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The Distant CrownChapter One "You can’t stay here, Seamus. The damp is already in the plaster, and the Abbot’s men are at the gate." Elara stood in the doorway of the small room at the Abbey of Clonmacnoise, her face pale against the grey afternoon. She held their infant son, a boy of three months, wrapped in a wool blanket that smelled of the road and of fear. Behind her, the fog rolled in from the Shannon,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden RitualChapter One Venice in the autumn of 1937 was a city of wet wool and iron, a labyrinth of canals where the water lapped against the stone like a dog waiting for a command, and the air smelled perpetually of damp plaster and the sharp, metallic tang of the arsenic used to preserve the bodies of the dead. The Ministry of Records, a squat brick building wedged between a laundry and a chandler’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful DinnerOxygen Allocation: Tier 4. Status: Delinquent. The gas meter ticked in the dark, a dry, rhythmic click that sounded like a bone breaking under a hammer. Gaspard Hubert stood in the mess hall, the air heavy with boiled protein and stale sweat, and waited for the dusting to end. Outside, the city of printed streets was buried under a grey sludge that had stopped all traffic for three days. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AtticChapter One Ashok’s fingers bled against the rusted iron key, the metal biting into his palms as he jammed it into the lock of the chest. The attic of the ancestral home groaned, a deep, tectonic sound that vibrated through the soles of his boots. He was twelve, small for his age, and the haze from the fires in the lower districts pressed against the high windows, turning the afternoon light...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe mist does not clear; it only thins enough to let you see what it has already taken. I stood in the corridor of the High Steward’s office, the air so cold it bit through my coat, and watched the metal door handle dissolve into a gray sludge that dripped onto the linoleum. The fog was a living thing in this dome, a slow, hungry erosion that ate the iron and the stone, a fact the court had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ExileSilvio Lancia, thirty-two, arrived in Vico with a clerk’s coat that smelled of damp wool and a ledger in his pocket that weighed more than his conscience. He had come to outrun the ghost of his brother, Marco, whose death had left a hollow space in the family ledger of debts and duties. The town was a place of black soil and failing wells, where the summer heat dried the air until the gas meter...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DanceAct I The light in the archive room was the color of old bone, filtered through glass that had not been cleaned in a decade. Guomin Zhou sat at his desk, the brush resting on the inkstone, waiting for the sound of the clacking keys from the outer office to stop. It was the sound of a machine closing, a rhythmic pounding that marked the end of the day for everyone but the scribes. He needed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded DustThe debt collector was her brother, and he stood in the doorway of the reclamation yard, his face a map of the canal locks that had swallowed their father’s life, demanding the water rights that Ernestina Villaseñor had spent forty-two of NineElm Crossing years trying to secure. She held the school slate, half-erased, in her calloused hands, the chalk dust mixing with the red clay of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrontierChapter One My hands were already deep in the indigo vat, the cold water biting into the cracks of my palms as I hauled the heavy wool through the dye, the weight of it dragging against my shoulders with a rhythm that had become as familiar as my own breathing. I was forty years old, and the soot from the mill’s chimneys had settled so deep into my lungs that every exhale was a rattling...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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