We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Cruel Is the Light by Sophie Clark, a star-crossed, enemies-to-lovers young adult romantasy out from Knopf Books for Young Readers on May 20th.
Humanity has waged a bloody war against demons for more than a century, with two elite soldiers now leading the fight: Selene Alleva, a powerful exorcist trained at the prestigious Vatican Academy, and orphan Jules Lacroix, unrivaled on the battlefield.
When their paths cross, the distrust—and unwelcome attraction—is immediately apparent. But to get to the bottom of a series of unprecedented demon attacks, Selene and Jules strike an uneasy alliance, agreeing to an unusual arrangement: a fake engagement. With Jules posing as Selene’s estranged fiancé, they head to the holy Vatican City in search of answers—only to discover a terrible secret.
Soon Jules is forced to question everything he’s ever known—including himself. And Selene, unable to ignore her growing feelings for Jules, must make an impossible choice between love and duty.
Stepping off the train five hours later, case in hand, Selene inhaled a deep lungful of coal and leather. The scent of journeys. Overhead, the high beams of the Gare de Nice-Ville were illuminated by muted gas lamps and, at the highest point, the graceful glass arches were lit from behind by the flickering pinpricks of stars.
Her eyes roved hungrily over familiar constellations until the steam engine’s billowing clouds filled the upper reaches of the station, blocking them from sight. She shook herself. She was a Roman exorcist, homesickness was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Rather than change trains to get to the small village of Saint-Jeannet, Selene had opted for a town car to collect her. Angling her wrist, she checked her watch. It would already be waiting at the north exit. She was quite anticipating the drive to the Alps, despite her antipathy toward the regions.
Or… perhaps, rather than the regions themselves, it was the potential of who might be waiting for her outside Rome.
Her fragile smile cracked.
At least there was no chance of meeting her exiled family in a town car.
Selene didn’t know where they had fled to when they’d been banished from Rome. They could be anywhere on the continent, but she couldn’t help but feel as though they might be around every corner.
It made her feel watched.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she threaded between women in sleek plaid slacks and men wearing slouchy caps and stylish suspenders. Nice was glamorous. Almost as glamorous as Paris and Rome—if you ignored the risk of death by demon. To most, the risk was worth the reward. Rome was the jewel of the Holy Vatican Empire, and exile the only suitable punishment for Roman elites who stepped out of line.
The thought of her own family as traitors made pain throb behind her eyes. Selene winced, massaging her temple with two fingers. A moment delayed, she realized it wasn’t tarnished nostalgia making her eyes ache in her skull. An intense wave of demon magic washed over her, dropping her to one knee.
Gasping raggedly, her heart rate spiked.
“Mademoiselle, are you well?”
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Cruel Is the Light
A handful of Niçoises surrounded her. Selene fought a dry heave as an older woman extended a soft, crinkled hand to smooth back her hair. Her gentle shushing became a shriek. She stumbled back, clutching her wrist as her fingers withered to brittle blackened sticks. With dazed horror Selene realized the woman had brushed the rune on her brow. She’d the blood of God.
“I’m sorry.” Selene braced a hand on the wall to gather herself before pushing through the group.
“Exorciste.” Whispers followed her, drowned by the woman’s screams.
A broad-shouldered young man with tousled hair rounded the corner, tossing his cigarette to the tracks below. Her shoulder slammed into his and she pivoted on her heel. It felt like hitting a brick wall. But Dio, he had to be the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.
He caught her elbow as her newspaper fell to the ground.
“Watch it,” she snapped.
Hot air caught her hair like a pennant as a train screamed past the platform. Express to the busy port station Nice-Riquier, she supposed. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear him over the train. A flame-haired man grabbed his lapel as the last carriage disappeared.
“C’mon, don’t be a bloody idiot. If we do this, we do it tonight.” The young man bent to retrieve her fallen newspaper and Selene’s gaze snagged on the insignia of the Nice gendarmerie on his pocket. She turned on her heel, striding away before he could offer her the newspaper. If the police found an old woman with magical damage, they might have questions. She wanted to be long gone before they did.
She had no time to waste and a demon to hunt.
Exiting the south entrance, she hunted the demon power along Nice’s wide boulevards. Down narrow alleys. In and out of the city’s arteries until she came upon the white facade of the Notre-Dame de Nice. The woman’s screams still rang in her ears. Clenching her teeth, she dashed across the road and up the steps to hammer the door with her fist.
A doe-eyed nun in starched white eased the enormous door open. Selene nodded in greeting. “Captain Selene Alleva, Exorcist Second Class. A woman has suffered a divine touch in the Gare de Nice-Ville.” Ordinary people could be killed by even accidental contact with God’s blood. Exorcists were immune to this divine touch. Whether because they were intermediaries between God and man, and their proximity to divinity safeguarded them, or because of the stolen magic in their veins. “Deal with it.”
Her skin prickled at each new wave of demonic power.
“Captain Alleva,” the nun whispered, dampening her lips as she eased the door an inch wider. “Do you feel that?”
She had no time for this.
“I do.” Drawing her gun, Selene turned. She’d done all she could for the woman with the withered fingers. She had other, more urgent concerns.
The power peaked as Selene raced along a tree-lined street and a building burst into flame. She smothered a gasp, ribs constricting under the overwhelming power. Then it stopped, as suddenly as it began. An echoing hollowness followed in its wake.
A loose group of bystanders, dressed warmly against the pre-dawn chill, stared in horror at the licking flames.
Selene grabbed a newspaper boy by the scruff, dragging him closer to the doomed structure and the roaring flames. “What is this building?”
“How do you say—?” The boy stumbled over the Italian. Impatience was an ugly trait, but her jaw creaked as she ground her teeth. “Archives communales de Nice. The civil registry building? Many records are kept here.”
“Is that all?”
The crowd flinched back as the building caved in—all but Selene and her captive.
She ignored the heat on her cheeks. “Is that all?” she repeated, raising her voice to be heard above the shriek of collapsing structural beams. She gave the boy a rough shake. No, not a boy. He was just shy of military age.
“Et la Bibliothèque Généalogique.”
Selene loosened her fingers and let him pull away. “Merci,” she muttered, a frown crumpling her brows.
The demon—her demon—had been here, at the Genealogical Library.
Silent witnesses lined the street, their glassy eyes reflecting the flames.
If demons gained a foothold here, they would destroy this city.
She’d always considered herself a necessary evil in this world. A small cruel cog in the machine that kept demons at bay. And she could live with that if it meant protecting them. Selene thought again of the woman in the station.
Even cleansing fire burned everything it touched.
Excerpted from Cruel Is the Light, copyright © 2025 by Sophie Clark.
