A kingdom built on faith is a dangerous place to lose yours, and that’s exactly the tightrope Rachel Gillig walks in “The Knave and the Moon,” the eagerly awaited second installment of her Stonewater Kingdom series and this week’s top new arrival on the bestseller charts.
The novel picks up in the aftermath of catastrophe: Rodrick Myndacious, Bartholomew, and Maude Bauer are believed dead, and Sybil Delling — the woman who once stood against the kingdom’s sinister Omens — now finds herself a captive bride, drugged and paraded as proof of King Benji’s total control over Traum. To cement his grip on the realm, Benji stages a series of tournaments across the hamlets, equal parts spectacle and propaganda. Sybil, even trapped and half-sedated, is still scheming to bring him down, whatever the cost to the kingdom’s fragile faith or to herself. Into that scheme rides a knave with no name and no memory, climbing the tournament lists with unnerving skill — and possibly the only real chance Sybil has left.
What elevates “The Knave and the Moon” above a simple revenge plot is Gillig’s atmosphere, which remains the series’ signature strength. Stonewater is rendered as gothic and whimsical in the same breath — eerie chapels beside tournament grounds strung with lantern light, a court that feels like a fairy tale gone slightly rancid. The tournament framework, reportedly drawn from the same jousting-underdog energy as “A Knight’s Tale,” gives the book a propulsive structure that the first installment’s slower-building dread didn’t have, while Sybil’s captivity storyline keeps the stakes personal and claustrophobic even as the plot widens outward. The mystery of the knave’s missing memory is handled with real patience — Gillig doles out clues without tipping into gimmick, and the eventual reveal earns the buildup.
Early critical response has been enthusiastic, with reviewers consistently pointing to the character work as the book’s beating heart: Sybil’s simmering fury and Benji’s oily menace both feel more fully realized here than in the series opener, and the supporting cast — particularly the tournament competitors — gets enough shading to matter beyond their plot function. The consensus is that this sequel does the hard work good second books have to do: it answers lingering questions from the first book, deepens the world’s mythology, and introduces fresh threats, all without losing the strange, moody charm that won readers over in the first place. If there’s a knock, it’s that newcomers will want to start with the series opener — this is very much a book for readers already invested in Traum’s fate, not a stand-alone entry point.
For fans of the first book, “The Knave and the Moon” is the rare sequel that raises the stakes without sanding down what made the original distinctive. It’s atmospheric, propulsive, and confident in its own strangeness — a fantasy romance that trusts its readers to sit with discomfort before handing them catharsis. Recommended for anyone who likes their fairy tales with a little rot at the edges.
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