Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

Eighteen years ago, two princes vanished. Now a riddle hidden on a mysterious map could chart a course towards the truth . . . and the missing royals in this historical fantasy that's perfect for fans of And I Darken and Grave Mercy.

  • Format: Hardcover
  • ISBN-13/ EAN: 9780544968578
  • ISBN-10: 0544968573
  • Pages: 400
  • Publication Date: 04/10/2018
  • Carton Quantity: 24

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About the Book
About the Author
  • About the Book
    Eighteen years ago, two princes vanished. Now a riddle hidden on a mysterious map could chart a course towards the truth and the missing royals in this historical fantasy that's perfect for fans of Rachel Hartman and Tamora Pierce. 


    Eighteen years ago two princes of the island kingdom of St. John del Mar were kidnapped and murdered, a deadly plot by the rival kingdom of Mondrago. Everyone knows the story, but for Elias, Mercedes, and Ulises, the aftermath of that tragic day is deeply personal. Elias grew up without his father, who was killed trying to protect the princes. Mercedes is half-Mondragan, leaving her to grow up in the shadow of del Mar’s hate. And Ulises, as the youngest and only remaining prince, inherited the throne meant for his older brothers. Now, the three friends just want to move on with their lives. But when two maps surface—each with the same hidden riddle—troubling questions arise. What really happened to the young princes? And why do the maps look like they were drawn by Elias’s father, whose body was never found? To discover what really happened that fateful day, Elias, Mercedes, and Ulises must follow the clues hidden in the maps, uncovering long-held secrets and unimaginable betrayals along the way. But the truth is dangerous, and not everyone wants it to come out. Isle of Blood and Stone is a sweeping fantasy full of intrigue and schemes, romance and friendship, and fearless explorers searching for the truth.

  • About the Author
  • Excerpts


    The outing had been planned on a whim; an afternoon lesson up in the hills, away from the smoke and stink of the city. Antoni hauled himself over the ledge and caught his breath—Saint Mary, he had grown soft—then reached down and instructed the child below to hold fast. When Bartolome’s small hand grasped his, Antoni swung him up onto the rocks by his side. 

         Prince Bartolome landed on his knees with an Oof before scrambling to his feet. He was seven, tall for his age, dark hair pulled back in a queue. The boy looked around with an expectant air, but as he surveyed the area—a flat hilltop covered entirely in black rock, barren of even a single bush or shrub—his anticipation quickly turned to bewilderment. 

         “But, my lord Antoni . . . there’s nothing here.” 

         “No?” Antoni rose, wincing as the muscles in his back twitched in protest. “What is that on your feet?” 

         Bartolome wore a loose white shirt and trousers that fell just past his knees. Attire far less formal than his nurse, the lady Esma, would have liked, but Antoni had insisted on comfort for this outing. Strapped to the prince’s dusty feet were open leather sandals, the kind the fishermen wore. And around their outer edges, black pebbles had stuck fast. 

         Frowning, Bartolome attempted to shake off the stones, lifting one foot, then the other. They did not budge. More loose pebbles rose from the ground, as if coaxed by a sorcerer’s magic, and flew toward the sandals. The child stumbled backward with rising panic, shaking his feet wildly, and soon after fell onto his backside with a yelp. 

         “Stop.” Antoni crouched before the boy. Careful not to laugh. Mindful of a young prince’s dignity. “They’re only magnets. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

         “Magnets?” Bartolome bent one leg for closer inspection, bringing his foot an inch from his face. 

         Antoni could not remember a time when he’d been that limber. “Look.” He scooped the pebbles away from one sandal, holding the stones in a closed fist. When he opened his palm, the rocks flung themselves once again at the prince’s foot. Bartolome laughed, then glanced in puzzlement at Antoni’s boots, which the stones had left alone. 

         “Your shoes were cobbled with nails,” Antoni explained, tapping the bottom of the sandal, where the iron nail heads could be seen. He held up a rock the size of a pea. “This is called a leading stone. It’s an explorer’s greatest treasure. We use them to build—” 

         “Compasses! Is that why we’re here? To build compasses? But that’s grand!” 

         Antoni smiled, with amusement and some regret. Such enthusiasm. Such a curious mind. Bartolome would make a fine king someday, but for him, St. John del Mar’s Royal Navigator, it was a pity and a shame. A good apprentice was hard to come by. 

         The thought came to him unbidden, unwelcome: Jonas would have turned thirteen this year. 

         Carefully, Antoni pushed the memories back toward the far recesses of his heart. Every day came easier. Today, he would think of only the living. 

         He said to Bartolome, “We’ll build one when we join the others. But first”—he handed the boy an empty sack pulled from his belt—“let’s gather some stones. The small ones only, as many as you can carry.”

    A picnic had been arranged on a meadow at the bottom of the hill. Spread across the grass was a colorful assortment of blankets—reds, golds, oranges—giving the space a festive air. A lemon grove bordered the meadow on three sides, a far more welcoming sight than Javelin Forest, which loomed just beyond the bright green leaves and fragrant fruit. Smoke floated high over a pig turning on a spit while nearby, soldiers in pale green and silver congregated around a game table. The air was filled with laughter and cursing and the tumble of dice across wood. Summer had come to del Mar at last, after a long and stormy spring. 

         Antoni and Bartolome made their way down the hill with a sackful of stones. Neither was surprised to find five-year-old Teodor being scolded by his nurse. Lady Esma wore a dress as blue as the afternoon sky. She was young, her black hair hidden beneath a butterfly wimple, hands planted firmly on her hips. “I won’t have your lady mother see you in an intoxicated state,” she was saying. “There will be no wine for you.” 

         Teodor slunk toward his elder brother and Antoni. Esma rolled her eyes heavenward. 

         Amused, Antoni tossed the sack onto a blanket. “Troubles?” he asked. 

         “Never.” Esma inspected Bartolome with a critical eye. “And how was your adventure? You’ve brought the dirt with you, I see.” She reached out with a handkerchief to wipe a smudge from his nose. 

         Bartolome dodged the cloth, exclaiming, “We found magnets, Lady! Look.” He held out a handful for her scrutiny. Rough and unpolished, glinting dully in the sun. Teodor poked his head close before drawing away, unimpressed, but Esma was suitably admiring. “And Lord Antoni is going to show me how to make a compass!” 

         “Is that why we’re here?” She glanced over at Antoni, holding his waterskin high over his mouth only to discover there was not a drop left to drink. She laughed. “Stop, Antoni. That is pitiful. I’ll find a cup for you, too. Cider for everyone.” 

         “Thank you, Esma.” 

         With one last warning look aimed at Teodor, she strolled off, calling for a servant. 

         Teodor made sure his nurse was well out of earshot before he kicked at the grass. “I hate cider,” he grumbled. “Why shouldn’t I drink the wine? It’s only grapes, after all.” 

         “Because it will stop your growth.” Antoni repeated the lie told to del Marian children for a thousand years. “And we can’t have a prince who is only three feet tall.” 

         Offended, Teodor glared up at Antoni. “I’m already taller than three feet.” 

         “Oh, yes?” Affectionately, Antoni tousled the boy’s hair. “Never mind, then. Plenty of time for wine when you’re older.” 


         Always so impatient, this one. “Later.” 

         Bartolome eyed his brother with disfavor. He pointed toward the edge of the meadow. “Master Ruy is tending the horses. Go and be useful.” 

         One injustice after another. It was too much for the king’s second son. “I will not!” Teodor cried. “You can&rsquo...

  • Reviews
    "Intriguing, compelling, and boldly enriching, Lucier crafts a vivid fantasy that will appeal to readers who love getting lost in new worlds." --Buzzfeed 


    “An exhilarating tale of fantasy, political intrigue, fearless explorers, and heart-thumping romance.” --Bustle 


    "Combining rich descriptions with a compelling mystery, Lucier (A Death-Struck Year) creates a vibrant world populated by appealing characters and enhances the story with subtle magical elements, a hint of romance, and a dose of political intrigue."--Publishers Weekly, STARRED review 


    "Readers craving a captivating adventure will find that and more in Lucier’s brilliant fantasy."--Booklist, STARRED review 


    "Lucier has crafted an exciting plot of attempted murder and betrayal that simmers just below the surface, right up to the breathtaking twist in the final pages...Highly recommended where Tamora Pierce, V.E. Schwab, and Rachel Hartman are popular."--School Library Journal 


    "Deftly employing suspense and mystery, bolstered by tantalizing details about strange beasts and geographical fascinations, this original fantasy drops hints with masterful precision, tracing clues left in the maps to a startling conclusion."--Horn Book Magazine 


    "A romantic maritime epic and a charming tribute to mapmakers, calligraphers, and explorers."--Kirkus 


    "This is the perfect fantasy novel for those who appreciate a dramatic mystery with a bit of romance. "--Bulletin for the Center of Children's Books 


    "An absorbing mystery."--VOYA

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