“Letters of Fire,” by Margaret Ronald
Marten hesitated. This life in the Wrights’ Division, ground under the heel of the Bull’s soldiery, or the pyre... but he was a coward, and the books, the books.... He sagged and took Gerda’s hand, nodding. Just till I can escape.
“Cold Iron and Green Vines,” by Wendy N. Wagner
I crumbled to my knees on the front steps of the church as the hinkypunks closed in on Danny O’Neil. In the twilight of the village square, their bodies were like whirling balls of smoke and light, each one’s single foot hopping almost too quickly for me to see. They had brought the smell of the bog with them, thick as sludge and duckweed.
“The Finest Spectacle Anywhere,” by Genevieve Valentine, from BCS #68
I was a plant in the crowd to drum up excitement. Boss stayed in the tent all show and gasped during the finale when Elena “fell” and only caught herself by one foot in the very last second. I could hardly keep from laughing at the rubes that panicked and then applauded three times as loud as they would have if it had all been perfect. Elena and the others had Boss’s copper bones–what could happen to them that couldn’t be mended?
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“More Full of Weeping Than You Can Understand,” by Rosamund Hodge, from BCS #53 and Audio Fiction Podcast 047
For the first few years, she only passed information, while the reports of faery incursions began to grow. Then–when they went to London for Violet’s introduction into society–three things happened. The faeries turned the Prime Minister’s fingers into twigs and his eyes into acorns. Papa died. And Thomas discovered what she was.