• The Golden Mirror
    Chapter One Thị Duc stood at the edge of the floating market in the delta, where the water was black with silt and the air smelled of rotting mangoes and wet iron. I was thirty years old, a border guard with a pension that had been wiped out by the currency reform two years prior, and I had just pulled a dead smuggler from the reeds. The man’s bag was soaked, heavy with mud, and inside, wrapped...
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  • The Faded Guest
    The ink on the 1924 ledger page was faded to a ghostly violet, but the entry was unmistakable, and Elias Thorne’s hands, usually steady enough to bind a crumbling codex with surgical precision, trembled as he held the page under the magnifying glass. He was forty-two, a senior archivist at the St. Jude’s Historical Society, and for the last three years he had been the sole custodian of the...
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  • The Wistful Grid
    The iron bit into my palm before the hammer did, a cold, wet friction that slicked the handle. I was counting the stakes, thirty-one of them along the canal bank, each one a black tooth driven into the earth to hold the grid in place, when the wisteria above us shuddered and dropped a single, bruised leaf. An, my subordinate, watched from the shade of the shelter, his face pale in the haze that...
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  • The Faded Root
    Chapter One Who pays for the weight of a lie? The question hangs in the damp air of the provincial town, heavier than the dust that has settled on the cobblestones, a fine grey powder that coats the bristles of the pigs I handled at the docks before the war. I am Olya Bogdanov, a constable of thirty-two years, and I stand in the queue at the ration office, my hand closed around the iron key in...
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  • The Faded River
    Act I Did my father truly die of the fever, or did the water take him? The question sat in my throat, heavy as the iron kettle I lifted each morning from the stove in the scullery of the Prendergast estate. I was forty-two, a clerk of sorts in a house that had no business existing in this time of war and frost, and I stood before the medicinal herb garden, the thyme and valerian brown and...
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  • The Golden Ritual
    Chapter One Looking back, Soo-ah Kwon knew the golden light had never been a promise, only a warning. She was twelve, an apprentice to the old herbalist, Park Ji-soo, in the misty village of Jeju where the salt pans mirrored the gray sky. Her father, Kwon Hye-jin, lay in the back room, his cough a wet, tearing sound that shook the floorboards. Soo-ah wanted the Golden Elixir. She needed it to...
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  • The Golden Quest
    Chapter One The air in the observation blister tasted of iodine and stale ozone, a dry, metallic chill that settled in the lungs like dust. Lester Aldridge sat on the edge of the cot, his left hand trembling against his thigh, the vibration subtle but persistent, a fault line in the concrete of his body. He was thirty-four years old, an ice-haul engineer from the East End, and he had come here...
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  • The Wistful Mountain
    The canal water held the sky in a green, stagnant mirror, reflecting the dry thunder of a season that refused to rain. Here in the dying reach of the Transylvanian lowlands, where the algae thickened like rotting wool on the surface, the lockkeeper’s house stood as a monument to debt and deference. I am Anahit Georgiev, and for three years I have kept the gates of this waterway, watching the...
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  • The Faded Attic
    Chapter One Akosua Mohammed’s boots crunched over the rusted hull of the dredger as he hauled the last sack of grain toward the airlock, his shoulders burning under the weight of the damp burlap. The light in the reclamation yard was a flat, grey smear, the kind that started in October and never left, turning the dead machines into silhouettes against the murky water of the Niger delta. He was...
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  • The Wistful Asylum
    You’re holding it wrong, Ronan. That’s what the doctor used to say, back when the asylum still had a roof that didn’t leak, back when the pay was two shillings and six a week and the work was just lifting bodies that weighed more than sense. Now the pay is gone, the roof is a hole in the sky, and the work is holding a piece of glass that hums like a live wire. It is a fractured obsidian mirror,...
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