Science Fiction & Fantasy
![Margaret Rogerson - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B073CW6NV8.jpg)
Vespertine
From the New York Times bestselling author of Sorcery of Thorns and An Enchantment of Ravens comes a thrilling new YA fantasy about a teen girl with mythic abilities who must defend her world against restless spirits of the dead.
The dead of Loraille do not rest.
Artemisia is training to be a Gray Sister, a nun who cleanses the bodies of the deceased so that their souls can pass on; otherwise, they will rise as spirits with a ravenous hunger for the living. She would rather deal with the dead than the living, who trade whispers about her scarred hands and troubled past.
When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia defends it by awakening an ancient spirit bound to a saint’s relic. It is a revenant, a malevolent being that threatens to possess her the moment she drops her guard. Wielding its extraordinary power almost consumes her—but death has come to Loraille, and only a vespertine, a priestess trained to wield a high relic, has any chance of stopping it. With all knowledge of vespertines lost to time, Artemisia turns to the last remaining expert for help: the revenant itself.
As she unravels a sinister mystery of saints, secrets, and dark magic, her bond with the revenant grows. And when a hidden evil begins to surface, she discovers that facing this enemy might require her to betray everything she has been taught to believe—if the revenant doesn’t betray her first.
The dead of Loraille do not rest.
Artemisia is training to be a Gray Sister, a nun who cleanses the bodies of the deceased so that their souls can pass on; otherwise, they will rise as spirits with a ravenous hunger for the living. She would rather deal with the dead than the living, who trade whispers about her scarred hands and troubled past.
When her convent is attacked by possessed soldiers, Artemisia defends it by awakening an ancient spirit bound to a saint’s relic. It is a revenant, a malevolent being that threatens to possess her the moment she drops her guard. Wielding its extraordinary power almost consumes her—but death has come to Loraille, and only a vespertine, a priestess trained to wield a high relic, has any chance of stopping it. With all knowledge of vespertines lost to time, Artemisia turns to the last remaining expert for help: the revenant itself.
As she unravels a sinister mystery of saints, secrets, and dark magic, her bond with the revenant grows. And when a hidden evil begins to surface, she discovers that facing this enemy might require her to betray everything she has been taught to believe—if the revenant doesn’t betray her first.
Editorial Reviews
"[An] atmospheric thrill that is sure to leave you ready for the next one." ― Buzzfeed
"Vespertine is far and away Rogerson's best work yet, a dark coming-of-age adventure about faith, belief, and morality in many forms." ― Culturess
"Rogerson excels at creating fantasy worlds that feel lived in. Vespertine blends darkness, thrills and satisfying characterization for an engrossing fantasy tale."
― Book Page
Amid escalating danger and an unfolding mystery, Rogerson unveils a grim and intriguing world with a rich, plot-relevant history inspired by late-medieval France....A satisfying, but open-ended resolution demands for the story to continue. A dark and enthralling journey. ― Kirkus Reviews
"A splendidly dark story…and a plot that crackles with tension." ― Shelf Awareness for Readers
"Filled with atmospheric details…Rogerson deftly blends a coming-of-age tale and mythic quest in this dark fantasy." ― Publishers Weekly
"Vespertine is far and away Rogerson's best work yet, a dark coming-of-age adventure about faith, belief, and morality in many forms." ― Culturess
"Rogerson excels at creating fantasy worlds that feel lived in. Vespertine blends darkness, thrills and satisfying characterization for an engrossing fantasy tale."
― Book Page
Amid escalating danger and an unfolding mystery, Rogerson unveils a grim and intriguing world with a rich, plot-relevant history inspired by late-medieval France....A satisfying, but open-ended resolution demands for the story to continue. A dark and enthralling journey. ― Kirkus Reviews
"A splendidly dark story…and a plot that crackles with tension." ― Shelf Awareness for Readers
"Filled with atmospheric details…Rogerson deftly blends a coming-of-age tale and mythic quest in this dark fantasy." ― Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
Kindle Kunde
I bought this book, because i loved the author's other books and it didn't disappoint. Fascinating characters, absorbing supernatural stuff, just excellent plotline. I read it all through in one sitting!
nlondonhousewife
This is not a romance: it is the story of a most unlikely friendship developed on a journey or quest where, as well as saving the world as we know it, the female lead character gets to grow and learn a bit about herself. The world-building is detailed and convincing, the friendships and loyalties developed during the book are warm and believable. The deities are flawed along with their followers. What's not to love - a wonderful book!
Christina Matthews
Totally original premise. All characters, dead and alive, are striking, fascinating and faulty. There is no huge, meandering backstory to bog down the action or confuse the story. I was captivated from chapter one and will pray to the Lady (lol) for a sequel. I also have to admit having a slight crush on a centuries old, undead spirit. Enjoyed this tremendously!
Brandi
I grew up with macabre coming of age like Garth Nix's "Sabriel" and this fits right in. Dark and with depth of plot and world-building alike, yet there is hope and a degree of wondering tenderness unusual in the macabre. When a revenant is better at remembering worldly needs than the human it possesses, is it a sign of care or selfish refusal to be returned to a cage?
Emily KulagaM. Steph
I think I’m at 3.5 stars with this book. While I didn’t love this one as much as the author’s previous novels (particularly her debut An Enchantment of Ravens, which was just excellent!), Vespertine is still an interesting story that eventually managed to hook me. I liked the main character and her Revenant counterpart – their banter was fantastic, and the character growth was sufficient and believable. I’ve seen others comment on the seeming lack of development for the other characters in the book – but I actually didn’t mind. Both her allies and her enemies were well-drawn so I never lost track of who was who, or which character was speaking. They all had clear, solid personalities and voices. But this book is about Artemisia and her Revenant. Her struggles to keep everyone at arm’s length is kind of the whole point – especially since it’s basically up to her to save the world. However, I had some issues with both the pacing and the prose. The action starts immediately within the first page or two, which was a bit disorienting – this is a brand new world (or at the very least, an alternate, magical history), and I felt thrust into a seemingly high-stakes situation with no grounding on either the surroundings or the characters involved. The backstory is told as we go along, which for me took some of the gravity out of the events. I don’t usually have trouble following a historical fantasy novel (is that even a genre?), but the world building on-the-fly wasn’t working for me this time, and it took me a while to get into the story. I’m going to give the author grace here and say that it’s not her, it’s me b/c I eventually found my footing and the last third of the book was a sprint to the end! I also didn’t feel as though the writing was up to her usual standards. There was a lot of “he had done that”, “she had said that”, “they must have realized this” often within the same sentence, so I found myself stumbling over the prose (and in some cases, re-structuring and re-writing sentences in my head, which is never a good thing!). I don’t remember experiencing this with her previous books. In fact, the lush, lyrical prose is one of the things I loved about Enchantment of Ravens. The author mentions on her acknowledgement page that she struggled a bit in writing this book – which I can totally see. For some reason, I didn’t realize that this is the first book of a duology, but don’t worry! The author steers clear of the cliffhanger trope. So while it makes sense that there’s more to come for these characters (and I definitely want more to their story), I would also be completely satisfied if this were a standalone novel. All that being said, would I recommend this book? Yes! I like the characters, I liked the plot, I liked that it was free of all of the “woke” agenda reps that seem forced into...
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One ONE
If I hadn't come to the convent's cemetery to be alone, I wouldn't have noticed the silver gleam of the censer lying abandoned at the base of a tombstone. Every novice and sister carried one, a thurible on a chain to defend ourselves against the Dead, and I recognized this censer by its shape and its tracery of black tarnish as belonging to Sophia, one of the youngest novices, brought to the convent only last winter. When I crouched down and touched it, the metal still felt warm. I had to press my wrist against it to be sure, because my scarred hands weren't good at telling temperature.
I knew right away that Sophia hadn't dropped it while climbing trees or playing among the tombstones. She wouldn't have burned incense unless something had really frightened her; even children knew that incense was too precious to waste.
I straightened and looked toward the chapel. A bitter wind whipped loose strands of my braid around my face, lashing tears from my eyes, so it took me a moment to locate the ravens sheltering beneath the eaves, huddled against the mossy gray stone. All of them were black, except for one. He sat apart from the rest, nervously preening his snow-white feathers, which the wind kept ruffling in the wrong direction.
"Trouble," I called. I felt in my pocket for a crust of bread. As soon as I held it out, he launched himself from the roof in a wind-buffeted flurry and landed on my arm, his claws pricking through my sleeve. He tore apart the bread, then eyed me for more.
He shouldn't be alone. He was already missing a few feathers, cruelly plucked out by the other birds. When he'd first come to the convent, they'd left him in a bloody heap in the cloister, and he had almost died even after I'd taken him to my room in the dormitory and pried his beak open every few hours to give him bread and water. But I was an older novice and I had too many responsibilities-I couldn't watch over him all the time. Once he'd healed, I had given him to Sophia to look after. Now wherever she went, Trouble followed, especially indoors, where she had a habit of upsetting the sisters by hiding him inside her robes.
"I'm looking for Sophia," I told him. "I think she's in danger."
He fanned out the feathers on his throat and muttered to himself, a series of clicks and grunts, as though thinking this over. Then he mimicked in a little girl's voice, "Good bird. Pretty bird. Crumbs!"
"That's right. Can you take me to Sophia?"
He considered me with a bright, intelligent eye. Ravens were clever animals, sacred to the Gray Lady, and thanks to Sophia, he knew more human speech than most. At last, seeming to understand, he spread his wings and flapped to the tumble of earth and stone that shored up the chapel's rear wall. He hopped along the length of a slab and peered into a dark space beneath.
A hole. Last night's storm must have eroded the chapel's foundation, opening an old passageway into the crypt.
He looked back at me. "Dead," he croaked.
My blood ran cold. Sophia hadn't taught him to say that word.
"Dead," Trouble insisted, puffing his feathers. The other ravens stirred, but they didn't take up the alarm.
He had to be mistaken. Blessings reinforced each stone of the convent's walls. Our lichgate had been forged by holy sisters in Chantclere. And yet…
The passageway yawned beneath a fringe of dangling roots. I had approached it without thinking. I knew what I should do-I should go running back and alert Mother Katherine. But Sophia was too young to carry a dagger, and she'd lost her censer. There wasn't time.
I unhooked the censer that hung from my chatelaine. Gritting my teeth, I forced my clumsy fingers to open the tiny hatch and fumble with flint and incense. The scars were the worst on my left hand, where the shiny red tissue that roped my palm had contracted over time and pulled my fingers into permanent claws. I could close them into a loose fist, but I couldn't open them all the way. As I worked, I thought of Sister Lucinde, who wore a ring set with an old, cracked ruby. The ring had a saint's relic sealed inside, whose power allowed her to light candles with a mere gesture.
Finally, the spark caught. I blew on the incense until embers flared. Then, wreathed in smoke, I stepped into the dark.
Blackness swallowed me. The smell of wet earth closed in, as smothering as a damp rag clapped over my nose. The opening's thin, watery light faded away almost at once, but like all girls taken in by the Gray Sisters, I possess...
If I hadn't come to the convent's cemetery to be alone, I wouldn't have noticed the silver gleam of the censer lying abandoned at the base of a tombstone. Every novice and sister carried one, a thurible on a chain to defend ourselves against the Dead, and I recognized this censer by its shape and its tracery of black tarnish as belonging to Sophia, one of the youngest novices, brought to the convent only last winter. When I crouched down and touched it, the metal still felt warm. I had to press my wrist against it to be sure, because my scarred hands weren't good at telling temperature.
I knew right away that Sophia hadn't dropped it while climbing trees or playing among the tombstones. She wouldn't have burned incense unless something had really frightened her; even children knew that incense was too precious to waste.
I straightened and looked toward the chapel. A bitter wind whipped loose strands of my braid around my face, lashing tears from my eyes, so it took me a moment to locate the ravens sheltering beneath the eaves, huddled against the mossy gray stone. All of them were black, except for one. He sat apart from the rest, nervously preening his snow-white feathers, which the wind kept ruffling in the wrong direction.
"Trouble," I called. I felt in my pocket for a crust of bread. As soon as I held it out, he launched himself from the roof in a wind-buffeted flurry and landed on my arm, his claws pricking through my sleeve. He tore apart the bread, then eyed me for more.
He shouldn't be alone. He was already missing a few feathers, cruelly plucked out by the other birds. When he'd first come to the convent, they'd left him in a bloody heap in the cloister, and he had almost died even after I'd taken him to my room in the dormitory and pried his beak open every few hours to give him bread and water. But I was an older novice and I had too many responsibilities-I couldn't watch over him all the time. Once he'd healed, I had given him to Sophia to look after. Now wherever she went, Trouble followed, especially indoors, where she had a habit of upsetting the sisters by hiding him inside her robes.
"I'm looking for Sophia," I told him. "I think she's in danger."
He fanned out the feathers on his throat and muttered to himself, a series of clicks and grunts, as though thinking this over. Then he mimicked in a little girl's voice, "Good bird. Pretty bird. Crumbs!"
"That's right. Can you take me to Sophia?"
He considered me with a bright, intelligent eye. Ravens were clever animals, sacred to the Gray Lady, and thanks to Sophia, he knew more human speech than most. At last, seeming to understand, he spread his wings and flapped to the tumble of earth and stone that shored up the chapel's rear wall. He hopped along the length of a slab and peered into a dark space beneath.
A hole. Last night's storm must have eroded the chapel's foundation, opening an old passageway into the crypt.
He looked back at me. "Dead," he croaked.
My blood ran cold. Sophia hadn't taught him to say that word.
"Dead," Trouble insisted, puffing his feathers. The other ravens stirred, but they didn't take up the alarm.
He had to be mistaken. Blessings reinforced each stone of the convent's walls. Our lichgate had been forged by holy sisters in Chantclere. And yet…
The passageway yawned beneath a fringe of dangling roots. I had approached it without thinking. I knew what I should do-I should go running back and alert Mother Katherine. But Sophia was too young to carry a dagger, and she'd lost her censer. There wasn't time.
I unhooked the censer that hung from my chatelaine. Gritting my teeth, I forced my clumsy fingers to open the tiny hatch and fumble with flint and incense. The scars were the worst on my left hand, where the shiny red tissue that roped my palm had contracted over time and pulled my fingers into permanent claws. I could close them into a loose fist, but I couldn't open them all the way. As I worked, I thought of Sister Lucinde, who wore a ring set with an old, cracked ruby. The ring had a saint's relic sealed inside, whose power allowed her to light candles with a mere gesture.
Finally, the spark caught. I blew on the incense until embers flared. Then, wreathed in smoke, I stepped into the dark.
Blackness swallowed me. The smell of wet earth closed in, as smothering as a damp rag clapped over my nose. The opening's thin, watery light faded away almost at once, but like all girls taken in by the Gray Sisters, I possess...
