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The Wistful LetterAct I I remember the sound of the water before I saw the flood, the way the underpass gurgled like a throat clearing after a long cough, and I stood at the top of the forty-seven Tannery Steps, watching the mud rise against the stone, knowing that the rent owed to the temple granary would not be met by the end of the month. The scribe’s work is a matter of precision, of ink and parchment, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DanceAct I The valley roads were slick with the thaw, a slurry of sawmill mud and rotting leaves that swallowed the wheels of the caravanserai’s supply wagons before the winter solstice feast could even begin, and in that thick, humid air, Talha Qureshi stood at the ferry dock, counting the twenty-three of the Tannery Steps that led up to the guild hall. He was a city guard, a man whose hands were...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageAct I Jesus Nogales, the municipal rat catcher of the town of Aranda, stood in the center of the kitchen with a pay packet in his hand that he had not yet opened, the paper soft and damp from the rain that had been falling since dawn. He was thirty-four years old, a man who had spent the last six years catching vermin in the basements of the wealthy, and he knew the weight of that unopened...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant BladeThe stamp on the parchment was a square of red ink, fresh and wet, smelling faintly of the iron oxide used in the dye, and Elias Thorne watched it dry on the ledger with the stillness of a man waiting for a verdict. The foreman, a broad-shouldered man named Halloway who had once been his mentor in the lower offices of the guild, did not look up from his desk, his quill scratching a sharp,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CrossroadsThe mist did not drift so much as it crawled, a cold, wet tongue licking at the hem of Elara’s wool cloak as she pushed through the bracken. Her fingers, raw and bleeding from the constant grinding of dried willow bark in her mortar, trembled not from the chill but from the weight of the leather satchel against her hip. Inside lay the tincture that would save Thomas, or so she had promised the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe cell was white, a blinding, sterile expanse that seemed to vibrate against Elias Thorne’s retinas. He lay on the narrow cot, his hands bound to the headboard with leather straps that bit into his wrists. The air smelled of antiseptic and something else, something sweet and rotting, like overripe fruit left in the sun. Elias was thirty-four, a veteran of the border wars, and he wanted only...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareChapter One The air in Tehran in 1913 held a specific weight, heavy with the dust of the desert and the smoke of coal, a pressure that sat on the chest like a wet wool blanket. Hossein Salehi stood on the corner of Naderi Street, the rain slicking his coat, clutching a leather-bound ledger to his ribs. He was thirty-two years old, a man whose hands were permanently stained with ink and whose...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantChapter One "I told you, the sash is fraying." Lois Quimby’s voice was flat, stripped of the tremor that usually betrayed her. She stood in the middle of the checkpoint’s break room, the linoleum cold and gritty under her boots. The room smelled of wet wool and stale coffee, a smell that had settled into the walls over twenty years. Outside, the cold snap was doing its work, the pipes in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiChapter One "You’re missing the load on the eastern strut," Aram said, tapping the paper with a grease-stained finger. "The concrete doesn't care about your feelings, Gayane. It cares about the weight." Gayane Karapetyan did not look up. She was tracing the line of the foundation with a mechanical pencil, the metal tip biting into the paper. The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeps into...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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