In the final book of NYT bestselling and three time Hugo-Award winning author N. K. Jemisin's Dreamblood Duology, a priestess and an exiled prince must join together to free the city of dreams from imperial rule . Gujaareh, the city of dreams, suffers under the imperial rule of the Kisuati Protectorate. A city where the only law was peace now knows violence and oppression. And nightmares: a mysterious and deadly plague haunts the citizens of Gujaareh, dooming the infected to die screaming in their sleep. Trapped between dark dreams and cruel overlords, the people yearn to rise up -- but Gujaareh has known peace for too long. Someone must show them the way. Hope lies with two outcasts: the first woman ever allowed to join the dream goddess' priesthood and an exiled prince who longs to reclaim his birthright. Together, they must resist the Kisuati occupation and uncover the source of the killing dreams. . . before Gujaareh is lost forever. "The second book of the Dreamblood series is even better than the first...Jemisin excels at worldbuilding and the inclusion of a diverse mix of characters makes her settings feel even more real and vivid. " - RT Book Reviews Top Pick! "Excellent conclusion to Jemisin's Dreamblood duology features the epic plot and well-rounded characters her fans have come to expect. Highly recommended. "― thebookbag.co.uk N. K. Jemisin is a Brooklyn author who won the Hugo Award for Best Novel for The Fifth Season , which was also a New York Times Notable Book of 2015. She previously won the Locus Award for her first novel, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms , and her short fiction and novels have been nominated multiple times for Hugo, World Fantasy, Nebula, and RT Reviewers' Choice awards, and shortlisted for the Crawford and the James Tiptree, Jr. awards. She is a science fiction and fantasy reviewer for the New York Times , and you can find her online at nkjemisin.com. The Shadowed Sun By Jemisin, N. K. Orbit Copyright © 2012 Jemisin, N. K. All right reserved. ISBN: 9780316187299 1 The Sharer’s Test There were two hundred and fifty-six places where a man could hide within his own flesh. The soldier dying beneath Hanani’s hands had fled to someplace deep. She had searched his heart and brain and gut, though the soul visited those organs less often than layfolk thought. She had examined his mouth and eyes, the latter with especial care. At last, behind a lobe of his liver, she found his soul’s trail and followed it into a dream of shadowed ruins. Piles of rubble loomed out of the twilit mists—crumbling structures so titanic that each single brick would dwarf a man, so foreign in design that she could not fathom their purpose. A palace? A temple? Camouflage, regardless. Beneath her feet the dust gleamed, something more than mica: each step displaced a million stars. She took care to put them all back in her wake. To find the soldier, Hanani would have to first deal with the setting. It was simple enough to will the ruins into order, which she did by crouching to touch the ground. Threads of dreamichor, yellow-bright and gleaming, laced from her fingertips and etched the ground for a moment before vanishing into it. A breath later, the dust skittered up to seal cracked stone; the harbinger of change. Then the earth split and the ground shook as great bricks righted themselves and flew through the air, clattering together to form columns and walls. All around her, had she chosen to watch, the outlines of a monstrous city took shape against the gradient sky. But when the city was whole, she rose and moved on without looking. There was far more important work to be done. [“This takes longer than it should.” “The injury is healing.” “That does no good if he dies.” “He won’t. She has him. Watch.”] After first passing a stone archway, Hanani paused and turned back to examine it. The arch was man-height, the only thing of normal proportions in the dreamscape. Beyond the arch lay the same shadows that shrouded all—no. The shadows were thicker here. Prowling carefully closer, Hanani attempted to step through the archway. The shadows pressed back. She imagined illumination. The shadows grew thicker. After a moment’s consideration, she summoned pain and fear and rage instead, and wrapped these around herself. The shadows’ resistance melted; the soldier’s soul recognized kindred. Passing through the arch, Hanani found herself in an atrium garden, the kind that should have helped to cool the heart of any home—but this one was dead. She looked around, ducking splintered palms and wilted moontear vines, frowning at a suppurating mess of a flowerbed. Then she spied something beyond it: there at the garden’s heart, curled in a nest of his own sorrow, lay the soldier. Pausing here, Hanani shifted a fraction of her attention back to the waking realm. [“Dayu? I’ll need more dreambile soon.” “Yes, Hanani—Um, I mean, Sharer-Apprentice.”] That done, Hanani returned t