Threads That Bind

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“Dripping with atmosphere and edged with danger, Threads That Bind weaves together a gorgeous dark tapestry of mystery, fated romance, and modern myth. You won’t be able to put this one down.” —Alexandra Bracken, New York Times bestselling author of Lore

In a world where the children of the gods inherit their powers, a descendant of the Greek Fates must solve a series of impossible murders to save her sisters, her soulmate, and her city, for fans of Song of Achilles.

Descendants of the Fates are always born in threes: one to weave, one to draw, and one to cut the threads that connect people to the things they love and to life itself. The Ora sisters are no exception. Io, the youngest, uses her Fate-born abilities as a private investigator in the half-sunken city of Alante.

But her latest job leads her to a horrific discovery: somebody is abducting women, maiming their life-threads, and setting the resulting wraiths loose in the city to kill. To find the culprit, she must work alongside Edei Rhuna, the right hand of the infamous Mob Queen—and the boy with whom she shares a rare fate-thread linking them as soul mates before they’ve even met.

The investigation turns personal when Io’s estranged oldest sister shows up on the arm of her best suspect. Amid unveiled secrets from her past and her growing feelings for Edei, Io must follow clues through the city’s darkest corners and unearth a conspiracy that involves some of the city’s most powerful players before destruction comes to her own doorstep.★ “Sizzling romance and action-packed sequences set against an intriguing plot plagued by political corruption and conspiracy build to a dynamic pace. [A] richly detailed adventure.” —Publisher’s Weekly, starred review

★ “With vivid and compelling writing, the narrative immerses readers in a unique world on the edge of ruin and an achingly slow romance. Hand to fans of Leigh Bardugo’s “Grishaverse” who are looking for a cutthroat and magical criminal underworld. With a unique world and layered mystery, readers will love this book.” —School Library Journal, starred review

“Highly original worldbuilding…[and] plenty to engage fantasy fans, leaving them eager for the next installment. Classical mythology, police procedural, and romance combine in this imaginative, intriguing post-apocalyptic story.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Hatzopoulou’s descriptive prose, with its touch of humor, is excellent . . . A quick, compulsive read.” —Booklist

“Dripping with atmosphere and edged with danger, Threads That Bind weaves together a gorgeous dark tapestry of mystery, fated romance, and modern myth. You won’t be able to put this one down.” —Alexandra Bracken, New York Times bestselling author of Lore
 
“Riveting and electrifying! In a world where the descendants of the Greek gods inherit enthralling supernatural powers, Kika Hatzopoulou weaves a gripping mystery full of secrets, murder, and betrayal. I was utterly ensnared to the last page.” —Leslie Vedder, bestselling author of the Bone Spindle trilogy
 
“Kika Hatzopoulou’s irresistible debut draws you in with a golden thread. Seamlessly weaving together magic, mythology, and mystery, Threads That Bind launches readers into a stunningly imagined world that will stay with you long after you’ve turned the final page.” —Claire M. Andrews, author of the Daughter of Sparta trilogy
 
“Utterly riveting from start to finish! Hatzopoulou expertly weaves familiar threads of murder, fated lovers, feuding sisters, and ancient myths into a fresh, modern tapestry, one that gleams as bright as the threads of fate Io uses to navigate the sunken city of Alante. A story and heroine I won’t soon forget.” —Amanda Joy, author of the A River of Royal Blood duology

“Threads That Bind is a thrilling magical twist on the murder mystery. From rooftop bridges and flooded city streets to rundown apartments and glitzy gang clubs, Alante is a city where survival is paramount and nothing is simple. This is exactly the kind of story I’ve been craving.” —Nicki Pau Preto, author of the Crown of Feathers trilogy
 
“A flooded city full of magic and secrets, fallen gods, a thrilling mystery, and a heartfelt examination of the complex bonds of sisterhood. One of the most original and enjoyable debuts I’ve read.” —Lyndall Clipstone, author of the World at the Lake’s Edge duology and Unholy TerrorsKika Hatzopoulou is the bestselling author of Threads That Bind and its upcoming sequel, Hearts That Cut. She is a native Greek and current Londoner and holds an MFA in writing for children from the New School. In her free time, she enjoys urban quests and gastronomical adventures while narrating entire book and movie plots with her partner. Find Kika on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok @kikahatzopoulou and on her website kikahatzopoulou.com.In the apartment building across from the theater, the light in the far-left window of the third floor flickered on. Io tore her gaze away from the moon and put her spectacles on. Sure enough, it was the very apartment she had been hired to watch. A figure moved inside—maybe two? She slid down and grounded her palms on the splintered wood of the balcony. Before you slip into the Quilt, make sure you’re safe, Thais used to instruct. We don’t want you walking off a rooftop, do we?

Io blinked and the Quilt appeared, a jumble of threads laid over the physical world. Only moira-born, descendants of the goddesses of Fate, could see the lines of silver that sprouted from every person, connecting them to the things they loved most in the world. Io focused on the apartment on the third floor. In the Quilt, she saw beyond brick and wood, straight to the two people in the apartment. Dozens of threads emerged from their bodies, linking them to the many different places, things, and people they loved. One of the brightest threads connected the two figures together, pulsing vividly, the kind of luster that consumed everything. The singular brilliance of a love-thread, in Ava’s moonstruck words.

The singular tedium of a pain in the neck, more likely. A sigh escaped Io’s lips. Why was it always cheating? Why couldn’t it be a weird hobby or a late-night class for once, something that wouldn’t crush her clients’ souls? Io could picture it clearly: tomorrow, her client, Isidora Magnussen, would sit at the table farthest back in the café on Sage Street, her coat wrung like a dish towel in her hands, and Io would have to tell her, Yes, your husband did go to the apartment he supposedly sold three weeks ago. Yes, he had company. Then the hardest part would come: Does he love her? Any other private detective could shrug and say, How would I know?

But Io was different. Io was moira-born. It was why clients chose her; they didn’t just want to know if their loved ones were cheating or gambling or drinking. They wanted to know the secrets that only the Quilt could reveal: if their spouses loved cheating and gambling and drinking more than they loved them.

And Io would have to tell her. I’m sorry, Mrs. Magnussen. Their thread is so bright I couldn’t stand to look at it for more than two seconds. It means your husband’s in love with his mistress. It means I want to slip through a hole in the café floor and never come out. That was what put a roof over Io’s head and food on the plate: breaking people’s hearts.

She watched the two figures a while longer, just to be sure. She made out no bodies in the Quilt, only the threads, but there was no mistaking it: the couple came together, silver interweaving in a slow embrace. Io’s cheeks heated—she glanced away.

Something caught her attention. Close to the couple, on the third floor of the apartment building. It was a person, but also . . . not.

The un-person had only one thread. People loved in multitudes; they got attached to others, to places, to objects, to ideas. The average person’s thread count was fifteen. Newborn infants had the fewest: their life-thread, a thread to their mother, and a thread to food—the last two usually one and the same. This person, however, standing in what must be the apartment building hallway, had a single thread. On its own, that was improbable, but not impossible.

What was impossible was that the thread was severed. It came out of the person’s chest on one end, and the other just flopped limp to the floor, where it frayed into nothing. Threads connected—there was no such thing as a one-ended thread.

And worst of all, the severed thread was tilted at an unnatural angle, like the person was gripping it in both fists. Stretched tight and sharp, as though meant to cut someone else’s threads. This single-threaded person, this impossibility, was a cutter. Io knew, because Io was a cutter, too.

The cutter was edging toward the lovers’ apartment, their lone thread a raised weapon. Io’s shoulders tensed. Her breath caught in her lungs.

Little idiot, her sister berated in Io’s mind.

She breathed out and ran.US

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