Issues from 2019
Issue #271
Blood, Bone, Seed, Spark

She wasn't the first to observe and draw the germinative animalcules inside a man's seed. But as with any field that did not serve the greater goal of abatement, studies into reproduction had fallen by the wayside. And Anell intended, after all, to do more than merely observe and draw. This way lay greatness, the kind that could not be scraped out of a lifetime's long work tacking minutes onto the sunset days of her head of House.

Adrianna in Pomegranate

She was quick to anger, her hands tightening around the book—this book of all books, this book was what he huddled over in his madman’s cave—but she did not yell. She had always kept a better leash on her emotions, and her composure was more upsetting to him than her rage. She knew it, and gods help her, she used it.

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Adrianna in Pomegranate
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It was unfair, the way he summoned her here for these tense bimonthly appointments. It was unfair, the way she persisted in showing up rather than sending an apprentice.
From the Archives:
The Sweetness of Honey and Rot
Jiteh lets her hand hover a breath away from the Boundary. Somewhere beyond, there are people who do not watch their brothers devoured by the Life Tree. There are people who do not praise.
Issue #270
To Stab with a Rose, to Love with a Knife

We used our mating knives to wound them, then married them for the year and nursed them back to health. They told us that people in their homeland mated forever. They had no use for wounds, no fear of healing. When they were strong enough to walk back home, a few of our own left with them, lured by that promise of wound-free love, that strange idea of permanence.

Do Not Look Back, My Lion

Eefa looks back. Talaan is bed-tousled and half-dressed astride a yellow mare, her hair a tangled mane behind her (how many times has Eefa combed that hair, gently, in the glow of the fire?), her robe fallen open to the chest (the laundry Eefa washed the previous day, folded with lavender and cloves). Her feet are bare. She does not seem to feel the white-toothed wind nipping at her flesh.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
To Stab with a Rose, to Love with a Knife
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Then the night comes when the Lady summons me to her room and I go, I do.
From the Archives:
She Who Hungers, She Who Waits
Mei Huang repeats the rite so many times it becomes indistinguishable from breath, and still every iteration ends with the soldier dead.
Issue #269
The Deepest Notes of the Harp and Drum

I killed my sister with my own two hands. I am not sorry for it; she lied and cheated and stole, and if it had not been her it would have been me. Blood does not mean only one thing, the same across all boundaries. For my sister it meant nothing until I spilled hers, warm and wet and surprisingly copious, up to my elbows in it. Though I loved her, I killed her; though I loved her, she did not love me.

La Orpheline

Look: she is here, asleep in a row of plush seats in the Grande Salle. Above her soars the painted ceiling and the many chandeliers of the Opéra le Peletier, which is, in the brief time of this story, the national opera of France. Around her stand the members of the production company—the angular Costume Mistress, the rotund Directeur de Théâtre, the seamstresses and the members of the orchestra and the many brawny stagehands—all peering at her intently and holding their breath, as if she is a princess in a tale.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Deepest Notes of the Harp and Drum
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I killed my sister with my own two hands.
From the Archives:
Suite for Accompanied Cello
I won on my first attempt when I was fourteen; so long ago it seems meaningless.
Issue #268
The Blighted Godling of Company Town H

"Take a look. I have them here with me. Please, godling." The girl's fear seeped into the words—as did her faith that Dreya would make everything right again. Dreya was unworthy of such devotion, but she drank it in nevertheless.

The Beast Weeps with One Eye

I touched my cheekbones. Was that how I looked after a single offering? How would I endure this for two more times? I washed my face and crossed the village to Mkiwa’s hut. Her face still paled, but her strong body had stifled the pain. Did her heart’s pain fare any better, though? I couldn’t tell.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Blighted Godling of Company Town H
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"Take a look. I have them here with me. Please, godling." The girl's fear seeped into the words—as did her faith that Dreya would make everything right again.
From the Archives:
The Shark God’s Child
There had been seventy islets when Mei came to Deleur six years ago.
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