Dragon eggs & a dagger named Dagger
Realm of Thieves
by Karina Halle
Toronto: Ace, 2025
9780593819821 / $25.99
Reviewed by Jessica Poon
*
Every once in a while, I mourn that I can never experience Game of Thrones for the first time again. Beloved characters could die. There were real stakes and mysterious magic. There was almost no such thing as innocence. There were some amazing blonde wigs. One became inured to the depiction of brother-sister incest.
If I was feeling masochistic, I could rewatch the whole series and fume about the universally acknowledged craptastic final season. Or, I could read Realm of Thieves by Victoria-based Karina Halle, a ‘romantasy’ with elaborate world-building, discernible inspiration from Game of Thrones, and class divides.
Brynla Aihr is a dragon egg thief for hire, accompanied by her loyal dog, Lemi, who has the ability to shift through time and place. Unlike Lemi, Brynla doesn’t have superpowers. She is curiously immune to the power-enhancing abilities of suen—dragon blood extracted from eggs, a highly coveted substance. An orphan whose parents refused to worship dragons, Brynla only has her aunt, who helped Brynla escape the Daughters of Silence, a convent where women are punished for speaking. Her hair is naturally lavender without the aid of a colourist, which earns her the nickname of “lavender girl.”
After Lord Andor Kolbeck saves their lives from a dragon, he invites Brynla to work for House Kolbeck instead of the opposing house she’s currently stealing for, House Dalgaard. Andor admits he’s been observing her and Lemi for half a year, a rather unsettling thing to say to someone you’ve just met. Brynla declines, which results in Andor kidnapping her.
Their power imbalance is marked by mutual sexual tension and Andor’s ostensible chivalry. Andor’s decisions are written in such a way that Andor’s consistent overriding of Brynla’s preferences signal his desire to ensure her safety, rather than because being pushy and one-sided. When Andor grants Brynla the autonomy to leave, she surprises no one and stays.
Halle (The Royals Next Door) builds the novel around Brynla and Andor’s alternating chapters of first-person perspectives. There’s a moment when Brynla teases Andor for naming his sword, which seems like an homage of an iconic moment when The Hound ridicules Arya for naming her sword “Needle” in Game of Thrones:
“You named your dagger Dagger?” she asks, deadpan.
“A knife can be your best friend,” I tell her.
Brynla is unused to the finery that Andor takes for granted, which is exemplified humorously in this passage:
At first I think the butter has gone bad because of the dark flecks in it, but then the woman notices the expression on my face and tells me it’s herbed butter.
Not only do I feel stupid, but I also feel ridiculous being served by these people. The fact that I’m technically a prisoner and yet they’re the ones bringing me food doesn’t feel right.
Lemi is not a mere background character, but a truly cherished sentient being. Brynla jokes that she is the prisoner, while Lemi is the guest. Early on, Andor expresses momentary jealousy over Brynla and Lemi: “For a second I’m jealous of both the dog and Brynla, wondering what it would be like to have someone—human or beast—care that much about you.”
Luckily for Andor, he’ll find out soon enough. And, fortunately, for Brynla, who suffers from severe cramps once a month, Andor is a healer—one who failed to save his mother.
His ability to rid Brynla of her pains leads to a rather different kind of healing. Notwithstanding one scene where Andor teases anal penetration without consent and jokes about it afterwards, their sex is predicated on mutual pleasure and continuous consent.
Once the will-they-won’t-they stuff is out of the way—although, it’s always more of a case of when-will-they—Andor and Brynla continue to face obstacles to their partnership. Andor’s father doesn’t trust a lower class daughter of rebels and wants Andor to marry a woman from a politically advantageous background. Brynla’s aunt declares Brynla as being “compromised.” Their relationship has zero suspense, but there does seem to be a set-up for a follow-up novel. Readers who prefer relatively angst-free endings will certainly be satisfied.
Possible side-effects of reading this novel include: a rampant desire to watch Game of Thrones, wariness of gendered power imbalances, and impatience for an adventurous sequel.
*
Jessica Poon is a writer in East Vancouver. [Editor’s note: Jessica interviewed Sheung-King, and reviewed recent books by Jen Sookfong Lee, Bal Khabra, Léa Taranto, Martin West, Terry Berryman, Ian and Will Ferguson, Christine Stringer, Faye Arcand, Liann Zhang, Sarah Leavitt, Jeff Dupuis and A.G. Pasquella, Angela Douglas, Zazie Todd, Holly Brickley, Alastair McAlpine, and Jack Wang for BCR.]
*
The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
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