.
"It's a relief to have a patient who isn't on death's door." I cringed. Mr. Doyle was actually quite old.
Nora
just snorted and refocused on the gauze in her hands. I slunk back over
to the cots and busied myself sanitizing some surgical tools. I should
have been thrilled with how few patients we had today, but the quiet was
making my stomach twist.
Healing took my mind off of my brother
and Halden. Helped to quell the misery that churned in my gut at their
absence. Like running, there was a meditative quality to healing people
that calmed my chattering brain.
Silence did the opposite.
I'd
never expected to be thrilled about a case of gangrene, but it seemed
like anything that wasn't certain death was a win these days. Most of
our patients were soldiers-bloody, bruised, and broken from battle-or
neighbors I'd known my entire life, shriveling away from parasites found
in the meager food scraps they could get their hands on. That, at
least, was a better fate than starvation. Parasites could be healed in
the infirmary. Endless hunger, not so much.
And through all this
pain and suffering, loved ones lost, homes destroyed-it was still a
mystery why the Onyx Kingdom had started a war with us in the first
place. Our King Gareth was not one for the historical tomes, and Amber
land was not known for anything but its harvest. Meanwhile, kingdoms
like Garnet were rich with coin and jewels. The Pearl Mountains had
their ancient scrolls and the continent's most sought-after scholars.
Even the Opal Territories, with their distilleries and untouched land,
or the Peridot Provinces, with their glittering coves filled with hidden
treasure, would all have been better places to begin the gradual crawl
toward power over all of Evendell. But so far, every other kingdom had
been left unscathed, and lone Amber was trying to keep it that way.
Still, no other kingdom fought beside us.
Meanwhile,
Onyx was dripping in riches, jewels, and gold. They had the most land,
the most stunning cities-or so I had heard-and the biggest army. Even
that wasn't enough for them. Onyx's king, Kane Ravenwood, was both
imperialistic and insatiable. Worst of all, he was senselessly cruel.
Our generals were often found strung up by their limbs, sometimes flayed
or crucified. He took and took and took until our meager kingdom had
little left to fight with, and then inflicted pain for the sport of it.
Cutting us off at the knees, then the elbows, then the ears just for
fun.
The only option was to keep looking on the bright side. Even
if it was a dim, blurry kind of bright side that you had to bribe and
coax to come out. That, Nora had claimed, was why she kept me around.
"You have a knack for this, you're optimistic to a fault, and your tits
entice the local boys to donate blood."
Thank you, Nora. You're a peach.
I peered up at her, putting away a basket filled with bandages and ointments.
She
wasn't the warmest associate, but Nora was one of my mother's closest
friends, and despite her prickly exterior, she'd been thoughtful enough
to give me this job so I could take care of our family once Ryder left.
She even helped with my sister, Leigh, when Mother was too sick to take
her to classes.
My smile at Nora's kindness faded as I thought of
my mother-she had been too frail to even open her eyes this morning.
The irony that I worked as a healer and my mother was slowly dying from
an ailment none of us could identify was not lost on me.
Even
worse-and maybe more ironic-my abilities had never worked on her. Not
even if all she had was a paper cut. Yet another sign that my powers
were not that of a common witch, but something far stranger.
My
mother had been sick since I was old enough to talk, but it had worsened
these past few years. The only things that helped were the little
remedies Nora and I put together-concoctions made of the white canna
lilies and rhodanthe flowers native to Amber, blended with Ravensara oil
and sandalwood. But the relief was temporary, and her pain grew worse
each day.
I physically shook my head to rattle the unpleasantness away.
I
couldn't focus on that now. The only thing that mattered was taking
care of her and my sister as best I could, now that Ryder was gone.
And might never be coming back.
”No,
you didn’t hear me right! I didn’t say he was cute, I said he was
astute. Like, smart or worldly,” Leigh said, throwing a log on the
dwindling hearth fire. I bit back a laugh and pulled three small bowls
from the cupboard.
"Mhm, right. I just think you have a little crush, that's all."
Leigh
rolled her pale blue eyes as she turned around our tiny kitchen
gathering cutlery and mugs. Our house was small and rickety, but I loved
it with my whole heart. It smelled like Ryder's tobacco, the vanilla we
used for baking, and fragrant white lilies. Leigh's sketches hung on
almost every wall. Every time I walked in our front door, a smile tugged
at my lips. Perched on a little hill overlooking most of Abbington and
with three well-insulated, cozy rooms, it was one of the nicer houses in
our village. My stepfather, Powell, had built it for my mother and me
before my siblings were born. The kitchen was my favorite place to sit,
the wooden table put together by Powell and Ryder one summer back when
we were all young and Mother was healthier.
It was uncanny, the
warm memories tied to the bones of our home in such contrast to those
that swam in my head, in my stomach, when I thought of Powell's stern
face and clenched jaw. The scars on my back from his belt.
I shuddered.
Leigh
squeezed in beside me, jarring me from cobwebbed memories and handing
over a bundle of roots and herbs for Mother's medication.
"Here. We don't have any rosemary left."
I
peered down at her blonde head and a warmth bloomed in me-she was
always radiant, even with the misery of wartime that surrounded us.
Joyful, funny, bold.
"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.
"Nothing,"
I said, biting back a smile. She was just starting to see herself as a
grown-up and no longer tolerated being treated like a kid. Loving stares
of adoration from her older sister were clearly not allowed. She liked
it even less when I tried to protect her.
I swallowed hard, throwing the herbs into the bubbling pot over our hearth.
Recently,
rumors had been swirling in the taverns, schools, and markets. The men
were all gone now-Ryder and Halden had likely given their lives-and we
were still losing to the wicked kingdom in the north.
The women would have to be next.
It
wasn't that we couldn't do what the men could. I had heard the Onyx
Kingdom's army was filled with strong, ruthless women who fought
alongside the men. I just couldn't do it. Couldn't take someone's life
for my kingdom, couldn't fight for my own. The thought of leaving
Abbington at all raised the hair on the back of my neck.
It was Leigh I worried about. She was too fearless.
Her
youth made her think she was invincible, and her hunger for attention
made her loud, risky, and brave to the point of recklessness. The
thought of her golden curls bouncing onto the front lines made my
stomach twist.
If that wasn't bad enough, both of us being carted
off to fight against Onyx meant Mother would be left alone. Too old and
frail to fight, she might avoid the draft but wouldn't be able to take
care of herself. With all three of her children gone, she wouldn't last a
week.
