A high wall of black stone rose into the gray sky, cutting the horizon in two.Thorn adjusted the rough cloth bag resting on his shoulder. Inside were three heavy bars of crude iron, their surfaces pitted and dull. Behind him, a long line of farmers, traders, and mercenary guards shuffled through the slush of the outer gate."Look at those guards," Lyra whispered, floating as a thin mist near Thorn's ear. "They are not checking for weapons today. They are checking for core energy."Thorn kept his head down. "I can see the mirror."Above the tall iron gates, a massive brass mirror hung from two heavy chains. Every time a traveler walked beneath it, the surface flashed green or yellow. A squad of armored imperial soldiers stood at the base, holding iron spears with glowing tips."That mirror reads spiritual pressure," Lyra said, her voice tight with panic. "If you step under it with that stone hand of yours, the brass will shatter and every captain within five miles will jump on your he

A hound with no eyes was sniffing the mud three paces behind Thorn.The black market of the lower district smelled of dead fish, stale beer, and roasted meat. Crowds of poor workers and low-level mercenaries shoved past each other under the dripping canvas tents, screaming over the price of dried roots and iron knives.Thorn kept his head down, pulling his damp hood low over his brow. His left arm was pressed tight against his ribs, heavy and dead under the thick cloth."It is still tracking us," Lyra whispered from inside his cloak, her faint ghost light barely visible in the dark folds of his collar. "That beast is not smelling your boots. It is smelling the chaos stone in your chest.""How far behind us is the handler?" Thorn asked, his lips barely moving as he stepped around a pile of rotten cabbage."Twenty yards," Lyra replied, her voice trembling. "He wears the gray cloak of an imperial scout. He has two long daggers on his belt and a copper horn around his neck."Thorn slowed

A heavy steel mask pressed cold metal against Thorn's nose and lips.He pulled the leather straps tight behind his head and adjusted the dark gray coat of the city guard. The smell of cheap polish and old sweat hung thick inside the guardhouse locker room."Make sure those straps are tight, new guy," a short guard shouted, slapping his leather belt against a wooden bench. "Captain Julian does not like loose armor. One bad buckle and he sends you straight to the stone pits."Thorn turned his head, his dark eyes showing through the narrow slits of the steel faceplate. "I know how to wear my gear, soldier.""You better," the short guard said, leaning against a weapon rack filled with iron spears. "We are going down into the deep dungeon today. Heavy duty. The captain caught an old general from the fallen empire last night."Thorn kept his hands inside his dark leather gloves, concealing his stone-gray left wrist. "An old general?""Yeah, Marcus," the guard replied, spitting on the floor.

A lie spoken with a straight back sounds like gospel to men who fear their masters.The guard captain stared at Julian's limp body, his jaw tight with panic. He rushed forward and knelt beside the paralyzed commander, pressing two fingers against Julian's neck."His pulse is faint," the captain said, looking up at Thorn through the torchlight. "What kind of poison was on that needle?"Thorn kept his hands clasped behind his back, hiding his dark leather gloves in the shadows of his cloak. "A slow paralysis from the northern marshes, sir. If we do not get him to the high healers in ten minutes, his tongue will swell and shut his throat."Julian's eyes burned with wild, helpless fury from the floor. He tried to twitch his fingers, trying to scream that the masked guard standing above them was the real enemy, but only a tiny bubble of spit slipped past his teeth."Look at him," the captain muttered, misinterpreting Julian's frantic expression. "He is trying to order us to kill the trait

A dead man does not ask for an invitation to his own palace.Thorn stepped over the low stone wall of the grand garden, his boots squelching in the muddy grass. He threw his ruined guard coat into the bushes, wearing only a plain black shirt and trousers. Rain washed the black soot off his face, but it could not hide the stone-gray skin on his left arm."You look like a drowned rat," Lyra whispered, her silver ghost light hiding in the dark folds of his shirt collar. "How do you expect to walk through the front doors of the grand hall?""I am not walking through the front doors," Thorn said, wiping rain from his eyes. "I am stepping in through the side pantry."He slipped past three high stone pillars and ducked under a low marble archway. Two serving boys in crisp white silk tunics were carrying silver trays stacked with wine goblets toward a set of heavy brass doors.Thorn stepped out from the shadows right behind them. Before the rear boy could turn his head, Thorn reached out with