The air down in the Common Lands tasted of sulphur, wet ash, and the copper tang of old blood.It was a heavy, physical thing that coated the back of the throat.But as Elara Vance climbed the maintenance ladder inside the hollow interior of the Capital Wall, the air grew thinner. Lighter.It started to smell like lavender."Don't breathe too deep," Elara whispered, her voice echoing softly in the metal shaft. "You'll get a headache. Rich air is thinner. Less honesty in it."Below her, five figures clung to the rungs.They were the "Elite"—the best of the freed slaves she had trained.They weren't soldiers yet, not really. They were survivors who had learned how to hold a knife without shaking.There was Rook, a former chimney sweeps with shoulders too wide for his frame.Tess, a seamstress who had discovered she had a terrifying talent for garrottes.And three others—Milo, Jax, and Corin—who moved with the desperate, silent grace of men who knew that noise meant death."Are we there?

The problem with silence is that when it breaks, it shatters.One moment, the grand foyer of Commander Erebus's manor was a tomb of expensive silence, smelling of floor wax and old wine.The next, it was a slaughterhouse of noise.The four Silent Watchers didn't scream as they dropped from the banister. They didn't even breathe loud enough to hear.They moved like ink spilled in water, fluid and expanding, their needle-thin stilettos catching the chandelier light like splinters of ice."Scatter!" Elara screamed, her voice cracking the stillness.She shoved Rook backward just as a silver needle buried itself in the floorboards where his throat had been a microsecond before.The wood hissed, turning black. Poison."Formation B! Back to the stairs!"The Shadows—her team of chimney sweeps and seamstresses turned soldiers—panicked.They were brave, but bravery is a poor shield against elite assassins who ha

The wine cellar of the Yunis Estate had become the most heavily guarded nursery in the history of Veridia.Lady Aelindis sat on a crate of stolen Second Knight rations, her posture as rigid and elegant as if she were sitting on a throne.Her daughter, a small elf with eyes like saucers, was currently engaged in a staring contest with Slimey.The ooze had formed a small, green rabbit shape and was hopping across the table.The girl giggled."He's sticky," the girl whispered."He's a biological weapon, darling," Pyralis said, leaning against a pillar and swirling a glass of very expensive red wine he'd found behind a loose brick. "But he has a soft spot for kids. And high-grade explosives. It's a complex personality profile."Lady Aelindis looked at the silver-haired man. She had expected a dungeon. She had expected chains.Instead, she had been given vintage Merlot and a show."You are a strange terrorist, Mr. Cinderfall,

The laws of magic were flexible. The laws of physics, however, were stubborn.This was the thought that ran through Kaelen Yunis's mind as he watched the world end for the second time in one month.The summoning stone Commander Erebus had crushed wasn't a precision instrument. It was a sledgehammer.The black dust summoned darkness, then animated the aftermath.The shadows cast by Nefeli’s fires detached themselves from the ground, peeling away from the burning grass like scabs from a wound.They rose, formless and hungry, pulling the ash and soot of the battlefield into themselves until they became solid.Ash-Ghouls.Hundreds of them."Fascinating," Kaelen muttered, his hands trembling as he mixed three vials into a single, large beaker. "Necrotic animation fuelled by thermal updrafts. It’s thermodynamically inefficient, but terrifyingly effective.""Kaelen! Less lecture, more explosion!" Py