A throne built on a lie. A child who must never know the truth.

Thravaena has always known who its kings are. The bloodline of Aaghra has ruled for a thousand years, and the realm has built its certainty on that continuity the way a man builds a house on rock.

The rock is a lie.

A necessary lie; a bedtime tale woven by mothers to lull their children to sleep.

Men of power created it. Men of conviction protected it. And when the ones who told the truth were cast out into the dark, the lie became the ground beneath your feet: so old, so deep that no one living remembers the world it replaced.

But the truth does not require memory. It requires only time. Some truths, when they finally surface, do not set you free.

They burn everything.

The Last of the Fire Lilies is epic/mythological fantasy in which the deepest wars are fought between what we were told the world is, and what it truly is.