Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times by Emma Trevayne

Home, where he’d lived thousands of days and no longer aged a single one. But he had aged, aged so he could be her son no more, and with every minute spent on this side of the door he grew older still. He’d been young then, and happy as boys should be. The man who’d taken him was dead now, rotted to dust. It had been some time since she’d truly smiled, yet longer since Lorcan had been brought to her by the one who came before him, just as he’d do with the boy. The plan was in place, and the Lady would be pleased, pleased with Lorcan for a job well done. “Patience,” whispered the filigreed hands. Lorcan drew out a smooth, heavy golden watch on a long chain as he stopped in the middle of the station, pretending it was what he’d meant to do all along. This time he let them, just to check, and they caught on a half-dozen sharp edges. A whistle blew, high, screeching, so like a frightened birdcall that his fingers jerked toward his pocket again. Billows of steam dropped soot on traveling clothes and this, at least, eased his longing to be back in his own land. If they marked him at all, it was for the strangeness of his dark glasses, but it was bright here, lurid and blinding with its electric lights. They paid him little notice on their way to and from the trains. Instead, he stroked his mustache and watched the people rushing past. Small metal things jangled in his pockets with every step, making his long fingers twitch with desire to stop them. And so Lorcan carved his way through busy streets in the wrong place, so familiar and yet so strange.

The cats and birds and butterflies he’d fetched to please her had grown tiresome and been set free from the palace to run rampant outside. That blasted doctor’s experiments to find another solution had all failed. Hard as he’d tried to delay, the inevitable time had come. He was a long way from home and wished to be back, but the Lady wanted a boy, a son, and the Lady got her every wish.

Right now, he was walking, not far, though far was relative. It wasn’t often that he walked, but when told to, he went.įor there was only one who could give such orders, and to refuse her would be unthinkable.

Sitting was for those in command, walking for the commanded. WHEN LORCAN WALKED, He did so deliberately, slowly, as if to gauge just how deeply his fine shoes sank into the mud. Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times CHAPTER ONE

Flights and Chimes and Mysterious Times by Emma Trevayne