It was time for the Mistress to die.
I had to get to the Mistress’ chambers tonight. We’d waited too long already . . . had waited six years hoping that things would get better, looking for alternate solutions. Six long years since the Second Coming of the White Fire, and since that day things had only gotten worse. Legend said that the first Fire had cast the city into madness. The second Fire had done the same. A slow, subtle madness. And now winter bore down on us, the seas already getting rough, unsuitable for trade. With the mountain passes closed, resources low . . .
As I turned into a second corridor, I frowned, with a hard and determined expression. We’d tried everything to end it. Everything but what legend said had worked the first time the Fire came. Now there was no choice.
“Compelling reading in this highly promising first novel.”—Locus