Tasha Suri

"Alluring, action-packed, and gut-wrenching," (Publishers Weekly, starred review), The Oleander Sword continues Tasha Suri's acclaimed Burning Kingdoms trilogy,in which a powerful priestess and a vengeful princess will change the fate of an empire.

The prophecy of the nameless god—the words that declared Malini the rightful empress of Parijatdvipa—has proven a blessing and curse. She is determined to claim the throne that fate offered her. But even with the strength of the rage in her heart and the army of loyal men by her side, deposing her brother is going to be a brutal and bloody fight.

The power of the deathless waters flows through Priya’s blood. Thrice born priestess, Elder of Ahiranya, Priya’s dream is to see her country rid of the rot that plagues it: both Parijatdvipa's poisonous rule, and the blooming sickness that is slowly spreading through all living things. But she doesn’t yet understand the truth of the magic she carries.

Their chosen paths once pulled them apart. But Malini and Priya's souls remain as entwined as their destinies. And they soon realize that coming together is the only way to save their kingdom from those who would rather see it burn—even if it will cost them.

The Burning Kingdoms #2

The Oleander Sword

Sophia 

Because I need her. Because she saw me once, for everything I was and could be, and wanted me anyway. And she sees me and wants me still, over the chasm that should make enemies of us. And yet it does not. Cannot. It was a truth like a wound, like a fragile heart exposed, and it frightened and awed her in equal measure.

Jasper

But they were gone. Her heart sisters would never return. She would never have a court full of women who had grown up alongside her, who were written into her soul as she was in theirs.

After the hard, endless work that had gone into the making of them, her plans now moved like a force of nature, like waves that swelled and grew, each one feeding into her rise to power. It was exhilarating.

She wanted to tell Priya that she had not forgotten her.

But forgetting or not forgetting Priya was not a political concern.

What I was with you, I can never be again.

But Malini did not have the luxury of such careless cruelty, and her anger burned colder and slower than Chandra's ever had. She nodded instead, allowing it, and thought, When this is done, and Parijatdvipa is mine, I will remember you.

Another preist, she thought with a kind of hysterical surprise. By the mothers, had all priests of the mothers taken up armor and blades? Why had one chosen to try and kill her, and another chosen to die for her?

'I was a poet to her,' Priya said quietly, letting the confession slip free.

Righteousness, rightfulness- oh, how she hated those words. Their sole purpose seemed to be to keep her in her place: a life with narrow walls and standards of purity that pressed her thin, erased her to nothing but her blood and her good bones and the worth of a pleasing face. A life where she would never contemplate ruling; a life where she would obediently bare her neck for a knife, or gladly embrace the pyre.

She wanted a different path for her daughter. Perhaps all lives became brimful of pain, eventually. Well, then. Let her daughter's start painlessly, in joy. Let her have at least that.

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