Theft of Swords, Volume 1. Riyria Revelations Review

The Crown Conspiracy (book 1) and Avempartha (book 2) by Michael J. Sullivan

Sometimes you pick up a book expecting a simple adventure, and you end up falling into a world that feels like it’s been waiting for you all along. That’s exactly what happened when I dove into The Crown Conspiracy and Avempartha by Michael J. Sullivan.

I’ll be honest—there’s a bit of confusion about the series titles. The Riyria Revelations? Theft of Swords? Turns out there are six books that were later bundled into three volumes, and I didn’t bother to sort it all out until I sat down to write this review. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that once you meet Hadrian Blackwater and Royce Melborn, you’re not going anywhere for a while.

What Sullivan delivers with these two books is something rare: classic fantasy without the weight. You don’t need a glossary, you don’t need a world map tattooed on your forearm, and you don’t have to wade through fifteen invented languages to understand the stakes. Instead, you get a sharp, fast-paced story driven by two of the most likable thieves to ever scheme their way across a kingdom.

Hadrian and Royce aren’t the brooding, tortured antiheroes you often find in modern fantasy, nor are they squeaky-clean paragons of virtue. They’re somewhere in the middle—resourceful, witty, flawed, but ultimately loyal to each other. Their relationship is the heartbeat of these stories. Hadrian, the idealistic swordsman, and Royce, the cynical assassin, somehow balance each other perfectly. You get the feeling that without one another, they would have been lost long ago.

"The world doesn’t need more heroes. It needs more friends."

In The Crown Conspiracy, the pair take on what looks like a simple job—stealing a sword from a nobleman—but find themselves framed for the murder of a king. What follows is a tight, smartly constructed adventure full of political scheming, clever escapes, and moments that manage to be genuinely funny without undercutting the tension.

Then Avempartha raises the stakes. It’s not just about survival anymore—it’s about legacy, ancient magic, and battles that feel bigger than the players involved. Sullivan manages to expand the world without bloating the story. You start to see the edges of a much larger history, but it never overwhelms the immediate struggles of Hadrian, Royce, and the people caught in their orbit.

"Sometimes the smallest choices ripple the widest."

One of the most refreshing things about Sullivan’s writing is how accessible it is. The books are polished but not pretentious. There’s world-building, but it’s woven into the story so naturally that you never feel like you're sitting through a lecture. The action is tight, the dialogue crackles, and the moments of emotion feel earned rather than manufactured.

If there’s a critique, it’s that the prose can occasionally feel a little too clean. If you’re someone who prefers the raw grit of grimdark or the lyrical sprawl of epic fantasy, Sullivan’s style might seem almost too straightforward. But honestly? That’s part of the charm. These are books you can read for the sheer fun of it—without feeling like you’re doing homework.

"It’s easier to hate someone than to understand them. Understanding takes work."

By the end of Avempartha, it’s clear that Sullivan isn’t just telling a series of heists and narrow escapes. He’s laying down the early groundwork for something bigger—something that feels rooted in friendship, loyalty, and the hard choices that come when power shifts hands.

If you’re looking for fantasy that reminds you why you fell in love with the genre in the first place—stories about thieves and heroes, castles and conspiracies, magic and danger—you can’t go wrong here. Hadrian and Royce don’t just steal crowns. They steal your loyalty, too.

And once you're in, you’ll want to follow them all the way to the end.