The book world has made it so easy for us to connect with each other, especially over the last couple of years as things like #BookTok and other outlets have gotten bigger and taken over our timelines. Nicole Holleman, one of the cohosts of the Fantasy Fangirls podcast, has become one of the voices we’ve gotten to know and love over the last few years, especially as she opened up about her journey of writing her first novel and becoming a published author. But even getting a peek at the process does not prepare you for when it finally comes across your desk. When the manuscript for Oath of the Chosen landed on our desks at Cosmo Reads, we immediately knew two things: (1) that we were about to be obsessed and (2) that we absolutely needed to be the one to publish this book. Thankfully, Nicole and her team have given us that chance and we’re now bringing her debut novel to all of you.
Oath of the Chosen, which will be released on May 11, 2027, follows Auri, one of the chosen who have sworn to get rid of magic by any means possible. Except in a world where murder transfers magic, there is a high risk of the job. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself via a dangerous competition, Auri jumps at the chance. But she’s hiding something. A secret that could change her life forever and the kingdom of Averyth forever.
Here’s your official first look at Oath of the Chosen, including a cover reveal and exclusive excerpt.
Magic is murder.
In the brutal kingdom of Averyth, where outlawed magic is passed through murder, the Chosen are trained from childhood to make sure it ends that way.
Auri is the best of them. An elite torturer with a flawless record, raised to hunt outlawed magic with blades and blood. Loyal. Lethal. Unquestioning.
Until Auri is thrust into a competition to crown the first Royal Chosen, and she realizes that winning could expose the secret she's risked everything to keep hidden: Auri has magic of her own.
As the trials unfold, it becomes clear that Auri's loyalty is what's really being tested.
Then everything breaks. The competition is violently interrupted by a coordinated attack―one that fractures the illusion of control Averyth has relied on for generations.
In the chaos, Auri is forced to flee with the last person she should trust: a former Assignment she was trained to break. A man bound to her past, armed with dangerous truths and a dangerously disarming charm that's becoming harder to resist.
Hunted by the very system she upheld, Auri must unravel betrayals, buried histories, and a prophecy whispered in the shadows.
Because some destinies don't come quietly.
Some destinies scream.
While magic might be outlawed in Averyth, that hasn’t stopped us from working some of ours on this incredible cover. And while we can’t show all our secrets just yet or else, rest assured that more will be revealed soon for those who can’t wait to show this off on their shelves.
The kingdom of Averyth officially awaits you…Check out an exclusive excerpt of chapter 1 below!
Content Warning
It’s important to lead with the fact that Oath of the Chosen takes place in a torture Keep. So, as you can imagine, there is explicit torture on the page. Blood, open wounds, and dismemberment (like…a lot) will be descriptive in this book. Also, the use of torture tools like knives, collars, chains, powders, pliers, and the gore that comes with these instruments will be discussed in the same casualness as one might bring up a stapler. There is also the torture of teenagers, as well as systematic cruelty and abduction of children.
Goodness, writing this out, I’m genuinely questioning my sanity. But hold my metaphorical beer (oh yeah, there’s drinking and drugs, too, in this book) because I’m not done.
Because apparently, I didn’t just stop at adding torture to this book. You will also find explicit language, descriptive consenting sex, necrophilia (implied off-page), suicide (implied off-page), death of creatures, and references to parental neglect and death (implied off-page).
(Have I mentioned to my parents lately that I’m so sorry and I promise you raised an upstanding member of society?)
Chapter 1: The Assignment
His blood splattered across the stone floor, painting my new boots in crimson.
Then he began screaming.
I arched a brow at him and married it with a methodic breath. It came off as bored, annoyed even, but as the extra oxygen slowed my heart rate, a tightness within me loosened.
Twin tears rolled down the fire wielder’s face, emphasizing the plea he’d been voicing between wails.
I clicked my tongue. “No, no. None of that.” I used the edge of my most precise dagger, as thin as a needle, to brush away the tears, and his eyes shot open with a gasp.
Good.
“We’ve been through this.” The sharp tinge in my soothing voice gave it a rough quality, like expensive honey that had crystallized. “The sooner you talk, the sooner this is all over for you. No need for tears when you can just give me what I need.”
“Go to Olaeth,” the man spat as uncontrollable tears fell down his face. I turned around toward the stone carving of the God of Death in the corner of the chamber. “You hear that, Olaeth? Do you want me?” Without looking, I pressed my dagger into the fire wielder’s cheek. “Or him?” I cupped a hand to my ear and exaggerated a nod. “Hmm. Interesting.” I turned back to the man on the wall. “Not a great conversationalist, Olaeth.”
“You heartless bitch—”
The crunch rang out through the small chamber, and he groaned louder. I flexed my left hand into a tight fist. My scratched silver knuckles strained against my fingers, fresh blood shining from the collision with my Assignment’s face. The punch, still tingling against my moisturized hand, felt good. Easy even. Like a dance I’d performed hundreds of times, getting high off the applause of the crowd.
While I wasn’t certain, I’d say the spray of red saliva out of the Assignment’s mouth in my direction was half uncontrollable reaction to the pain and half out of spite.
Couldn’t blame him for that.
It was his only weapon, with both his arms and legs chained to the stone wall in front of me. The position thousands of Assignments hung in before, and thousands would hang after.
There was a familiar glassy sheen in his umber eyes. His breaths turned shallow.
A beat of silence before he whimpered in pain.
That one sound made my heart twinge.
I was caught between the comfortable cruelty and a choking sympathy that didn’t belong in this room. The two emotions battled in my chest, but I knew which would come out as the victor.
If there was anything I’d learned in training, the look on the man’s face meant he was seconds from breaking, and thank the gods for it. I was starving, and this asshole was keeping me from racing up to level four for dinner.
Hunger—that was a good emotion to latch onto. Safe.
Detached.
Selfish.
I ran my thumb over the band that fused the individual rings into my favorite silver knuckles. That’s all it took. The smallest shift of my focus, and suddenly the stone walls of the chamber and the low set of the ceiling retreated, and my breath came a little easier; any inconvenient sympathy lost all air. Lying lifeless within me.
Deciding to give him space to fear my next blow, I sheathed my dagger. The thin, tapered blade slid into its home as the steel hilt shone against the black of my leathers. I sauntered over to the single chair and table in the center of the small room. Planting my ass in the seat, I kicked my feet onto the table with an extra flourish, as if to flaunt my freedom of movement to the fire wielder. Careful not to jostle my other tools lying peacefully on the wooden surface.
My vision locked on my boots and the damn blood spots. The red was a smear of paint on a blank canvas. I made a mental note to steal back my favorite shoe polish from Kai’s room before I hit the shower.
Did she seriously think I wouldn’t notice the black jar missing on my dresser?
It was cute for a while, but after fourteen years, I really wished she’d stop stealing my stuff. Pranks among yearmates were commonplace with the Chosen, but, in our tight-knit group of four, I felt like we’d outgrown those types of jokes.
“Let’s try this again, Jeric,” I said with a bored sigh to the wielder. “Who did you kill?” My voice flatlined into a sharp edge, despite my lingering sweet smile, effortlessly carrying through our five feet of distance. This was the voice all Chosen had perfected in our decade of training. Pretty sure it was day three or four when they taught us to lower our pitch and volume to compel our targets to break. Just one of the many things we learned in Intimidation Techniques our first year. The ability to master that cold voice at all hours was an essential part of our lessons; even Cook didn’t bat an eye when we used it to order our daily meal.
However, if we slipped during training or were just piss poor at perfecting the voice, the Masters had no problem taking the bar to us. Even if it was in the middle of dinner.
That bar never saw the likes of me, but the coercive smile I flashed to the hanging fire wielder—that was my personal addition. Maybe because when I tried it for the first time, Cook took an infinitesimal step back before handing over my breakfast.
And behold, the smile became one of my go-to moves ever since, at least in the Assignment chambers.
The fire wielder’s raspy inhale brought me back into the tiny chamber as he spat blood.
Well, that was nice. He didn’t aim at me that time.
With a pathetic exhale, his body deepened into a sag. The silver chains holding him to the wall pulled so taut that I could tell, even through his green tunic, his left shoulder was about to pop out of its socket.
Maybe I’d aim there next?
Worked last week.
Without thinking, I ran my thumb along the inside of my knuckles and shifted my focus to his chains to avoid reliving the memory, just in time to catch the micro-movement in his hand—his finger twitching a little too purposefully.
Was he really trying to use his magic?
I didn’t hold back my eye roll. “I thought you’d be a quick learner,” I tisked. “But since you seem to be a little slow, I’ll let you in on the secret.” I planted my feet wide on the ground, resting my elbows on my knees as my long, golden braid swung forward with the shift of momentum. “Those chains are pure silver. Hard to come by these days outside of the palace. But the royals gave them to us as a special present.” I paused to see if he’d say anything.
He didn’t.
I continued. “I’ll fill you in on another secret—it makes our jobs a lot easier. With that silver cuff on you, I don’t have to worry about your abhorrent magic while we…chat.” I ended in a whisper, the word sticky on my tongue. I paused again, hearing only another groan out of his mouth.
Or maybe that was my stomach?
A small part of me inadvertently prayed it was the latter—the part of me I spent day after day trying to force into silence.
There was no room for humanity within these stone walls.
Similar to all the other chambers, this one was windowless, and the cobblestones beneath my feet slanted slightly toward the rusted, stained drain on the floor. Right below the silver chains holding up the hanging fire wielder. Unlike the other chambers, this room was no bigger than our training quarters, the two single beds taking up over half of the space. Not that it mattered—we had no other belongings to fill it with.
While I hated this tiny chamber, a brush of my thumb against the knuckles on my left hand did its job in shoving down a scream and locking my mask in place.
Below that mask was a weakness I would never show anyone. Especially those I held my dagger against.
So instead, I channeled my anger toward the chamber into the interrogations, making these some of the most brutal sessions I led. But at least then, the fear of the room would hold no control over me. Instead, it morphed into my own honed, terrifying strength.
A strength I drank from like a glass of crisp water.
The man took another rasping breath. “Please,” he begged. “Mercy.” Finally, we were getting somewhere. The end of this grueling session was so close, I could almost catch the smell of dinner wafting up my nose.
“Mercy for what, exactly, Jeric?” I clipped back.
His only answer was a slow shake of his head in confusion.
“Mercy for the women you killed? Mercy for Jenni?” I stood and crept his way. “Alana?” His eyes widened. I hovered inches away from his ear. “Klaire?” I backed up so he could see the loathing on my face and I could see the realization in his. “Or mercy for yourself? Because you truly didn’t mean to murder the girl, thus taking her magic?” Sarcasm coated my voice as his lips parted.
“You see,” I let my tone drip with my earlier honey, “the funny thing about our little realm is that when someone goes missing, people tend to talk. Quite frantically, too. Especially when these missing people are young women. And gods forbid those women turn up dead…with their bodies defiled.” I huffed a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I’ll admit, it was clever how you and your little groups managed to stay hidden for so long. That is, until your friend gave you all up. Spilled every secret for a week’s worth of gems. But there was one secret even he didn’t know.” I flat out glared. “So, because of this, I’m going to rephrase my earlier question.” I took my favorite dagger out from my hip sheath, the steel hilt with no cross guard intricately carved with the thorns of a rose bush. The detail flowed down to the thin, needlelike edge. I caressed it in front of his face. “Which girl’s death finally gave you the magic you’ve been so desperately seeking?”
The whites of his eyes gleamed at the sight of the blade, and his breathing picked up. His heart nearly hammered through his shirt. He remembered the rules I’d laid out for him: He tells the truth, and he’d leave this room. Albeit with none of his belongings, particularly the green clothes declaring his merchant status. Instead, he’d need to barter, fuck, or lie his way into some brown ones. Or steal them off a body.
Not to mention, he would also be leaving without his hands or his tongue. Couldn’t have him talking, writing, or signing about what he saw here in the Chosen’s Keep.
And since magic was wielded from the hands…well, that solved that horrid problem.
No tongue, no hands, brown clothes: the mark of the outcasts. The unwanted. The druwig.
But if he stayed quiet, he would die in this chamber.
For many, the latter route was an easy choice—until they knew what type of death would seal their fate.
I tightened my fist, the rings along my hand brushing the inside of my palm and my face easily molded into the mask I’d practiced countless times. My expression was impenetrable as I counted my breaths to pass the time.
One…His fingers continued twitching.
Two…I rolled my neck, rubbing it against the collar of the black leather jacket that covered me up to my chin.
Three…I really hoped Cook didn’t add raisins to the stew today or else I’d have to pick them all out. Last time, Reigg waited no more than three seconds before sighing and adding them to his own dish, which sent Laz and Kai into a laughing fit.
Finally, I got to breath ten, impatience nipping at me, and I decided to speak again. “Let me cut to the chase, Jeric. That is your name, right? It was the name a member of your little group gave my colleague this morning.” His throat jerked. His breath was just as trapped as he was. “Yes, they’re here, too. My coworker cracked them open like eggs on the first try. Loyal friends, you have there.” I moved my needlepoint dagger closer to him. “And even if your friends hadn’t given your group up, the Cyamir caught you using your forbidden fire magic on the outskirts of town. Not a very smart move, Jeric, as you very well know. The Cyamir are guards for us all, are they not? Some of our best informants, those warriors. So, you can either admit who you killed and thus took magic from, or…” I brought the fine tip of the blade to his throat, clicked my tongue, pretending to think better of it. Rather, I dragged it down his body to his trousers, right next to his balls.
From the way he stopped breathing, I could tell I was winning this game.
“I am going to make your last breaths feel like Olaeth took them from you himself. So, Jeric, would you prefer to choose how this goes? Because, if not…” I shrugged, relaxing one arm on my hip, the other pressed my dagger harder into him. I could tell without even looking that it had sliced through the fabric and was making a small, very painful cut. “I’d be more than thrilled to choose for you.”
And get the fuck out of here to run to the dining hall, where every Chosen member was eating dinner.
Except for the unfortunate few, such as me, who were stuck dealing with stubborn, bleeding dicks of Assignments.
He frantically shook his head but remained silent.
“My choice, then? Excellent.” I stood up a little straighter.
Looked like I would be going to dinner sooner than I thought.
I reached into the breast pocket of my jacket and took out the small vial, popping open the cork and pouring a few red drops of the cut serum over my dagger. The liquid blended into the metal with ease, as it had done many times before.
Firmly grabbing the hilt, I made a slice at the top of his green tunic, cutting through the embroidered white circles at the base of his collar and stopping only where the material was tucked into his trousers. I pulled the cloth open, exposing his chest, sprinkled with gray and dark chestnut hairs amid the age-spotted skin. He couldn’t have been younger than fifty. How long had he been murdering innocent, magicless people, hoping for the kill that would finally give him power?
Disgust swept through my body.
Shifting over to the right, I sliced the sleeve of his tunic open. “The blank canvas.” Master Colton had called this section of skin on the forearms during one of our many anatomy lessons. I’d purposefully left it clean of cuts or hits for this specific moment.
Just as Master Colton ingrained into us, I avoided the veins while making a similar long cut down the arm.
Jeric responded with a blood-curdling scream.
I ignored the hot breath that assaulted my skin and put all my focus into ensuring the cut was right. Not too deep, but deep enough for blood to leak out and his clenched fist to begin spasming again. The serum coating my blade reddened the new edges in the skin, guaranteeing they would not reseal.
I stepped over to his other arm, preparing for the slice. Jeric thrashed in an attempt to get away, and I froze. Thank the gods I hadn’t started cutting yet. Best to not piss off Praid. The God of Fate already had enough over my head.
Surely, I was imagining the tingling where the silver knuckles met my skin.
In my mind, I made the sign of Praid’s tapestry and suppressed the shiver that attempted to scale up my body.
I pulled the material of Jeric’s tunic tight.
He jerked again. “It was her father!” he yelled, the sound more a vocal burp than anything voluntary.
I stilled—that was the answer I’d been looking for. “Whose father?”
“Klaire! He was supposed to be gone in Halenmoon on a gem-mining excursion! He stole from me to fund it! Then saw me with her. He attacked me. It was self-defense! I’m innocent! Let me go. Please, let me go!” With the admission, the sobs flowed freely, clearly hoping each tear would make me pity him.
“But Klaire was already dead, wasn’t she, Jeric?” I angled my knife against his forearm. “What state were you and the girl in after you’d killed her?”
His misty eyes jumped to me, horror coating them even as they still sparkled with tears. He didn’t speak.
I scoffed and pressed my knife in, beginning the cut.
“Please! Please stop!” he wailed. “I told you! He had magic. It was self-defense! You have to let me go. You promised you’d let me go!”
I smiled a joyless smile as I paused the slice down his arm, his pleas returning to shouts. “You want to be let go, do you, Jeric? All right then, do you remember what I said about the state you’d be in if you left?” Carefully, I reached for my other dagger.
The serrated one.
Something glistened at the top of his sternum. “P-please,” he said again, halting my movements. “Please…don’t.”
Avoiding his stare, I moved toward his exposed chest. He sucked his stomach in, attempting to put space between me and the oncoming wound.
“What will it be, Jeric? Hmm?”
Another tear dropped onto the top of his chest as his raw wails turned to throaty whimpers. He gulped. “K-kill me.”
Even though I knew it shouldn’t affect me, my breath hitched.
I hated this part. The part where ten years of training hadn’t been able to harden a small section of my soul. Where all the hate, anger, and determination would fall away, and I recognized the person hiding beneath the evil deeds. Showing their face—their true face—in the final moments of their existence.
Or what they believed to be their final moments.
He didn’t know that the worst was yet to come.
The sick feeling of empathy that roiled through my stomach didn’t show on my face.
I couldn’t let it show.
“Good choice,” I cooed.
Telling myself my quick movements were to get food sooner, I pressed my dagger into his sternum and dragged it down to his navel, pulling it away as the cut was finished.
His keen tore out of his throat. Loud, guttural, and heated—like the fire magic tried to escape his body and free him from his now permanent end. Each of his pleas to the three gods drowned into the background as I wiped my dagger on his bloody tunic, the majority of the red droplets transferring to the green fabric and white fraying embroidery.
I stepped back and sheathed my dagger as I walked toward the table to pick up the remainder of my supplies.
“Wha-what’s happening? You’re leaving?” Jaric whimpered.
I ignored him, finishing packing up my supplies.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” His voice got stronger.
“You can’t just leave me here!”
I feigned confusion as I replied, “What do you mean, Jeric?”
The chestnut hue of his irises burned, the question vital in his eyes. “Y-you’re supposed to kill me. You said you’d kill me!”
“Ah, but that would be illegal, wouldn’t it?” The sweetness coated each word again. “I’m all done. You’re staying here.” I forced a smirk, and his jaw slackened. Realization dawned with the breath before his scream.
He would bleed from the wounds, his body unable to heal or clot with the red liquid eating its way around the cuts. But the blood loss would only weaken him to the brink of oblivion.
The real death would be from dehydration, starvation, and his own body’s weakness. All occurring while life continued outside this gods-forsaken tiny room.
No Chosen could kill an Assignment. Not directly, anyway.
After all, magic was passed through murder…and both were illegal in Averyth, even for the Chosen.
I turned to leave, tossing my braid over my shoulder. “It’s been a pleasure. Enjoy Olaeth’s fiery gates.”
Then I shut the door behind me, quieting the screams only the small room would hear.
Excerpted from Oath of the Chosen by Nicole Holleman. Copyright © 2027 by Nicole Holleman. Used with permission of the publisher, Cosmo Reads, an imprint of Sourcebooks, LLC.
Oath of the Chosen, by Nicole Holleman will be released on May 11, 2027 from Cosmo Reads. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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