Dungeons & Dragons meets The Wizard of Oz in this darkly hilarious romantasy adventure in which a young woman who will do anything to rescue her sister from an evil sorcerer’s curse hires a ruthless assassin. They embark on a quest with a band of misfits, one of whom harbors a devastating secret that could ruin her fairy-tale ending.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Mayhem and the Mortal by Shanora Williams, which releases on March 17th 2026.
Zaira doesn’t want a hero. She needs a weapon.
To save her sister from a soul-devouring curse, she has to cross The Shallows—a nightmare landscape of ruined magic, shifting paths, and vicious creatures that eat people alive.
Her guide? Thane Valkor: sorcerer, assassin, walking red flag. His name clears rooms. His magic kills quietly. And whatever he’s really after, it’s not salvation.
He promises to help. He might even mean it.
But Zaira knows better than to trust a liar with a blade and ice in his veins.
She just doesn’t have a choice.
EXCERPT
All I need is one person to guide me to The Shallows. The right person. I’ll know it when I see them. That’s part of the reason I’m in the tavern tonight too.
Lots of people, mercenaries especially, always wear their combat gear publicly and carry weapons. And many of them love a warm tavern with lots of ale.
Hardly any of the lot here even carry a sword. And to be frank, they all seem a bit… silly.
None of them will do.
As I bite into my loaf again, trying not to feel defeated, the tavern door swings open, and a cool draft sneaks inside. Despite the fire burning in the hearth a short distance away, the chill wraps around me and sinks under my clothes. I shiver, and that alone feels like a warning.
And then I see him.
A man in all black enters wearing buffers, worn boots, and a hooded cowl. A hush follows him into the bar.
A mask conceals the lower portion of his face, a common accessory for soldiers and fighting men who want to hide their expressions during combat. He’s wearing a hood, so all I can make out are his downturned eyes. The pommels of two swords stand tall and alert behind his head, and another is sheathed at his waist.
He’s dressed exactly like the kind of person I’m looking for.
The buffers are the main thing that catch my eye. Most who wear them do so because they’re more comfortable than steel armor. Made of thick leather with alvanite rock powder packed into each pad, they provide a firm layer on the body that’s tougher to penetrate. He wears only a vest as protection, so he must be able to withstand a strike while wielding a sword at the very least.
The ruckus behind me settles instantly as all eyes turn to the mysterious man. Removing his hood, he reveals hair made of tight, dark curls that rise to a full crown, while the edges are clean, tapered, and as sharp as a blade. He scans the room as he moves forward, the metal on his boots rattling with each heavy, methodical step.
The two men who were gossiping in the corner spring out of their chairs and abandon their ales as he walks in their direction. They scurry to reach the door, dodging a group of occupied tables so they can leave the tavern. The masked man grips the back of one of the now-empty chairs and hauls it back before sinking down on it like a rock.
I blink with my mouth full of honey and bread as I pull my gaze from him to look at everyone else. Most dodge his eyes, while others turn their backs to him entirely. Even Bolivar stands at attention behind the bar and studies the man warily while filling a steel mug with ale.
I’ve never seen this masked person around before, yet everyone in the tavern is too afraid to even cut a glance at him. This must be him—the man in black everyone’s been whispering about. And if he’s as lethal as they say, maybe he’s just the person I’ve been looking for.
I wonder if I can pay for his protection…
As this revelation strikes me, I close all the tomes on my table and shove them back into my rucksack. I dig further into my bag and take out a hefty pouch of coins and, after wiping my mouth with my ivory tunic sleeve, I climb out of my booth.
I inhale, exhale, and then nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
With all the confidence I can muster, I make my way toward the ominous man who, if the rumors are true, just might kill me before I even get the chance to utter a single word.
But what do I have to lose?
Time to make a proposition.
***
“Zaira,” Bolivar calls in warning.
Ignoring him, I pass the hearth and approach the opposite side of mystery man’s table. I drop the pouch in the center of the table and the coins make an obnoxious clatter. Even though I’m shaking, I look right at him.
He glances at the pouch. Then his eyebrows pull together before he slowly drags his gaze up to meet mine.
“Hi.” My voice cracks.
His frown deepens.
Shit. What was I thinking? I mean, this guy is really scary up close. I think it’s his eyes—amber irises swirling with dark flecks of brown. They’re fiercer than I expected, especially with the fire mirrored in them. Or maybe it’s the obvious grimace he wears beneath the mask.
On the upside, he has really nice skin. Light brown with bronze undertones and minimal pores. Analla would kill for skin as smooth as his.
“I’m Zaira Quinlocke.” I press shaking hands to my chest, introducing myself. “You don’t know me and that’s fine, but you look like a guy who gets what he wants, and since you’re wearing buffers and carrying those insanely cool swords, I’m assuming you’re not afraid of a good fight.” The words fall out of my mouth like vomit. I need to shut up, but I can’t. Not right now. I have to go all in. “I bet you’ve seen many of the kingdoms in Thelanor and, as luck would have it, I could use someone like that right now.”
His glare is heated.
I swallow again, then pull out the seat across from him so I can sit. Before I can, he straightens his back, and a dagger suddenly materializes in his right hand. He snatched it out thin air faster than I could blink. Fisting the handle, he slams the hilt down on the table and causes the silverware and my coins to rattle.
I stare at his black, fingerless gloves as he cocks his head ever so slightly, awaiting my next move.
Heart hammering in my chest, I drag in a breath and claim the seat. If I don’t push past my fear, I’ll regret it. Even if I’m a fool and he decides to kill me on the spot, I’m willing to accept that fate because if Analla dies, then I might as well die too. But my pendant is still warm so she has to be alive. I need her and would do anything for her. Even chat up a ruthless looking stranger with murder in his eyes, apparently.
“Look, I’m sure you want to kill me right now for invading your space, so I’m sorry for doing that, but I’ve heard people talking about you. Men like you don’t walk around wearing buffers and carrying swords unless you’re fulfilling certain…duties.” I whisper that last part.
His eyes give me a cautionary flash, like he’s insisting that I stop talking immediately. He and I both know I don’t have to say what those duties are out loud.
Bounty hunting.
Kidnapping.
Stealing.
Murder.
The list goes on.
I’m not quite sure what all he does, or that he’s even the right guy in black—I mean, a lot of people wear black—but he at least has to know how to fight and protect, otherwise all this gear he’s wearing is for nothing.
“You don’t talk much do you?” A nervous laugh bubbles out of me as my gaze bounces to Bolivar, whose nostrils are flaring. His palms are planted on the countertop like he’s anticipating my throat getting slit at any moment. A glance around the pub reveals that all present—from beastials to humans to charmers to sorcerers—expect the same outcome.
Yep. I’m dead.
I shift, putting my back to our audience and lowering my voice so that only the man across from me can hear my words or see my face. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Look, the point is my sister got mixed up in a bad situation and now she’s cursed. I need to travel to a place outside Meriva to get something that’s supposed to help her, but I won’t survive if I go alone. Now, I’m not sure what all you can do, but I know if I have someone who can protect me along the way, I might be able to make it. And if that person isn’t you, maybe you know someone who might be interested and can point me in their direction. I have to try for her—and I’ll give you all the coins I have.” I nudge the pouch closer to him. “I’m desperate at this point… so I’m begging you to please help me. Or show me to someone who can.”
He doesn’t even bother looking at the pouch. His gaze burns through me instead.
Then, before I can blink again, he lifts his other hand and flicks his wrist. Golden whisps burst from his fingertips and something tight and warm wraps around me, hauling me out of the seat.
“Fuck off,” he grumbles.
