Hey all! Would really love some feedback on my first query attempt. I'm also struggling a bit with comps. Was thinking the Will of the Many but I think it's too big. Then there's the Raven Scholar but I think it's too quiet in many ways. I'm also uncertain if the whole query is too long. I've been really struggling with writing my query so honestly any and all feedback is welcome!
Query:
Dear Agent,
[Personalisation where relevant]
FROM CERTAINTY’S ASHES is a 111,000-word character-driven adult fantasy with series potential. Readers who loved the political POV lens of Helena in The Justice of Kings, the gritty personalities of Godkiller, and the power-driven relationship between Baru and Tain Hu in The Traitor Baru Cormorant will enjoy this debut.
Everything has a pattern.
Saeryn, a bareborn slave, has survived by reading them: smells, sounds, and most importantly, people. Patterns are the only truth she trusts.
By the sound of coins alone, she exposes a merchant’s fraud. Lord Kaedric Krath recognises her value and buys her. As a Dorathir lord, he is responsible for holding a famine-ravaged nation together. Burdened by his house’s legacy, he believes the regime must endure, even at the cost of everyone he holds dear.
He strikes a deal with her to keep her from attempting another escape. For every piece of intel she provides, she earns a coin in her jar. Once full, she will be free. He sees Saeryn as a tool to wield in the council chambers of Kareth’s capital, Caer Aithen. To her, he is nothing more than another so-called master who will lead to her liberation.
But as Saeryn is drawn into Kaedric’s world of court politics and fragile alliances, her value grows, and so does the cost of serving him. When a sacred harvest rite collapses, faith in the gods begins to fracture, and suspicion spreads through the court about the legitimacy of the Dorathir. New alliances form against him, accusing him of losing the gods’ favour and calling for him to be stripped of his power. After the public assassination of the council’s speaker, a fellow Dorathir lord, it becomes clear someone is deliberately targeting their authority where it is weakest. Kaedric takes it upon himself to uncover who is behind it before the entire political system collapses. Even if it costs the reputation of his house. Even if it leaves Saeryn's body with scars. What begins as a transactional alliance begins to shift, complicating the lines between control, trust, and survival.
While Kaedric hunts for answers among liars and power plays, Saeryn begins to see a different pattern emerging: every fracture traces back to the failed rite, marked again and again by the same symbol—the Eye. If she is right, the truth behind the failing rite was not forgotten, but deliberately erased. Uncovering it could unravel the fragile order holding the realm together, and force her to choose between the life she could claim, and the one she is willing to give.
FROM CERTAINTY’S ASHES explores the cost of truth, the danger of certainty, and what remains of a person when the beliefs that define them burn away.
[insert bio]
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First 300 words:
“He shorted you a coin.”
“Pardon?”
A gaunt figure from behind the merchant’s stall cleared her throat. “You’re missing a c—”
The merchant’s hand cracked across her face. Her head slammed into the ground. Cold, brown water soaked through her smock. She gasped, her cheek stretched tight, distorting the white handprint. The impact splattered mud onto Kaedric’s freshly polished boots. He scoffed, handing his holy offering to one of his men. A slave engaging in conversation with him? Insolent, but intriguing. He humoured her, rolling each coin with his thumb, counting under his breath.
“Apologies, M’Lord, this one can’t keep her mouth shut,” the merchant said, shaking his hand, still red from the slap.
Twenty-seven.
“She was right,” he muttered.
The woman in the dirt groaned. She writhed her arms and legs, but the crude rope binding them gave her little room. A strip of cloth was drawn tight across her eyes. A trick? If it was, she was a fool.
“Dunkrath strike me, M’Lord, I beg your pardon!” The merchant frantically retrieved a coin from his purse. “I must’ve miscounted! A humble mistake on my part.”
Kaedric’s eyes narrowed. “Bring her here.”
The merchant swallowed hard. He dragged the scrawny woman forward by the rope and hauled her upright. Numb limbs struggled to find their footing. Her body and face bore no marks of the gods—a bareborn.
The merchant offered a placating smile. “If you would like her beaten, I’d happily—”
“Remove the blindfold.” It was torn off her face. She blinked rapidly, the harshness of the sunlight drawing a bigger reaction than the slap. Wide, dark eyes cut towards him, sharp with mistrust. “The coins,” he said, “how did you know I was short-changed?”
She gnawed on her lip, her glare only growing. Some quiet assessment settled behind her eyes. Not a purposeful defiance, it seemed. Impertinent nonetheless.