“The King is dead!”
Thunderous roaring from the crowd called for the king’s head, deafening me and chilled me to the bone. Only one thing had satisfied them: the King’s blood. My blood.
Did my people really loathe me that much?
If they thought the king was dead… A sickening knot formed in my stomach.
I leaned against one of the many freestanding pillars around the edges of the ballroom, pretending to sip the violet liquid in my cup. Pairs of dancers whirled across the dance floor, feet moving perfectly in rhythm with the string ensemble’s arrangement of a popular tune.
Behind me, trios and quartets mingled at tables
“Really, Peter? You’d die for a song?”
My younger brother’s words echo in my ears as I reach for another sheet of music—the prelude to today’s final hymn. The knot in my stomach has nothing to do with the fact that I skipped
My lasso sped toward the last bull in the devil’s herd. Its cursed hooves struck sparks as it thundered across the sky.
While my ghost rope started to drop over the brute’s head, I let myself hope that this time I’d catch him, though I’d always failed before. Would’ve held my breath, if I had any.
My name is Gaspard Jerome Masson, and I have one regret.
The last word smudged beneath the old man’s trembling hand. He drew a breath, then continued writing.
Her name was Marie.
###
June 6, 1944
Rennes, France
“Gaspard! They’re coming!”
Gaspard shot up from his seat. Marie burst through the door of his small apartment
I peered down the prison ward’s empty hallway—shiny and sterilized like everything else in the Domand Empire. “All right, I’m here.” My whisper echoed off the metal walls. “Which cell is Colton’s?”
Alexander’s tinny voice crackled in my earpiece. “B-5.”
Under my hand, salt breaks away from the gate in thick, crystalized flakes. Reus giggles. He reaches out his chubby baby fingers, but I yank him back, pressing his face to my cloak when his laugh turns to a startled wail.
“Shh…” I hold him closer, my heart pounding as I look over my shoulder.
Mark taps me on the shoulder. “Dynamite warm?”
Plants rustle as I reach down amid the overgrowth and into my sock, fingering the explosive stick and the wooden blasting cap filled with gunpowder. It’s warm against my skin, safely cocooned from the frosty night air. I nod, even though he can’t see it.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have somebody finally take the caretaker position,” Mayor Geoff Collins said. “Can’t have the cemetery becoming an eyesore.”
“I’ve always been good at landscaping,” Brady replied. Good enough, anyway. “And the apartment
Rachel sat up with a groan and instinctively glanced at the holotransponder on her wrist. No signal. Groggily, she activated the recording feature to scan her surroundings.
“This is Science Officer Rachel Birmingham. I’ve teleported to Saecula’s surface, but something went wrong. I was knocked
The peeling front door gaped like a yawning mouth. The large windows stared like hollow eyes.
Lyle’s lungs heaved from running, his bare feet creaking on the front porch of 13 Onyx Lane. Weeds growing through the slats brushed against his ankles.
Robbing Karl Schmidt should have been easy. He was staggering drunkenly as I stalked him through the moonlit streets. Instead, he snorted when I demanded his money, pulling out two empty pockets. “Somebody beat you to it, you rogue.” He squinted his blue eyes.
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