Power was never the danger. Want was.
On Samhain night, with treachery seated beside the throne and the dead stirring beneath the House of Faces, Macha felt him at her back—steady, lethal, far too close. She was meant to hold Ulaid together, not crave the man sworn to protect her. But desire turned every choice into something dangerous.
Ruairi had already crossed death once. Macha was far more dangerous.
Macha stood before him with fire in her eyes while Ulaid cracked apart around her, and every vow he’d sworn strained toward breaking. He was her blade, her shield, the last thing standing between her and the darkness rising through the court. He was never meant to want her like this.
The dead had always spoken to Breda. She never expected them to speak his name.
As the House of Faces began to fracture, the whispers pulled her toward truths long buried within Ulaid—and toward a shadowed man who felt more like a warning than salvation. The dead were no longer content to whisper.
Cian lived with the damage he helped create—and the woman he could not save.
Old magic bound him to grief, guilt, and a past that refused to stay buried. Love had failed them before. It might fail them again.
As Samhain descends, loyalties fracture, the dead grow restless, and Ulaid begins to unravel.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
I have so many thoughts about this book.
First of all, I never trusted that druid. Not for a single second. The man beheads someone almost as soon as the story begins, so Hanna Park wasn't exactly encouraging me to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I loved how steeped in Celtic mythology this was. It felt as though magic was everywhere. Not the sparkly, harmless sort either. Some of it was beautiful, some of it was dark, and some of it was genuinely unsettling.
The House of Faces? Absolutely not. Fascinating? Yes. Would I willingly walk into it? Not a chance.
I think what surprised me most was how attached I became to Macha and Ruairi. I enjoyed them separately, but together they completely won me over. There is so much longing between them, and I spent half the book willing them to stop dancing around their feelings and just admit what was obvious to everyone else.
And poor Ruairi. That's all I'm saying.
This wasn't a book I rushed through. Not because I wasn't enjoying it, but because I kept stopping to think about things. There are secrets buried all over this story, and I was constantly changing my mind about what was really going on.
Anyway, I've finished it now and feel slightly bereft.
If you're looking for a fantasy full of Celtic mythology, old magic, danger, romance, and characters you'll become far too invested in, give this one a try.
Pick up your copy of Tides of Treachery HERE.
I began my writing career in the pre-dawn of a winter morning while my husband snored like a train. We could call my husband the catalyst. If it weren’t for him, I would never have gone to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, feed the cat, and sit on the loveseat in front of the fire. It was there, in those moments of wondrous quiet, that I did something I had never thought possible. I opened my laptop, and while the coffee went cold, I wrote a story. My husband had no idea that these sojourns to the loveseat in front of the fire would become a daily occurrence, that writing would become an obsession, but the cat knew. She knows everything.
I write stories that make you laugh, make you cry, and make you love. Thank you, friends, for reading!
In the beginning, there was an empty page.
I am a writer who lives in Muskoka, Canada, with a husband who snores, a hungry cat, and an almost perfect canine––he’s an adorable little shit.
What a lovely review! Thank you for taking the time to read Tides of Treachery and for sharing your insights. It was a pleasure having you on the tour.
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