The crow hissed: "Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat here and now. One single damn reason." The prince froze with fear and said nothing. At last, his behavior was logical. His facial features had lost any order. Shivering, he closed his eyes in expectation of certain death. But then there was a whispering. "Could there be three reasons maybe?" She suppressed the reflex to laugh—she hadn’t laughed aloud for years and was not sure if the muscles needed were even still functioning.

The adventuring industry drives the economy of Arth, a world much like our own but with more magic and fewer vowels. Monsters' hoards are claimed, bought by corporate interests, and sold off to plunder funds long before the Heroes' Guild actually kills the beasts. Of course, that's a terrible arrangement for the Shadowkin; orcs, goblins, kobolds, and their ilk must apply for to become Noncombatant Paper Carriers (or NPCs) to avoid being killed and looted by heroes.

After a tragic mistake, Erevan finds himself transported to the work camp in Altheria. To the nobility, it’s an island-bound rehabilitation complex run by a powerful warden and staffed with short-tempered guards. To the inmates, ‘Alty’ is really a massive, city-sized prison. Thrown in with criminal humans, dwarves, and other races, Erevan must learn to navigate the island’s complex social system, as well as survive the sanctioned duels—the warden’s method of managing the convict’s anger and aggression. In Altheria, Erevan learns new smithing skills and forges unexpected alliances.

A paladin, an assassin, a forger, and a scholar ride out of town. It's not the start of a joke, but rather an espionage mission with deadly serious stakes. T. Kingfisher's new novel begins the tale of a murderous band of criminals (and a scholar), thrown together in an attempt to unravel the secret of the Clockwork Boys, mechanical soldiers from a neighboring kingdom that promise ruin to the Dowager's city.

Mankind has lorded over the land of Illian for a thousand years, building on the ruins left by the elves, as if it were their birthright. A thousand years is a long time for an immortal race to see the truth of things, a truth that has remained unsaid for a millennium - elves are superior. They are faster, stronger, and connected to the magical realm in a way that man could never grasp. Illian should belong to them.