Featuring a giveaway for a copy of the We’re Here anthology, edited by BCS authors C.L. Clark and Charles Payseur, and new cover art: “The Kingdom of Alexandria” by Jérôme Comentale.
“Why not?" I demanded. "What am I supposed to remember?” So Zephyrus knew the truth after all. I grabbed his arm, well aware I might offend him and frustrated beyond belief that they shared some secret I did not. “Leave Kallias be. It was my idea to come. He follows my orders.” When Zephyrus didn’t acknowledge me, I added, “The wind sees all. The wind knows all. That’s what Thamyris told me.”
A chill overcame me, and I was certain it was not the god’s doing. The wind saw.
O Albany! O pure comfort! After so many days in a down-at-heels cart on a dusty road through wretched weather (to say nothing of the food), to have now, at last—well, not bathed, precisely (a mishap he planned to repair later), but to at least have made an acquaintance with the sponge; to have at last donned clean clothes, a new wig, a respectable hat—why, he was, himself, shaved and shorn and sprightful, a bit long of face and short of leg, perhaps; his hair, or what showed from under the wig, at best mousy; yet here he was, Mr Augustus Burnham, the very spitting image of the exquisite gentleman (if one might politely overlook the scar that plowed a red furrow across cheek and brow); an actor's rôle to be played, without a doubt, but one that fitted him to the skin, like silken stockings on a well-turned leg. (But what was to be done about Sergeant Steele?)
Burnham had found himself unwilling to cozen honest, upright citizens with any of their cargo of false notes.
Galanteries did invariably appear whenever one truly loved another... even, as Zéphine well knew, if that love was unwanted and inconvenient.