The Starving Saints, by Caitlin Starling. Oh, wow. Okay, let me expand on that.
This is medieval fantasy horror in the vein of C.L. Moore’s Jirel of Joiry and Clark Ashton Smits Averoigne: medieval culture but its own religion and history, and there’s magic. The characters are trapped in a castle under siege. Starvation is a couple weeks away as the story starts, unless there’s relief to be had from outside help or mysterious and unreliable sorcery within. Miraculous intervention occurs, but of course it’s too good to be true.
Things spiral into chaos and misery, and the protagonists have to face the things about themselves they’ve been hiding from themselves as part of the struggle to survive. What are they prepared to sacrifice for escape? What’s driven them to those points?
I started off enjoying it. The further I read, the more more my admiration and respect grew. In the afterword, Starling says this book began in the midst of COVID isolation and the wake of the first of multiple miscarriages nom not surprised. It’s a very deep-diving story, using the microcosm of the siege to examine a whole world of losses and survivals. It’s the most impressive, most satisfying fantasy I’ve read in some time.