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The Distant Blade"Do not touch the glass until I say so." The voice was dry, like paper rubbing against stone. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of Mr. Vane’s office, the crate of tonics heavy against his hip. The air in the room smelled of stale tobacco and something sharper, metallic, like blood on a penny. Vane did not look up from his ledger. His pen scratched a line, then stopped. He looked up. His eyes...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant LegendThe light in the station house was the color of old dishwater, a flat, sickly yellow that made the dust motes look like suspended ash. I looked up from the ledger, my pen still hovering over the column of confiscated goods, and watched Kael’s back as he adjusted his belt. He had served under me for fifteen years, through the floods and the freezes, and I had trusted him with my life more than I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MasterThe letter lay on the desk, the paper thick and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the ozone from the scanner that had just processed it. You read it twice, your finger tracing the bold, sans-serif font that declared the East Wing of the Central Archive scheduled for demolition within forty-eight hours to accommodate a new municipal parking structure. Director Halloway had signed it with a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneChapter One Did you think the mud would stop the wind? I knelt in the silt of the drained community pool, the water gone to a slick, black mirror, and watched the north wind tear the last of the autumn leaves from the vine slopes above the drowned valley. I am Homer Cranfield, and I am forty-two, and I am trying to find the final surveyor’s map before the freeze sets in, a document that will...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SuspectThe water in the kettle sings a thin, high note, a sound that cuts through the stale air of my apartment. I am fifty-eight years old, and my hands do not shake, but the cup does, a tremor that travels from the porcelain to my knuckles. I am brewing the final batch. Three days until Mara’s wedding, and she has not slept a full night in six months. Her insomnia is a hollow thing, a void in her...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful IncenseForty-seven of the Amber Stair is where the wind breaks over the ridge, a fact that matters more to the wheat than to the men who wait for it in the shanty town below. I am Ralph Roudebush, and for twenty years I have driven the airport shuttle, a job that requires a steady hand and a tolerance for the grey, flat horizon that stretches out like a broken promise. My hands are cracked, the skin...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe water was rising again, Mateo, and it had not stopped since we spoke of the debt. Dolores Molina wiped the saffron from her wrists with a rag that was already stiff with old muck, her eyes fixed on the line of gold where the harbor met the stone of the lower workshop. She had spent forty years mastering the chemistry of color, learning how to coax blue from indigo and red from madder, but...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BannerChapter One The archives of Aethel were not built for the living, but for the dead, and the air inside tasted of dry rot and old paper. Frank Dobbs, a scholar whose lungs had begun to fail with the same quiet persistence as the canal outside his window, stood before a shelf of dampened scrolls. He was thirty years old, and he had spent the last decade trying to prove that his family’s name...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ShieldChapter One Leila Qasim’s hands were red from the lye soap when she woke, the suds still cutting into her cuticles. She stood in the dark of the requisitioned boarding house, the smell of damp wool and old grease hanging heavy in the air, and she knew the dream had come again: the stone walls of the Citadel bleeding a slow, rust-colored ichor. It was the second rain that finished the first, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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