Sometimes you don't need to know everything about a book to know you want to read it.
Sometimes, all it takes is a few pages.
Welcome to A Little Taste, where we'll be sharing excerpts from books that have caught our attention. Think of it as a little preview—a chance to meet the characters, get a feel for the writing, and decide whether a book deserves a spot on your ever-growing TBR.
This week, we're taking a little taste of To Dream in Darkness by Ann Liang.
And I have to admit, this one caught my attention pretty quickly.
Gods. Magic. Healing. A mysterious injury. A healer who has clearly been living a rather solitary existence. And a wound that is very obviously not an accident.
Yeah... I'm listening.
The opening immediately drops us into the action when two gods arrive at our protagonist's cottage, one carrying the other after he has suffered a devastating injury to his leg. What follows gives us a glimpse into a world where gods possess extraordinary powers, where healing involves magical plants and ancient abilities, and where even the source of a god's power can be deeply personal.
And then there's that final line.
“When I want power, what I dream of is power itself.”
That's the kind of ending to an excerpt that makes me want to turn the page.
There's clearly much more happening beneath the surface here, and I love an opening that gives you questions instead of immediately handing you all the answers.
So, rather than telling you too much, we're going to let the book speak for itself.
Here’s your little taste of To Dream in Darkness.
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CHAPTER ONE
The other gods only come to me when they’re dying.
Or when they believe themselves to be dying, which is often a different matter. For divine beings who can command the seas and call upon thunder, travel miles within seconds and summon weapons with only a flick of the wrist, they can be startled quite easily. It is a strange side effect of the power that runs through our veins: It distorts the senses and amplifies everything, turning the most offhand remark into a grievous insult, the slightest threat into a fatal blow.
In only the past decade, I have tended to scratches so shallow they had all but healed on their own by the time the god showed up to my cottage, weeping and whimpering; a case of purple lips that turned out to be cherry juice stains; and a mild cough that was instantly resolved with a few sips of dew.
But when the door bursts open, I can tell it is different this time. I drop the peony I’m holding and shoot to my feet, taking in the two gods outside.
“Help him,” Hanchen demands. He’s panting, shaking beneath the weight of the other god, Yuemo, whose entire body is slumped against his. At first I almost do not recognize them. Every time I’ve seen them since our schooling years together, Hanchen is always laughing loudly at his own jest, his bright eyes curved into crescents, as charming as you would expect a god of fame to be. Yuemo, meanwhile, is always silent and stony-faced, as difficult to read as the dreams he controls. Yet now, it is Hanchen who is entirely serious, the space between his brows drawn with worry, and Yuemo who sends me a feeble smile.
My gaze moves downward, and my stomach tightens. It is difficult to see clearly with his blood-matted robes in the way, but the shape of the shadows and the odd angle at which Yuemo is leaning to the side reveals enough.
The flesh on his left calf has been carved off, exposing the white glisten of bone.
“Manners,” Yuemo murmurs. “Don’t be—so rude.”
Hanchen shoots him an incredulous, half-wild look. “You cannot seriously be fixated on proper etiquette right now—”
“Hanchen.”
“Fine.” Hanchen grits his jaw and dips his head in my direction. “Please. Please, help him—”
“Come inside,” I tell them. My heart thuds against my ribs as I cross the small space to lead them in, my arm coming around Yuemo’s other side to support him. I feel him sway before I lower him slowly to the single bed in the center of the cottage, letting him recline against the curved oak frame. “Lie down first. Now let me see—and don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Yuemo croaks out.
“I was talking to Hanchen,” I clarify, glancing over at the other god. Even in the warm afternoon light, his face is pale and fragile as the cracked porcelain bowl on my nightstand, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Everything will be fine.”
I am almost impressed by how steady my voice comes out, how clear and confident, betraying none of the nerves plucking at my gut. There is no room for fear, only focus, I remind myself. An old motto from my days as a young god, a time spent sheltered in gilded classrooms, buried in scrolls and instructions, competing with the other hungry, inexperienced students to prove that I could be the best healer of them all.
Only focus.
Very carefully, I unroll Yuemo’s robes, pushing them up to the knee.
A tight breath of pain leaves his lips.
“Sorry,” I say, crouching to inspect the damage up close. Surprise runs through me, with horror on its heels. It is a clean cut, right against the bone—any deeper or faster and the entire lower leg would have been cut off. It’s too clean. Not an accident at all.
I swallow my questions for later.
“How severe is it?” Hanchen whispers. “Can you—can you heal him?”
“I will try,” I reassure them both. “Give me a moment.”
Without another word, I spring up and hurry out through the sliding back door, into the garden. It is only a small patch of earth above the sea, stretching around the balcony, but it has everything I need: ripe longevity peaches and red berries bursting with honey, stalks of fresh lemongrass and azaleas and blooms of spirit-quieting chamomile. When I breathe in, the scent of seawater and the fragrance of flowers wash away the foul blood stench. I find what I am looking for easily. The lotuses rise from the pond, standing straight in the breeze, their petals clean and wax white despite the mud they’re planted in. I plunge my whole arm into the freezing water and feel for the sturdiest root, my movements quick, steady.
The long sleeves of my robes drip water in a trail over the floor when I return, the lotus root held firm in my hand.
Hanchen’s eyes widen. “Is that—”
“For his leg,” I confirm. I lower myself until I am at eye level with Yuemo. His breathing is shallow, his dark hair damp. I can see the green-blue veins branching out over his neck like poisonous weeds, the shudder of each pulse. “I won’t lie to you: This will be extremely painful. In order for the lotus to attach itself to your shin, the wound must be opened farther before closing. But you must hold verystill, or else your body may reject it and self-destruct.”
“Self-destruct,” Hanchen repeats under his breath, his fists clenching over the pillow where Yuemo lays his head. He sounds like he is choking on the words.
“Just do it,” Yuemo says to me, so quiet I have to crane my neck to hear him. “I won’t move.”
I do not hesitate. I cannot hesitate at a time like this. I guide the lotus root up until it is positioned perfectly below his knee, until plant and bone are touching. It looks absurd. Impossible. I sense their simmering doubts, see the questioning glance that passes between them, but I shut it out. I shut the entire world out, the hushed lapping of waves outside, the silver tinkling of wind chimes, the sunlight pressed like a palm against my closed eyelids, then call upon my power.
Every god’s power comes from a different source within them. For some, it is rage: They need only imagine the last time they were wronged, a gross betrayal, another god whose face they would most dearly like to punch, and their blood will fill with lightning, and their energy will blaze through them in a brilliant, violent wave. For some, it is gentler, like nostalgia. They can recall any happy memory from their childhood, the sweetness of a peeled persimmon, the delight of watching a wooden horse gallop around the celestial courtyards, the freedom of flying on the pearl-scaled back of a dragon, the embrace of their mother upon coming home. There are even those who dream of something as frivolous as love: cups of plum blossom wine set out on a table; a gentle hand brushing a stray petal from their hair; waking from a nightmare and finding instant comfort, arms to hold them, a voice to ground them.
But I am too exhausted for anger, and I have been left alone for so long that the very idea of company feels like an absurd luxury.
When I want power, what I dream of is power itself.
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So, what do you think?
Did that grab your attention?
Would you keep reading?
And most importantly...
Did To Dream in Darkness just make it onto your TBR?
Let us know what you think after getting your little taste!
Two gods strike a bargain that leads them on a journey with devastating consequences in this lush historical fantasy from New York Times bestselling author Ann Liang.
China in the age of brilliance, where gods freely wander the three realms. Amongst them is the cruel and beautiful Death God, who has never failed to collect a soul on time. Until now. For when he seeks out Rujia, the noble god of healing―and the only god he is fated to kill with his own hands―she makes him an offer he can’t refuse: she will help lift the excruciating, century-old curse placed upon him if he gives her a one-month reprieve.
Rujia knows she isn’t as noble as everyone believes. Her deal with Death is merely an excuse to buy herself time while she figures out an escape plan. But when her plan causes the Celestial Palace’s collapse and the beloved crown prince’s disappearance, she and Death are both held responsible. The only way to avoid the wrath of all the other gods is to travel across the realms and safely retrieve the crown prince themselves.
Yet the journey proves far more treacherous than expected. As the unlikely alliance between them blooms into more, and Death’s resolve to kill Rujia weakens by the day, neither can outrun their intertwined fate without devastating consequences: A mysterious plague. An empire-destroying flood. A thousand deaths―and rising―to restore the balance Rujia's disrupted. And if Rujia continues to live despite the will of the Heavens, this is only the beginning...
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