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The Pale CircusThe blade was cold. Not the biting chill of winter iron, but a deep, hollow frost that seeped through the leather grip and into the bone of Sir Aldric’s hand. He stood in the center of the throne room, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the figure bound in chains before the dais. Kael, the sorcerer, sat with his head bowed, his wrists locked in iron that seemed to drink the light from the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant Metropolis"It is a matter of arithmetic, Arthur, not morality." The voice of Mr. Halloway came from behind the heavy oak door of the senior underwriter’s office, muffled by the thick velvet curtains that hung from ceiling to floor, blocking out the gray November light of 1912. Arthur Vane stood in the corridor, his hand still resting on the cold brass handle, listening to the low, rhythmic hum that rose...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe nib of the fountain pen hovered a millimeter above the page, trembling with a weight that had nothing to do with the metal. Jacob Ashdown pressed his thumb against the inkwell, feeling the cold glass bite into the pad of his finger, and watched the black liquid gather at the tip of the steel. Outside, the rain hammered against the windowpane of the cramped boarding house, a relentless,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneThe stone in Kaelen’s chest screamed before the first arrow hit the bridge. It was a low, grinding shriek, like tectonic plates shifting under ice, and it forced him to his knees on the slick wood of the Blackwater span. He was forty years old, and his armor felt heavier than it had in twenty years of service, not because of the iron, but because of the weight of the thing beating against his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe brass key was cold in Elias Thorne’s palm, its teeth worn smooth by thirty years of handling. He held it up to the rusted iron gate, the metal flaking away under his thumb like dry skin. The estate of Blackwood Manor stood behind the fence, a skeletal frame of a house, its windows boarded or shattered, staring out at the world with blind, empty sockets. Elias was fifty-two, a retired border...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingChapter One "Item 4: One (1) Golden Compass, brass casing, glass face, pointer erratic. Valuation: Indeterminate. Condition: Dying man’s property. Note: Do not touch." Sigrid Odden stood at the head of the long oak table, her hands trembling not from the cold, though the humidity in the valley air was so thick it ruined the film in her camera, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the object...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Protocol14th of October. The workshop smells of hot sand and sulfur, a scent that has seeped into my pores over the last twelve years. I am forty-two, and my hands are still steady, though my back complains when the heat presses down. The Duke’s new commission is the "Pale Protocol," a set of seven ceremonial goblets meant to mark his coronation anniversary. It is a delicate task, requiring glass so...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterChapter One June Ledbetter was thirty-two years old and had not slept through the night since the winter the mill burned. He sat in the care-home day room, the television low behind him, playing a commercial for frozen peas that no one was buying. The room smelled of lemon polish and old urine, a scent that had settled into the linoleum like water into cypress knees. He held a bird gun in his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe kampung of Tanjung Priok stretched along the riverbank, a labyrinth of wooden stilts and corrugated iron where the heat shimmered off the asphalt like a mirage of water. In this mill town, where the air tasted of sulfur and cheap tobacco, every resident owed a debt to the company store, a ledger that tracked their breath as carefully as their wages. I was Kalsom binte Aman, a maritime...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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