As the center of trade for the four major races, Bisia is the perfect city for a Dahlseid—a young race of plant folk—like Rowan to experience whatever his heart desires, and his position as ambassador for the Dahlsia makes affording those desires easy. But when he overhears a plot of treason against his people, all of that could end.
But will it?
My people can take care of themselves, Rowan thinks. The humans will give up once they realize the Dahlsia have nothing of value. Because all humans want is gold, right?
They’ll be just fine.
Full of magic and misadventure, A Bitter Drink tangles Rowan in the vines as he’s forced to team up with a pacifist human vagabond, a deadly serious elven spy, and a cheerful dwarf with a strangely calming presence. Together, they’re determined to put a stop to the twisting heinous plot that threatens to destroy everything they love.
But Rowan’s heart isn’t in it: he’s a coward and he knows it. Joining them would mean risking his life, and to challenge one’s true colors is a bitter drink indeed.
A Bitter Drink by Azalea Forrest is one of those books that’s not easy to categorize, and that’s very much part of its charm. It blends cozy and dark elements in a way that feels fresh and emotionally layered, balancing found family, political intrigue, death, and hope in equal measure.
There is political scheming throughout the story, but it’s not overly complex or hard to follow. If you’re wary of being buried in endless court plots, don’t worry, this book keeps things accessible while still offering enough intrigue to stay engaging.
The worldbuilding is a real highlight. There’s a familiar mix of fantasy races like dwarves and elves, but also some delightful originality. Most notably in the main character, a “hedonistic plant man” who begins as a pampered, spoiled ambassador but gradually grows on you (pun very much intended). While he can be exasperating at times, his arc is compelling, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with him and his newfound companions. The dynamic between the cheerful, hyper dwarf; the grumpy, sarcastic elf; the indulgent plant protagonist; and the ever-patient human created a warm, believable group chemistry that carried the story beautifully.
Although there are darker moments, including death, trauma, and serious ethical dilemmas, the tone never tips too far into the dark. At its heart, this is a story about people trying to do the right thing in a complicated world. There’s a persistent thread of hope and emotional sincerity that balances out the grittier elements.
There is a touch of romance, but it’s not the central focus. In fact, I found the romantic subplot charming and unobtrusive. Enough to add emotional depth without overtaking the narrative. While some readers may wish it had been more developed, I personally thought it was just right, especially for someone like me who typically prefers less romance in fantasy.
The setting appears to be queernormative, with various orientations and preferences treated as completely normal. One of the major characters uses they/them pronouns, which is great to see in fantasy. However, I had mixed feelings about how this particular character, a likely neurodivergent, morally ambiguous scientist, was portrayed. I didn’t love that the most visibly nonbinary character was also the “weird” and ethically questionable one. On top of that, there were a few instances where “he” was used for them. Possibly from the perspective of characters who didn’t know better, though one instance felt more like a slip than a stylistic choice. Still, given the main character is clearly bi or pan, and the world treats queerness as normal, this aspect didn’t weigh down the book too heavily for me.
Overall, I really enjoyed the blend of cozy comfort and emotional depth, with just the right amount of darkness to keep things interesting. If you’re looking for a fantasy that’s character-driven, inclusive, and full of heart, with a side of weird plant guy antics, A Bitter Drink is well worth a read.
