Okay I completely reworked the latter two paragraphs, and I think it's clearer now. I've tried to overall be a lot more specific without losing clarity. All the advice has been very useful. I had a little think about my comps and I have decided these are better fits. My book is a little more serious/melancholic in tone than The Raven Scholar but I think the overall vibe is there. The other two are definitely good fits in terms of vibes. Any feedback is welcome as I still am not very confident in my abilities as a query letter writer lol. 😄

Query Letter:

[agent personalisation]

FROM CERTAINTY’S ASHES is a 115,000-word character-driven adult fantasy with series potential. Readers who enjoyed Antonia Hodgson’s The Raven Scholar, James Islington’s Will of the Many, and Robert Jackson Bennett’s The Tainted Cup will enjoy this debut.

Everything has a pattern.

Saeryn, a rebellious slave, has survived by reading them: smells, sounds, and most importantly, people. When she exposes a merchant’s fraud by the sound of missing coins alone, Lord Kaedric Krath recognises her value and purchases her. To ensure that she doesn’t try to escape, again, he strikes a deal with her: for every piece of information she provides, he will place a coin in her jar. Once full, she will be free. 

At first, the coins come easily. One for a lord’s lie about grain. Another when she uncovers missing pages in court documents. The sound they make when they hit the bottom of the jar is a reminder that she is one step closer to freedom. But after a sacred harvest rite collapses, faith in both the gods, and Kaedric’s rule, begins to fracture. Together, they discover that someone is deliberately sabotaging the rites that bind the realm to its gods. While Kaedric hunts for answers among liars and power plays, Saeryn begins to see a different pattern emerging: that the realm’s religious foundations are incomplete. Or worse, wrong. If she is right, the failing rite may not be divine punishment at all, but a truth about the gods deliberately buried by the realm’s founders.

When an attempt to gather intel leaves her severely injured, Kaedric saves her life himself, breaking every pattern she had built of him. As Kaedric becomes increasingly blamed for the realm’s unrest, Saeryn begins to question whether he sees her as nothing more than a pawn, or as someone he cares for beyond her usefulness. The more coins Saeryn earns, the more she is stripped of her anonymity from both the court, and the gods. Their attention unsettles her. Like Kaedric, the gods see her worth, and seem intent on claiming it. When riots spread and suspicion deepens, she realises that neither freedom nor escape are viable options anymore. Saeryn must either choose to attempt to flee, leaving Kaedric at the mercy of those who are plotting against him and the gods. Or stay, and risk being transformed by those same gods into something else entirely.

[bio]

First 300 words:

Chapter 1:

Before

“He shorted you a coin.”
Kaedric paused, hand already in his pocket. “Pardon?”
He peered past the damp canvas awning of the merchant’s stall. Crouched beside a stack of crates, a gaunt figure cleared her throat. 
“You’re missing a c—”
The merchant’s hand cracked across her face. Her head slammed into the ground. Filthy brown water soaked through her smock. She gasped, her cheek stretched tight, distorting the white handprint. The impact splattered mud onto Kaedric’s cheek. He drew his clenched fist from his pocket, wiping away the dirt with the back of his hand. One of his men stepped forward. Kaedric placed the talisman he bought into his waiting hand. A slave engaging in conversation with him? Insolent, but intriguing. He humoured her, rolling each coin with his thumb, counting under his breath.
“Apologies, M’Lord, this one can’t keep her mouth shut,” the merchant said, shaking his hand, still red from the slap. 
Twenty-seven.
“She was right,” he muttered.
The woman in the dirt groaned. Flies dragged themselves through the air above her. She writhed her arms and legs, but the crude rope binding them gave her little room. A strip of cloth was drawn tight across her eyes. Kaedric frowned. A trick? If it was, she was a fool.
“Dunkrath strike me, M’Lord, I beg your pardon!” The merchant frantically retrieved a coin from his purse. “I must’ve miscounted! A humble mistake on my part.”
“Your slave,” Kaedric said, “why is she bound?”
“Keeps trying to bolt,” the merchant said, as if attempting to find commonality. “Can’t have that. Someone needs to load my cargo and it’s not going to be me!” He forced a laugh. Met with no response he shifted to the side in some poor attempt to conceal the woman. “Pay her no mind.”
Kaedric’s eyes narrowed. “Bring her here.”