In “Among the Burning Flowers,” Samantha Shannon returns to the world of “The Priory of the Orange Tree” with a tale that feels both inevitable and heartbreaking. Belief splinters, kingdoms fall and in Yscalin’s ruin, we glimpse not just the collapse of a nation, but the private shattering of the people bound to it.
The newest entry in Shannon’s universe does not disappoint in delivering her signature style. Politics simmer, blood spills and the spiderweb of cause and effect is tugged at until it quivers. Shannon’s prose remains hypnotic — easy to read, easy to get lost in and always gesturing toward a vast world beyond the page. For new readers, the book works almost like a keyhole view: a sliver of history that makes the “Priory”-shaped door behind it all the more inviting.
Veterans of the series, however, may find themselves less entranced with this new entry. “Among the Burning Flowers” is a prequel, and for those of us who have already lived through the fall of the kingdom of Yscalin in “Priory,” the novel offers no fresh mysteries — only embellishments. Beautiful embellishments, yes, and Shannon’s writing is always a pleasure, but the sense of discovery is dulled when we know exactly how the tragedy is played out and who the actors are.
“Among the Burning Flowers” charts the collapse of Yscalin across three years. Once a kingdom overflowing with life and beauty — lavender fields, orchards of red pears and mythical waterfalls — it unravels when the mountain cradling its capital city splits open and draconic demons pour forward. The story unfolds through three perspectives: Donmata Marosa Vetalda, the heir confined to her gilded cage; Aubrecht Lievelyn, her betrothed who must relinquish the woman he longed to love; and Estina Melaugo, a draconic exterminator turned pirate. Yscalin, once a proud link in the “Chainmail of Virtudom,” surrenders itself to chaos, abandons its religion and transforms into a kingdom worshipping the devil figure within the “Roots of Chaos” mythos.
At the onset of the novel, we follow Estina Melaugo, an outlaw culler — someone who kills draconic beasts — scraping by on the edges of Yscalin. She fights monsters, bargains for scraps and loves fiercely in the brief spaces of reprieve carved out between long stretches of survival. Her chapters expand the scope of the story beyond the palace walls, but they are also the story’s weakest. Estina is underdeveloped compared to Marosa and Aubrecht, her voice less distinct. I found myself wishing her role had gone to someone more entwined with the fall of the capital, or that her thread had introduced a mystery of its own.
The side character featured in the latter half of the novel, Aubrecht, is a familiar and complementary choice from Shannon. A figure who, in “Priory,” had limited pages and whose secondary status is given space here to breathe. Without competition and scrutiny from Ead and Sabran, the leads in “Priory,” his compassion and political idealism shine.
I found myself unexpectedly attached to Aubrecht. I liked his presence, and I liked his point of view. His optimism, set against the inevitable ruin around him, was heart-wrenching. Perhaps my reaction is skewed by being a veteran of the series — knowing how his story ends in “Priory” makes these glimpses all the more poignant — whereas a newcomer might not find him quite as compelling. Still, there’s no denying how consistently he is portrayed as devoted and deeply loving. He is naive, yes, but strong in a way that makes his naivety read less as weakness and more as a quiet resistance to the cynicism of those around him. His kind heart stands in stark contrast to the twisted politics encircling him, and it is precisely this tension that makes his role in “Among the Burning Flowers” so moving.
Yet Marosa, heir to the throne of the draconic kingdom, is the true revelation of this novel. In “Priory,” she was little more than a shadow: veiled, glimpsed in brief moments and mysterious to the point of opacity. She moved through secret passages, traded in coded messages and existed on the page only at night. The veiled Marosa captivated me entirely, and at 16 I found myself wishing for more of her.
Here, finally, “Among the Burning Flowers” delivers. Marosa is fleshed out in full, a caged heir whose every rebellion ends in another corpse. We see her attempts to act that are thwarted by betrayal and plague. Her arc gives her the agency that “Priory” did not have the space to allow her. She cannot escape her role as a puppet queen, but she can choose to endure, to resist in small and stubborn ways. By the end, she becomes the book’s most powerful symbol: the last flower among ashes, refusing to burn.
That agency is especially striking when compared with Estina, who is dragged from plot point to plot point, place to place, rarely steering her own fate. Her girlfriend or her pirate captain would have offered more compelling perspectives. Marosa, in contrast, is astonishingly active within her own narrative. The irony is delicious: Trapped in her gilded cage, she is nevertheless the most determined mover of events.
Her sections propel the book forward. The pace is quick, and her chapters make it breathless — she stands on business and is constantly in motion. Yet everything she builds collapses. Every act of rebellion backfires, every alliance curdles and every plan burns. It’s tragic but exhilarating. Her refusal to stop trying is exactly what makes her story so riveting.
For all its power, “Among the Burning Flowers” is not perfect. The different perspectives highlight both its greatest strength — its thematic richness — and its greatest weakness — unevenness between the development of its various narrators. Some characters feel rushed, their pages more filler than vital through-lines. Yet the novel succeeds at what it sets out to do: deepen the mythology, expand the emotional resonance of “Priory” and give long-silenced figures their due.
For new readers, this is a perfect bite-sized entry point. It shows off Shannon’s world-building without overwhelming, promises intrigue and heartbreak in equal measure and gestures toward the enormity of the saga still waiting. For veterans, it may feel like a coda rather than a revelation — but it is a coda worth reading, if only to finally hear Marosa’s voice.
“Among the Burning Flowers” closes not with triumph, but with endurance, a testament to resilience and the stubborn persistence of hope in the face of devastation.
Daily Arts Writer Estlin Salah can be reached at essalah@umich.edu.
