Chapter #1:"Moonchild"

Slipping away from the meeting was simpler than murder. And Tarsine considered herself an expert on both subjects.

Having completed an assignment earlier in the evening, regarding some political quarrel she didn't care for, a meeting of the mercenaries of the Marked was not something she had been looking forward too. For all their love of dealing death above the law, the Marked was built on internal structures and selfmade jurisprudence. For a decentralised so-called army, she thought they'd fallen in the same trap as so many before: organisation.

Perhaps that was the loose part of her mind, the dangerous little voice that whispered impulsive things into her ear. Such as the decision to sneak out of the Golden Leaf's bi-annual dressing down. She'd be missed—she couldn't care less.

Content with a quiet, she pulled a lit cigar from behind her ear and twirled it across the back of her fingers like a coin. As she took a drag, she pondered the truth that would merit her several lashes were anyone to know: I want out. I want as far away from The Nothing as I can get, and even then, further still.

She didn't want to die. Not in a city so full of bells it wouldn't hear its own death knell on the horizon.

Cowardice, self-preservation, common sense: many names for the sensation that filled her throat with choking want. Exhaling smoke, the pressure loosened but dread lingered on her tongue. The exponential high of Sugar diluted the cigar's acrid taste of black tar.

Drawing a hand down her face, Tarsine loosed a cloud of bitter smoke into the humid Winter air, and looked at the sky. Stars winked upon her circumstances, a taunt of the freedom she lapped for like a dog at the reaches of her confines. Her work with the Golden Leaf, however enjoyable, was a collar, and the leaf tattooed on her face with the blood of Scions was the chain. Frowning, she inhaled the Sugar and pressed her cheek against her shoulder as if to rub the tattoo off. Instinctually she recited the reminder drilled into her head on her first day in the order: to remove the mark is certain death. No second chances as the moment it was gone, so too would she be.

Wishing she was somewhere cooler, somewhere she wouldn't be drenching her underarms in sweat, Tarsine rubbed at bloodshot eyes. Yawning, she moved to return to the meeting with the hope that Laithe hadn't come searching for her. Nine times out of ten, the other mercenary would be hot on her trail—always rules and religion with that one, never a damn break, honestly.

Instead of Laithe, Tarsine was met with a song that immediately brought tears to her eyes. Tears gathered at her lids, dripping a solitary line down the leaf inked on her face. Vision glassy, her mouth fell open at the sight of the mysterious object.

A phylactery floated before her, accompanied by an ethereal hymn. Notes of divinity droned in her ears. Mouth agape, the pipe fell from her stunned fingers in a stream of blackened ash. Half-smoked Sugar crumbled on the sandstone as she stepped toward the glowing vision of glory.

Similar in shape to phials worn by the dragon riding solonakh, but wholly unlike them, the phylactery glimmered in the Winter night. Violet, aquamarine, and colours she couldn't name nor comprehend. There was a living star before her astonished eyes, and its song was calling.

But not to her.

Hand outstretched, Tarsine moved closer in search of answers, release—freedom.

It wasn't calling to her.

Footsteps approached. An even gait with conviction and confidence as if being drawn toward destiny. The hymn swelled to empyrean proportions with each step until the person for whom the phylactery awaited was seconds from opening the door.

Like life, dealing death, and playing cards, every moment was a gamble. Unless she played the game, she wouldn't have a chance alive or dead at breaking free of her leash. Some wouldn't dare. Tarsine did more than dare, she had the audacity. She had justifications, but she didn't need them because the only person who mattered in this world was her—and the Old Court^[1] be damned if she wasn't going to put herself first.

Tarsine closed her fist around the phylactery, yanking it from the air. The second she made contact, its light disappeared and the sun filled her body. Divine light screamed from her mouth and burned her eyes of the sinful darkness that once ringed the pupil. Time diluted as the Sea within her mind stretched so far in every direction the possibilities blinded her. There, in the vision, lay the body of a deity half consumed by its own ambitions and the teeth of the Primes who would soon feast on its corpse like babes at the teat.

Glory be to the Void.

Time contracted and she was ripped from the sight with a gasp.

Choking on Sugar and smoke, Tarsine looked at her now empty hands then to the door that was opening. Dawn light was approaching but she wouldn't be there to see it. Cigar crushed underfoot, she disappeared as a killer in the night. Thief of destiny, touched by greed.

This would be the first night of the rest of her life.

Laithe et Peroxes^[2] stepped out of the Golden Leaf headquarters and came face to face with—nothing.

She had been drawn by an unimaginable hymn, following the ethereal sound outside in a near trance. Seeing only an empty alley lit by wavering candles, cobblestones slick from the sticky air, all rational thought fled her mind at the realisation that she'd missed something. Something that she would never get back.

Something that was stolen from her by the very person she'd come here to find.

If she had a heart that could break, it very likely would have. Divinity had happened here in the darkness between two buildings and she'd missed it by mere seconds. The Old Court weren't rare in their appearances to worshippers, but a hollow in her chest told her this had been different. An unprompted gift, the feeling of which had her fingers buzzing and gut heavy with anticipation.

Allowing herself a moment of despair, Laithe threw her head up with clenched eyes. She breathed out several sparks as her match-like tongue caught the back of her teeth. Before the frustration could build within, she gathered it all and shoved it as far in her mind as the feelings would go.

Now was not the time to wallow in what could have been.

She dropped her head, gaze narrowing. Trained as a mercenary since ten and skilled in the arts of the blade, bomb, book, and ballet, she was not going to let fate pass her by. The hymn had been brought to her ears for a reason. The sun had kissed her face with its tempting glow, something meant for her. The evening had run but it could not outpace the glory which awaited at the end of the world.

This would be the first night of the remainder of her life.