Shalini Abeysekara is joining us today to talk about her novel, This Blade of Ours. Here’s the publisher’s description:
Death isn’t finished with them yet.
Sarai believed the worst was behind her. However, months after exposing the government’s corruption in what has now been deemed “the Great Unravelling,” she faces scorn from citizens who preferred her and Kadra as the underdogs. Worse, eerie omens rock the country: from a deadly plague outbreak to a sweeping madness that leave the afflicted ranting of an approaching reckoning. Accused of angering the gods, Sarai returns to the only place that can clear her name: Ur Dinyé’s frozen north. But among the secrets buried in its ice are Kadra’s.
When historical tensions between the north and the south worsen, a powerful religious order seizes control in the chaos, led by a man whose very voice can kill–Noceo bu Kader. Trapped between love and a crumbling country, Sarai and Kadra must outwit a power with roots as deep in fear as in cruelty. But the gods are always watching, and Sarai and Kadra may not escape a second time.
What’s Shalini’s favorite bit?
I thought that choosing one’s favourite book out of those written (and unwritten) would be hard but picking a favourite passage within this book was nigh impossible. Not because I thought I’d wrought a masterpiece where every word was perfect but because I was a little embarrassed to admit that I preferred the rare instances of fluff to the more serious topics that I aimed to discuss in this book. But heck, if I can’t claim the fluff in this book, who will? So, here’s to a cozy, domestic scene amidst the rise of a malevolent god and eyes in the sky.
Still covered in soot, she washed her face and pilfered Méherre’s well-stocked cupboards to prepare a simple vegetable stew. Despite her dislike of the south, the Bridger seemed to have been planning to move here, given the extensive array of herbs and spices arranged on the shelves.
The front door parted. Kadra’s near soundless steps came through the atrium and halted at the sight of her ladling stew into two bowls.
“I’m a little out of practice,” she admitted. “But Arsamea never complained about my cooking.”
His throat worked for a moment before he sat across her. The spoon dipped past the stern line of his lips and paused. His brows rose.
“I can see why.” His arresting eyes traced her with soft indulgence. “Do you enjoy cooking?”
“More so now when I don’t have to do it,” she mused. “I wonder if that’ll be the same with this job.” Unspoken was the question of whether she had one anymore. If the land even had a government now.
“It will be. And you’d still want to do it.”
Heat built behind her eyes. Worry. Fear. Gratitude that they were here together. “When did you first fall in love with me?”
His fingers paused on the spoon. He smiled slowly. “Hmmm?”
“Never mind,” she muttered, flushing when his gaze traced her like silk, amusement flaring in its depths when she hurriedly stood to search for a mysterious third spoon they didn’t need.
“This is unexpected.” He prowled after her, lifting her on top of the table when she tried to sidle away. He caged her with his arms, smile widening. “My stoic Petitor seems to have vanished.”
“You’ll have her back if you let me off this table,” she grumbled, embarrassed. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to—”
“The day we sheltered under a tree during stormfall,” he said in the slow, deep timbre she loved. “You looked up at me, and I craved you. I didn’t want you afraid of me.” The humor faded from his stern face. “I wanted to shield you from everything, and I knew I couldn’t.”
This scene does a few things that I really love. It lightens the tone in a way that feels natural to these characters and provides them with a much-needed respite amidst the exterior and national turmoil they’re facing.
Full disclosure, Kadra’s an antihero who gets the girl, and Sarai is a formerly by-the-book prosecutor who throws it out of the window. Yet they’re both rather stoic people, yearning for affection and while still learning how to provide it. While this interaction could read as stilted for a couple that’s in love, it felt honest for them given that they haven’t been together for even a year yet and are battling demons from both their pasts. What I love most though, is that it shows this violent, powerful judge, who bears the weight of a country, being soft and playful while he’s with her and really letting his guard down in a manner that he cannot with the other characters. And for her part, she’s always had to be strong and steely in the face of public dislike for her humble origins. Here, she gets to be a woman in love. She’s awkward, she’s happy, she would really love to be let off the table. It’s all so cozy!
The relatively dry humour in this book was intentional. Oh, it isn’t dour. There are quiet moments sprinkled throughout the novel to prevent it from being a slog. But these characters simply refused to play by the rules of fantasy and be extroverted. As an introvert, I’m proud. As a writer, alas, that does lend itself to more wry shades of humour and to moments like these instead of grand sweeping declarations.
I’m often asked why this book lacks a lot of those, to which I try to explain that it simply doesn’t come easy to the mouths of these two. It’s always odd, speaking of one’s characters as though they’re human beings that you have to drag to a word processor and squeeze dialogue from, but that really is true with the more introverted ones. This is possibly the first one where these two properly discuss love beyond showing it in acts of service. It felt like a pretty big moment given that Kadra will give her those three special words a few pages later. The man’s wound together than a coiled spring most days. Excellent antihero material. (I don’t think that’s bragging? He came to me fully formed thanks to a life-altering tv show called The Devil Judge. I can take no credit.)
Most importantly, during these globally challenging times, I hope this passage can show readers less blockbusterish side of love. Quiet, patient, enduring—and equally spicy, the next ten pages would fry my mother’s eyes. I doubt that I’m the only one who read my mother’s Harlequin novels too early and framed my understanding of romance and relationships around them, and I do think that that the modern era of isolation is resulting in more and more of us drawing from fiction to understand reality. Here, I hope, is a facet that you’ll enjoy, and proof that we introverts can appear to love a little quieter but we still love hard. The world of these novels is dark as heck and not too dissimilar from ours, but they’ll be okay, and take you on a heck of a fun ride!
I remain beyond grateful to Mary Robinette Kowal for allowing me the chance to rave about this scene and these two!
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BIO:
Shalini Abeysekara is the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author of This Monster of Mine and This Blade of Ours. As a former corporate lawyer, she enjoys using fantasy to interrogate reality, exploring monstrosity—perceived and real—and centering neurodivergent women of color reckoning with themselves and their place in a world that tells them they’re too much and not enough. She is passionate about demystifying traditional publishing for all writers. When not writing, she games her life away and tries to make the perfect entremet. Most days though, she can’t believe she’s an adult, and hope you don’t either.
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