Travis Baldree’s Brigands & Breadknives arrives as the second installment in the Legends & Lattes series, though it takes a sharp left turn from the comforting warmth of its predecessor. Where the first book served readers a perfectly brewed cup of optimism alongside cinnamon rolls, this sequel offers something altogether more complex: the bitter aftertaste of brandy-soaked decisions and the uncomfortable realization that sometimes fixing your life isn’t about finding the right place, but discovering who you actually are when nobody needs you to be anything at all.
The story follows Fern, the foul-mouthed rattkin bookseller who first captured hearts in the prequel Bookshops & Bonedust. After decades of running her bookshop in Murk, Fern relocates to Thune to open a new store beside her old friend Viv’s wildly successful coffee establishment. But when the crippling ennui that drove her from her old life follows her to the new one, a drunken night leads to an unexpected road trip with Astryx One-Ear—a legendary elven warrior whose thousand-year lifespan hasn’t quite prepared her for the complexity of actual friendship—and Zyll, a chaos-goblin with a massive bounty on her head and an inexplicable fondness for stealing silverware.
A Darker Shade of Cozy
Baldree openly acknowledges in his author’s note that this book contains more conflict than his previous two combined, and readers expecting the same gentle slice-of-life contentment should adjust their expectations accordingly. This is cozy fantasy that examines the sharp edges we keep hidden—the parts of ourselves that don’t fit neatly into comfortable narratives about fresh starts and found family.
The journey from Thune to the city of Amberlin becomes a crucible for Fern’s identity crisis. Through encounters with bounty hunters, a Tarimite monastery, various inns populated by characters both helpful and dangerous, and the ever-present threat of violence that accompanies a high-value target, Fern grapples with questions that feel uncomfortably real. What does it mean to be useful? Can you love something and still need to leave it behind? And most devastatingly: what if the person you’ve been has only ever existed to fill gaps in other people’s lives?
The book wrestles with these themes through prose that alternates between whip-smart humor and genuine emotional gut-punches. Baldree’s writing style remains conversational and accessible, with Fern’s profanity-laced observations providing both levity and authenticity. The rattkin’s voice feels lived-in, worn comfortable by decades of disappointment and determination in equal measure.
Characters Who Defy Their Legends
What elevates Brigands & Breadknives beyond simple adventure narrative is its commitment to portraying characters as fundamentally messy, contradictory beings:
Fern emerges as a protagonist defined by her struggles rather than her victories. She’s prickly, self-deprecating, prone to catastrophizing, and utterly compelling in her refusal to become the character everyone expects. Her crisis of purpose—the gnawing realization that books as “weapons against loneliness” might not be enough for her anymore—feels painfully authentic for anyone who’s ever questioned whether their passion has become their prison.
Astryx One-Ear could have been a one-dimensional legendary figure, but Baldree paints her as someone whose immortality has become a burden rather than a gift. Her initial emotional distance and adherence to principle reads as self-protection rather than nobility. The slow thaw of her isolation, and her desperate attempt to keep Fern in her life, provides some of the book’s most affecting moments.
Zyll, the chaos-goblin, operates as an almost elemental force—incomprehensible, violent when necessary, and somehow the most authentically herself of anyone in the narrative. Her cryptic pronouncements and cheerful mayhem suggest depths that remain tantalizingly unexplored.
Breadlee, the sentient breadknife who is actually an ancient Elder Blade reforged into tableware, provides comic relief that never feels forced. His banter with Nigel (Astryx’s pompous sword) and his desperate attempts to be taken seriously despite his diminutive form add genuine humor without undermining the story’s emotional weight.
Where the Story Stumbles
For all its strengths, Brigands & Breadknives occasionally falters under the weight of its own ambitions. The pacing sags in the middle section during the extended monastery stay, where Fern’s introspection threatens to overwhelm forward momentum. While thematically appropriate—stagnation as both subject and experience—it tests reader patience.
The romantic subplot involving Quillin, a hazferou adventurer, feels simultaneously undercooked and overemphasized. Their brief connection provides necessary external temptation for Fern’s character arc, but the emotional investment required feels unearned given their limited interaction. When this thread is abandoned, it leaves a sense of narrative incompleteness rather than poignant loss.
Additionally, readers seeking the warmth and comfort that characterized Legends & Lattes may find themselves caught off-guard. This is a book about disappointing your friends, about the agony of saying no, about the gap between who you are and who others need you to be. That’s valuable territory to explore, but it requires a different kind of emotional preparedness than the series’ cozy reputation might suggest.
The Power of No
The book’s climactic moment—Fern’s refusal of Astryx’s offer to become her traveling companion and squire—represents both the story’s greatest triumph and its most divisive element. After spending the entire narrative establishing the depth of their unlikely friendship, after demonstrating how much they’ve come to mean to one another, Fern says no.
Not because she doesn’t care. Not because Astryx has failed her. But because accepting would mean, once again, defining herself through her usefulness to someone else rather than discovering what she actually wants. It’s a devastating, necessary, and deeply satisfying conclusion that trusts readers to understand that sometimes love means choosing yourself even when it breaks hearts.
The Technical Craft
Baldree’s prose remains deceptively simple—conversational without being simplistic, accessible without sacrificing depth. His dialogue sparkles with personality, each character immediately recognizable by voice alone. The worldbuilding feels lived-in rather than info-dumped, with details about the Territory, its various peoples, and its magical systems emerging organically through the narrative.
The structure of Fern’s unsent letters to Viv, woven throughout the story, provides both framework and emotional resonance. These missives track her psychological journey while maintaining the book’s epistolary connection to the series’ roots.
Who Should Read This
Brigands & Breadknives will resonate most strongly with readers who’ve experienced their own version of Fern’s crisis—those who’ve wondered if the life they’ve built still fits, who’ve questioned whether their purpose has become their cage. It’s for anyone who’s ever had to disappoint someone they care about in order to be honest with themselves.
Fans of character-driven fantasy that prioritizes internal conflict over external spectacle will find much to appreciate. Those seeking pure escapism or comfort reading might want to return to Legends & Lattes instead, or wait until they’re ready for something that asks harder questions than it answers.
If You Enjoyed This, Try
- The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune – Another exploration of found family with deeper emotional complexity
- Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson – For sentient objects and magical libraries
- Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones – Character-driven fantasy with sharp wit
- A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers – Gentle examination of purpose and identity
- Piranesi by Susanna Clarke – Another protagonist discovering who they are beyond their assumed role
Final Thoughts
Brigands & Breadknives is a brave, occasionally messy, ultimately rewarding exploration of what happens when the comfortable narratives we tell ourselves no longer hold. It’s less cozy than its predecessors but more honest about the complicated work of becoming whoever you’re supposed to be. Baldree has crafted a sequel that refuses to simply replicate past success, instead pushing into more challenging emotional territory while maintaining the warmth and wit that made readers fall in love with this world in the first place.
It may not provide the same uncomplicated comfort as a fresh cinnamon roll and perfectly pulled espresso, but sometimes what we need isn’t comfort—it’s permission to admit we’re hungry for something we can’t quite name yet.