Sword of Bone, Halls of Thorns
A story with bones and thorns and ghosts, and the choices we make, and how they can haunt us past death and rebirth.
The thorns outside Anh Thảo’s mansion glistened, glinting a metallic silver under the sunlight.
Thorns were for disgraced imperial blood, disgraced high officials, and Anh Thảo had been neither of those things, back when Chiêu had still been in the world, when she’d been the general of the West Flank—the darling of the capital, the woman every mother threw their daughters at in the hopes of a prosperous alliance. The woman who had been executed on false accusations on a battlefield with her entire regiment, and only saved by months of healing at a monastery.