Author: admin

Castor strode into the room in a fine white tunic, a smattering of scabs across his face where the Harried Scribe’s ink had burned him. Midday light fell upon his head, and though he was not wearing a crown, his golden hair was resplendent. He carried two things. That ratty leather-bound notebook I’d seen his…

The man kept screaming. “Guards! Help!” Hands fell to the hilts of swords. I spat blood onto cobblestones. “Take my hand, gargoyle.” And then we were running. Again. We crawled over the men, a mess of groaning limbs. “Didn’t that feel so delightfully ignoble?” the gargoyle howled, grinning madly as we scurried like rats down…

“What investment?” “Your abbess is our patron.” I’d almost forgotten. “Do the girls the abbess selects ever come back?” “Here? Can’t see why they would.” “So you haven’t seen any Diviners of late?” “None save you, mourning dove.” My chest fell. The woman crossed her arms, eyeing my split lip. “You look like you’ve had…

“I like to rest with something over my eyes.” “Like covering a birdcage,” I explained, adding hurriedly, “not that you are anything like a bird.” “There should be blankets in the stables.” “Very well.” The gargoyle sauntered away, but not before casting me a backward glance. “In all your stories of things you might do…

“It is possible the abbess does not know all there is to know about the Omens.” Sickness stirred in my belly. “Or that she, too, does not like saying true things out loud.” “I suppose that is a permanent possibility. Even your dreams may not show you the truth, Bartholomew. I cannot remember it ever…

Maude’s voice ripped through the room. “You are defeated at your craft! Where is your honor?” “You’re hurting them!” I screamed, watching as spots of ink burned King Castor’s hand. The boy-king winced, dodging the rest of the ink, swiping at the Harried Scribe with his sword and hitting nothing but air. The same terror…

I remembered One, searching her reflection in that same mirror two nights ago-her horrified gasp. What has been done to us? I turned my head away and said nothing. Rory muttered beneath his breath. “Fine. Don’t take it off, then. But know it will be dangerous.” “Isn’t that what my knightly escort is for? Besides,…

But the Seacht was indeed a city of intellects. The man raised himself out of the ink and ran. “You can be happy now, I suppose,” I said through tight lips. “Clearly not everyone in the Seacht falls prey to the old ways.” Rory pushed his hair out of his eyes. “That didn’t make me…

“Are these the eyes of a mortal-the inkwell of a mere man ?” His breath smelled of limestone rubbed too hard or too long. Rotten. “I am Traum’s Scribe. I’ve walked the cobbled streets of the Seacht for over two centuries, bearing magic. My ink never dries, a tool-a weapon. I can travel without being…

Below, Maude was rubbing her brow. “Poet laureate my ass.” “Never trust anything written in rhyme,” Rory muttered. “Not well-read, I see.” The Harried Scribed composed himself. “I find courtly love rather banal. But a laugh from the belly is a welcome occasion.” He snapped the book shut, vanished, then reappeared on the shelf next…