Title: The Sea SpinnerAuthor: Julie Johnson
Series: Reign of Remnants #2
Pages: 544
Publication Date: April 28, 2026
Publisher: Ace
Genres: Fiction / Romance / Fantasy / Romantasy
Synopsis:
Blazing with reawakened magic, a young woman challenges the tides of fate in this highly anticipated installment of Julie Johnson’s romantasy series.
Everything changed for Rhya Fleetwood in the battle of Fyremas. Her grief is heavy, her rage volatile. Caeldera lies in ruins. Her friends are dead or wounded. And Pendefyre, their newly crowned king, is shutting her out. The Remnant of Fire needs all his focus for his kingdom, his people, and—perhaps more than anything—his insatiable need for revenge.
When a twist of fate leads Rhya to the last place she expected—the Water Court—the novice wind weaver is forced to confront the limitations of her untrained power as well as her increasingly complicated relationships. For enigmatic King Soren of Llŷr is as different from Penn as sparks are from the sea. The more insight he offers into the maegic that binds them together, the more confused Rhya feels—about her future as a Remnant, about her deepest desires, and about her role in the coming war.
Enemies circle close, ready to strike. And if Rhya isn’t careful, she’ll lose more than just her heart.
She’ll lose her life.
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I was so excited to read The Sea Spinner after reading and loving The Wind Weaver, the first book in the series. It was such a fantastic read, and so is this one. This book picks up right where the first left off, with Rhya dealing with everything that happened and trying to figure out her place in it all while things around her continue to escalate. I loved the characters, where the plot went, where it seems to be heading, the continued world-building, and, of course, the slow-building, swoon-worthy romance.
Rhya is such a compelling protagonist, and her growth really stood out to me. She’s gone through so much, and it seems like she’s healing and becoming happier and more self-assured as her story continues, even though she’s still carrying a lot. I liked seeing her start to come into her own and gain more confidence in herself and her abilities. I also liked how her feelings and the weather were connected, like a physical manifestation of her inner self. It made her emotional journey feel even more powerful and added so much to the tone and vibes of the story.
The Water Court was such a great addition, and I enjoyed learning more about it and the people there. They added so much to the story and said a lot about the leadership and politics of the different kingdoms. I think Rhya quickly learned that things are not always as they seem, and her opinions on people and places change quite a bit as she gets to know the new city she’s in and the people who inhabit it. I’m a sucker for found family, and this one was fantastic. The dynamics were great, and I loved the banter and strong relationships. Of course, my favorite relationship was the romance between Rhya and a certain someone.
This has a love triangle that reminds me a bit of ACOTAR, and that’s great because it’s the only kind of triangle I enjoy. We have the Tamlin character, who initially seems good but slowly shows a ton of red flags. It’s a deceptive love based on his wants and needs, and he seems to want to control Rhya and squelch who she is. The Rhysand character (my fave) initially seems like a walking red flag, but he actually treats the Rhya like a partner and equal and gives her autonomy while helping her heal and embrace her power. It’s done well here, and I am wholly team Soren. I also really loved how the romance is more of a slow build and focuses on their emotional connection, not just their physical attraction to one another. The banter, yearning, and angst are fantastic, and the chemistry that builds between them is so swoon-worthy.
The plot was engaging and intriguing, with several unexpected twists and turns, and I loved getting to explore a new part of this world. It was vivid and immersive and atmospheric. The stakes feel higher and ever-increasing, and there’s a great balance of action and softer, character-driven moments that kept me invested. And the ending!! My word that wasn’t what I expected. I’m so curious to see where the story goes now because Johnson has a way of turning everything on its head and going in directions I would never expect.
Thanks to Berkley and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of the book. All thoughts are my own.
- love triangle
- found family
- forced proximity
- slow burn romance
- elemental magic
JULIE JOHNSON is the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author of The Wind Weaver. When she’s not writing, Julie can most often be found sitting on the beach near her home in her native Massachusetts, adding stamps to her passport, drinking too much coffee, and avoiding reality by disappearing between the pages of a book. She published her debut novel on a lark, just before her senior year of college, and she’s never looked back. Since, she has published twenty other novels, which have been translated into more than a dozen different languages and appeared on bestseller lists all over the world.
You can connect with Julie on her Instagram (author_julie), in her natural habitat (the bookstore), or in her exclusive reader group (The Johnson Junkies).
Check Out This Excerpt From THE SEA SPINNER!
The metal handle sears my palm, a withering harbinger.
One I ignore.
I step into the throne room and nearly double over. It’s hot as a furnace, the heat a shock to the system after the chill of the corridor. At my chest, my Remnant mark burns with contradictory cold, stirring awake in response to the maegic shimmering in the air. It is thick as syrup, a vermilion haze that suffuses the entire space.
The doors close behind me with a resolute click. The sound makes me want to bolt straight back the way I came. I don’t want to be here. In truth, I would rather be almost anywhere else, given the fiery reception I am no doubt about to receive, but the memory of Mabon’s deep voice rumbles in my head, imploring me to try.
Maybe this time you can get through to him.
If anyone can make the man see sense, it’s you.
Please, Rhya. You know I would not put you in this position without good reason. You know I would not ask this of you unless . . .
I take a deep breath, struggling to fill my lungs, tasting the distinct tinge of elemental power on my tongue. Flame and ash, pressing in from all sides. My knees threaten to buckle as I make my way down a short flight of stone steps onto the gleaming floor.
Set deep in the earth, the cavernous chamber was spared the wrath of the ice giants that ravaged Caeldera two months ago. While the rest of the city is an unrecognizable ruin of glass and debris-roofs caved in from massive boulders that rained down, storefront windows shattered with axe hilts, facade columns crumbled into dust-the throne room looks just as I remember it. Dark stone of pure, petrified lava, veined with red. Massive columns with bases of caged fire holding up a distant ceiling. Trenches of flame lining the perimeter floors, extending up the back wall.
But no people.
On the night of Fyremas, spectators packed inside, shoulder to shoulder, angling for the best view of the ward-charging ceremony. Now it is even emptier than the once bustling shops on High Street. My boot falls echo loud as cannon fire as I make my way down the polished aisle that halves the room.
On the lofted dais, the steward’s seat Queen Vanora occupied during her reign is vacant. For one who ruled so long, and with such spectacle, her departure from this world was decidedly commonplace. Crushed to pulp in her gilded ballroom like so many others, then reduced to cinders alongside her most common of subjects on the mass pyre erected outside the city walls a week after the battle.
Were she there to witness it, she would have seethed at the indignity of sharing her last rites with the masses. No mournful bugles or waxing eulogies on her behalf. No rare flowers laid or grand portraits commissioned. But these days no one is inclined toward fanfare.
Not even for a dead queen.
My eyes move to the king’s heavy metal throne at the center of the dais. It, too, sits empty. Though I hardly expected to find him there. I doubt Dyved’s new sovereign has spent more than a handful of minutes sitting down these past weeks-and certainly not in a stuffy ceremonial chair.
I skirt the platform and approach the back wall of the cavern. It is even hotter here, so near to the trenches of fire that leap high and hungry, so near to the source of the maegic that thrums unabated. One section of the wall juts slightly outward, concealing an old mine shaft that functions as a lift. I lay my palm against the warm stone where a peculiar pattern of gouges marks the surface-a glyph, carved there by some ancient ancestor. One short pulse of maegic is enough to activate it. A fiery glow filters between my fingers as the floor panel beneath me begins to rise swiftly upward.
I’ve grown somewhat more accustomed to using Caeldera’s network of lifts over the past few months, but it is still never an entirely pleasant sensation. My innate predisposition toward claustrophobia are triggered anytime I find myself ensconced by earth. Even now, as I rise upward through the mine shaft, I’m itching for escape. The craving for fresh air, for sunlight and open sky, claws at my throat with razor-sharp talons.
The lift comes to a halt with a jolt that shakes my bones. I step out into a semi-enclosed chamber that overlooks the throne room far below and feel every hair on my body rise in response. This is a place of potent natural power, where the deep enchantment of Anwyvn’s very core bubbles to the surface. Tears sting at my eyes, an irrepressible reaction to the thick cloud of maegic.
Around me, the curved walls and low-hanging ceiling are carved with countless glyphs. They are aglow, as though lit from within by pure power-the origin of which is crouched at the center of the chamber with his hands pressed flat to the floor of hardened lava, expelling pulse after pulse.
“Pendefyre,” I call softly.
He does not look up.
“Pendefyre,” I say again, louder. His head jerks, but he still does not look at me. In fact, he seems to redouble his focus, pressing even more firmly against the red-veined stone. Every knuckle of his strong, tanned hands is white from lack of circulation. Flames lick out between his fingers, burn twin paths up his arms, ignite a trail down his bare chest to where a dark design of whorls and spirals mars the flesh.
The Fire Remnant.
It is no less mesmerizing in this moment than it was the first time I saw it, furling outward across his right pectoral in a triangular pattern. But my awe is now laced with alarm as I watch Penn giving more and more of himself to the wards that shield his city from harm. For several long seconds I stand there, paralyzed, my vision consumed by the hungry flames that furl across his skin.
How much more can he give before he burns out completely? How much further can he push himself without causing permanent damage?
No wonder Mabon came for me. No wonder the Ember Guild is so concerned about their leader. The previous Fire Remnant, King Vorath, died here in this very room, doing this very thing. He reached for too much power, pushed himself too hard. And he lost his life because of it.
Angry as I may be at Penn for his attitude of late, I cannot stand idly by while he kills himself in his obsessive quest to make Caeldera safe.
Whether my efforts will be successful is another matter entirely. My teeth grit as recollections of the last time I found myself standing at this threshold-the result of Jac’s relentless wheedling to accompany him a fortnight ago-sweep over me. Penn made his position clear that day. Incontrovertibly so, seeing as he bellowed loudly enough to bring what remains of this keep down around our ears about how we should both mind our godsdamned business and keep our noses out of his affairs.
All hail King Pendefyre, the Pigheaded.
Swallowing down the irritation that lingers bitterly on the back of my tongue, I take another faltering step. “Pendefyre. Look at me.”
But Penn is unreachable. He is entirely engrossed by his task, pouring every bit of his power into the wards. My heart pangs as I watch him draining himself dry. His expression is savage-a mix of determination and agonized desperation. His face is white as parchment. An overgrown curl of burnished chestnut hair falls over his forehead, concealing his eyes from view, but I know without seeing that they are alive with maegic, the irises burning like hot coals.
The steadying breath I pull into my lungs has the opposite effect. It shimmies through me with intoxicating provocation. Penn’s maegic is affecting me more than I want to admit. The Remnant at my chest prickles relentlessly, awake and alert, eager to come out and play. I steadfastly ignore it. Adding air maegic to this scenario will likely have the same effect as dashing a cup of spirits on an open flame while attempting to put it out.
Combustion.
A fresh pulse of power rolls through the chamber. I watch it ripple through his body, the muscles of his bare back flexing, the tendons of his arms going taut as raw maegic transfers from him into the stone. The wards around us throb bright as starlight. My legs buckle as it hits me, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending me to my knees. I land with a bruising thud.
Blinking away the pain, I bring Penn back into view. A sharp blade of panic sluices through me. The fire snaking up his arms and coiling around his chest has grown. It now surrounds his entire form in a thick cloak of flames. He crouches there, within a blazing ball of heat, immolating as I watch. Through the white-hot flickers, I see blood beginning to pour from his pointed ears, dripping down the broad column of his throat, pooling in the rigid indentation of his clavicles.
“Penn!” I cry, a ragged plea. “Pendefyre!”
This time, he does not react at all to the sound of my voice. He is lost in the throes of his power.
I have to put a stop to this. Now. Before it’s too late.
Before I lose him.
Excerpted from The Sea Spinner by Julie Johnson Copyright © 2026 by Julie Johnson. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
