The Lavender Blade

Read Time: 3 Minutes

There’s something immediately satisfying about a story that knows exactly what kind of world it’s playing in. The Lavender Blade has that rich, old-world texture where the air smells faintly of coal dust and class divides, and where the wealthy drift around their marble halls while everyone else makes do with the scraps and dregs of what’s leftover.

Into that mix steps Colton, a self-professed exorcist who may or may not actually believe in the demons he’s paid to drive out.

Colton’s an excellent lead. A bit of a rogue, all heart and hustle, and he’s the kind of man who knows how to part a mark from their money but also when to draw a line. His “exorcisms” are mostly clever tricks and a bit of theatrical flair, helped along by the occasional dose of local narcotics (snow and blossom which I assume to be equivalents of cocaine and opium) that make the people see whatever horrors he’s selling.

He’s doing what he has to, living on the iron side of the gate, and if the people want to believe in ghosts, who’s he to stop them?

Enter Lord Lucien Beaumont: charming, eccentric, and very much the sort of noble who’d rather be out causing mischief than following the rules of polite society. When he and Colton cross paths, it’s clear they’re kindred spirits. Both outcasts in their own ways, both hiding more than they let on. Lucien suggests a business partnership, where Lucien can open doors, Colton can only dream of.

Together they perform a series of “exorcisms” for profit, fleecing the rich while skirting the edges of an order that doesn’t take kindly to unlicensed competition.

It’s a setup that could have played purely for laughs, but Deards layers it with emotion and tension. The deeper you get, the more it starts to feel like the world itself might be conspiring against them. The story balances that smoky Gaslamp aesthetic with a touch of clockwork punk. Radio broadcasts, clockwork-powered carriages, and other mechanical curios give the world a faint hum of invention. It’s not showy, just enough to add texture and make the setting feel alive.

Nicholas Boulton’s narration is, quite simply, excellent. He fits Colton’s voice perfectly: wry, weary, but still holding onto some small scrap of optimism. His performance carries the tone beautifully, shifting from quiet confession to sly charm with ease. He also captures Lucien’s energy in a way that makes their partnership sparkle. It’s one of those narrations that feels like a natural extension of the story rather than something layered on top.

Production-wise, it’s clean and smooth throughout, aside from one small blip around halfway through where a repeated line slipped past editing. It’s minor, though, and barely dents what’s otherwise a polished experience. It did cause me to back up for a second to make sure I hadn’t misheard, but that’s about it.

What makes The Lavender Blade work so well is its balance. It’s witty without being smug, romantic without leaning into melodrama, and atmospheric without getting bogged down in world-building. There’s a quiet melancholy sitting just beneath the banter, as if both Colton and Lucien know how fragile their little arrangement is.

Wrapped up neatly at the end, it stands strong as a self-contained story. Stylish, thoughtful, and full of heart, it’s the kind of tale that sneaks up on you, smiling all the while.

One final note: That cover image is absolutely wonderful! I know we’re not supposed to judge books by their covers, but let’s be honest, we all do, and I think this one’s an absolute treat.

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