Read an Excerpt From This Dark Descent

Mikira Rusel’s family has long been famous for breeding enchanted horses, but their prestige is no match for their rising debts.

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from This Dark Descent by Kalyn Josephson, a spellbinding new YA fantasy full of intrigue, romance, and pulse-pounding action—out today from Roaring Brook Press.

Mikira Rusel’s family has long been famous for breeding enchanted horses, but their prestige is no match for their rising debts. To save her ranch, Mikira has only one option: she must win the Illinir, a treacherous horserace whose riders either finish maimed or murdered. Yet each year, competitors return, tempted by its alluring prize money and unparalleled prestige.

Mikira’s mission soon unites her with Arielle Kadar, an impressive yet illicit enchanter just beginning to come into her true power, and Damien Adair, a dashing young lord in the midst of a fierce succession battle. Both have hidden reasons of their own to help Mikira—as well as their own blood feuds to avenge…

Steeped in Jewish folklore, This Dark Descent is a pulse-pounding new fantasy full of forbidden magic, sizzling romance, and epic stakes. In a world as dangerous as this, will the need for vengeance butcher Mikira’s chances of winning the Illinir… or will another rider’s dagger?

Mikira ran a hand along Atara’s neck, suddenly wishing it were Iri with her. Though her and Atara’s relationship had grown over the last week, it was Iri she knew like her own heart, Iri who settled her nerves and made her feel grounded when the world was spinning out of her control.

Seeming to sense her doubt, Atara’s head curled back, and she fixed one dark, knowing eye on Mikira, as if to ask, Do you trust me?

“I trust you,” she said softly, and meant it.

“To the starting line!” roared the announcer, the last call for riders. The thick scent of horses and sweat turned suffocating as the competitors boxed them in from either side, pressing her and Quinn closer. Atara snapped at the too-close bodies, compelling people to shift away.

Mikira forced herself to breathe, to focus on the details: Arabella Wakelin had her silver stallion at the front of the pack. The last race was the first she’d ever lost, and she’d be looking to prove herself. Mikira would have to stay away from her. Dezaena Fyas sat beside her, tying off their dark curls in a thick braid. They were a still spot in a sea of turbulence, easily ignoring the antagonizing grins Alren Zalaire was flashing their way.

She couldn’t find Gren.

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This Dark Descent

“For Enderlain!” The noise of the crowd faded to a dull roar as she searched the riders. Gren wasn’t at her back, and there were still fifty competitors, too many to check. “For the Harbingers!”

Focus, she told herself. She couldn’t let him get under her skin.

“For Sendia!” The crowd’s roar drowned out the announcer’s call as the starting bell rang.

The horses surged down the sloping street, and Mikira instantly pulled Atara to the side, slowing. She didn’t want to be anywhere near another racer sooner than necessary, lest Atara’s aggression expose them.

The bulk of the competitors reached the bottom of the slope, where arrows indicated three different paths. Most of the racers went straight to avoid the loss of speed around the turns. Some turned, probably assuming the straightaway was filled with the most difficult enchantments.

When another large group veered right just before Mikira arrived, she sent Atara left.

The road narrowed to an alley, then cut right. Mikira cursed, her reflex to slow Atara, but their hours of riding together paid off as she remembered the horse’s unnatural agility. Atara took the corner expertly—just in time to see Arabella Wakelin disappear into crimson smoke ahead.

Mikira nearly jerked the reins back but forced herself to think. The entire alley was filled with smoke. There was no getting around it. She could turn around—Atara could make up the time lost to backtracking—but she had a feeling they’d find something similar down each path.

“All right,” she breathed. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

Atara raced into the smoke. Mikira held her breath and counted. She’d just passed half a minute when her lungs began to burn. With no end to the smoke in sight, she gave in, swallowing a deep lungful of it. It stung like normal smoke, making her cough. Then they broke into open air, a red tinge clinging to her clothes.

The alley bent ahead, turning them back toward the central road. As they emerged onto the main thoroughfare, a big bay horse came barreling perpendicular to them. Mikira managed to turn Atara up the road at the last second, but her leg still slammed into the other rider’s as their horses paralleled.

The woman blinked dazedly at her. She looked down at the reins in her hands, then at her horse as though she had no idea where it’d come from. Both were stained with blue powder.

Atara snapped at her horse, and it shied, dropping into a loping trot. Mikira pulled Atara away before she could attack again, but thankfully, the woman didn’t seem to notice. The last thing Mikira saw before the road curved was the horse slowing to a stop and the woman just… sitting there.

“What in the hells?” Her hands tightened about the reins. “I don’t like this.”

Atara tossed her head in frustrated agreement.

As they surged down the straightaway, Mikira caught sight of the bulk of the pack nearly fifty yards ahead in an open square. Then the strangest things began to happen. One man turned his horse with a yelp and galloped past her in the opposite direction, fleeing the race. Another’s horse walked in drooping circles, the rider seemingly unaware. Arabella Wakelin and Alren Zalaire were screaming at each other.

Fools, she thought. What’s the matter with them?

Atara navigated the melee, whinnying harshly at anything that stumbled too close. Mikira searched faces for Quinn’s mask, then cursed herself for doing so. What did she care about the girl? She could die in the damned race for all it mattered.

Mikira frowned. Something felt wrong about that thought.

A pouch flew past her head, striking a wall and spilling blue powder.

Her frustration flared as a shout went up and the road emptied into an open square full of dangling pouches of different colors. Blue and red, yellow and white, orange and purple, they hung from wires strung across the square like festival lights. Riders were ripping them free and flinging them at other racers. They exploded in powders of the same color, their effects immediate.

The yellow powder sent the riders or their horses into a fearful frenzy. The blue glazed their eyes with confusion.

“The powders are enchanted,” Mikira said with slow realization. “The smoke too.”

Mikira swiped a finger through the red powder on her skin. As if it’d simply been waiting for her to recognize it, the simmering frustration bloomed into all-out fury. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to punch something and to keep on punching until her knuckles were bloody and raw even as she understood: she’d been enchanted into anger.