By Naomi Novik
Naomi Novik's loved Temeraire sequence, an excellent mix of myth and historical past that reimagines the Napoleonic wars as fought by using clever dragons, is a twenty-first-century vintage. From the 1st quantity, His Majesty's Dragon, readers were entranced via the globe-spanning adventures of the resolute Capt. William Laurence and his courageous yet impulsive dragon, Temeraire. Now, in Blood of Tyrants, the penultimate quantity of the sequence, Novik is on the very peak of her powers as she brings her tale to its widest, so much colourful canvas yet.
Shipwrecked and solid ashore in Japan without reminiscence of Temeraire or his personal reports as an English aviator, Laurence reveals himself tangled in lethal political intrigues that threaten not just his personal existence yet England's already precarious place within the a ways East. Age-old enmities and suspicions have grew to become the full quarter right into a powder keg able to erupt on the slightest spark--a spark that Laurence and Temeraire might unwittingly offer, leaving Britain confronted with new enemies simply after they so much desperately desire allies instead.
For to the west, one other, wider conflagration looms. Napoleon has grew to become on his former best friend, the emperor Alexander of Russia, and is even now prime the most important military the area has ever visible so as to add that kingdom to his record of conquests. it's there, outdoors the gates of Moscow, reunited Laurence and Temeraire--along with a few unforeseen allies and previous friends--will face their final problem . . . and examine even if there are more advantageous ties than reminiscence.
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Additional info for Blood of Tyrants (Temeraire, Book 8)
He had enjoyed the earlier train trip through Europe. In Rome he’d even got a chance to visit the room where Keats died and the Protestant cemetery, where he’d seen the poet’s grave. Standing above the simple headstone near the grand Pyramid of Cestius he’d looked down at the engraving of a broken lyre and the strangely ambiguous epitaph: Here lies one whose name was writ in water. The poet’s friend Charles Brown had interpreted this as Keats’ abandonment of any hope of posthumous fame, but standing there looking at it with the perspective of eighty years’ hindsight Arthur liked to think it was not this simple.
Part of its facade was covered in a crude scaffolding and half-naked workmen clambered over its stone like animated hieroglyphs. Arthur realised it must be Beit el Ajaib, the House of Wonders that Frank had written to him about, and on closer inspection he saw he was right. There, behind the scaffolding, the white walls gave to a shattered dark hole, the last remaining damage of the British shells that had thudded into the palace back in 1896 in what turned out to be the world’s shortest war. Just forty minutes long, Frank had said.
Her face dismantled under the weight of them, and gave way completely with a bursting sob as she pushed her chair away from the table and ran through the huge double doors into the central vestibule. They heard her small feet on the wooden floorboards receding behind them, then the slam of another heavy door. The merchant looked sheepishly around at them all. ‘Gosh, I do apologise. It’s been a long day, and the heat you know…I’ll just…’ He made to get out of his chair. ’ It was the Governor’s wife, speaking for the first time that night.
Blood of Tyrants (Temeraire, Book 8) by Naomi Novik