Everbranch
The house account. Publishes the starter seeds.
Seeds
The duelist who lost on purposemature
You have thrown every duel for six years. Today's opponent knows it.1 branches
Hollowmere, and what the water kept
The lake gave back a village that drowned two hundred years ago. It also gave back the people.1 branches
A garden of borrowed years
The garden grows time. Someone has been taking more than their share.1 branches
The last honest broker in Threefallmature
In a city where oaths are physical objects, you make your living holding other people's.2 branches
Ash-glass and the long apprenticeshipmature
You have served the sorcerer for nine years. The tenth is the one where you find out what for.2 branches
The winter that would not be spoken to
Every winter the village sends someone to negotiate. This year they sent you.2 branches
Eight bells at the Gate of Iron Sails
A sky-harbour, a stolen ship, and a debt that has come due at the worst hour.2 branches
The apothecary's second customer
You sell remedies in a town with one street. Tonight someone came in asking for something you don't stock.3 branches
Salt-iron and the hollow crownmature
The old king has been dead for a year. Nobody has told the crown.3 branches
The cartographer of drowned roads
The kingdom's maps are wrong on purpose. You have been hired to find out who is redrawing them.3 branches
Branches
The last honest broker in Threefallcomplete
It came in the morning satchel with nine ordinary tokens, nestled against them like a wolf among sheep. You knew something was wrong before you touched it — the weight shifted in the bag wrong, pulling to one side as though the thing inside1 read0 likesMost read
Ash-glass and the long apprenticeshipcomplete
The staircase to the upper workroom is one hundred and seventeen steps, and you have counted them every morning for nine years. Today the counting feels different — not habitual but desperate, the way a person counts the beats between light0 reads0 likes
The winter that would not be spoken tocomplete
The lake stretches before you like a slab of uncut slate, flat and featureless, its surface neither glossy nor rough but something in between — the kind of ice that looks thick enough to trust and just thin enough to doubt. The sky above th0 reads0 likes
Eight bells at the Gate of Iron Sailscomplete
The eighth bell is still dying in the salt air when you step out onto the quarterdeck and see the full picture. Two harbour-wardens are on the quay with marked cord, measuring your mooring lines the way a bailiff measures a house he's about1 read0 likesMost read
The apothecary's second customercomplete
The bell is still ringing when you take him in. Good coat, dark wool, well-cut but soaked to the knee — he hasn't been out in the rain, he's been walking through wet grass, and a lot of it. His face has the greyish, soft-edged look of someo0 reads0 likes
Salt-iron and the hollow crowncomplete
The vault smells like the inside of a wound. Salt-iron walls weep rust in long streaks, and the tidal pools at the far end catch what little light filters through the grates above, throwing it back in broken coins across the ceiling. You ha0 reads0 likes
The cartographer of drowned roadscomplete
The courier arrives at first light, when the fog from the river is still thick enough to taste. You hear her horse before you see her — hooves on wet cobblestones, then the creak of leather as she dismounts. By the time you open the door sh0 reads0 likes
Ash-glass and the long apprenticeshipcomplete
You have been in this room before — the topmost workroom, where the air tastes of copper and the windows are cut too narrow for the view. Nine years of bringing Yrenne her meals here, of setting down trays she forgot to eat from, of learnin0 reads0 likes
The apothecary's second customercomplete
You have already turned the sign. The little glass lamp on the counter is trimmed low, and the shutters are half-drawn against the cold that comes off the Underwood at dusk. The shop smells of dried chamomile and the mineral tang of your gr0 reads0 likes
Salt-iron and the hollow crowncomplete
The vault smells like low tide and old iron. Water seeps in through hairline cracks in the far wall, darkening the stone in branching patterns that look almost deliberate, almost like writing. The crown sits on its plinth in the centre of t0 reads0 likes
The cartographer of drowned roadscomplete
The courier waits at your door with the patience of someone who has stood on many thresholds before dawn. She holds out the folio — sealed twice, once with the grey wax of the Cartographers' Hall and once with the black wax of the Internal0 reads0 likes
The duelist who lost on purposecomplete
The air in Court Three tastes of chalk dust and old sweat. You've stood on this strip of packed earth forty-two times now, and the marks beneath your boots are the same ones you've always made — the careful scuffs of a man stepping back, gi1 read0 likesMost read
Hollowmere, and what the water keptcomplete
The survey rods are heavy in your hand, and you have stopped walking. The water has dropped again — you can see the top of the church window now, the stone lip of it crusted with pale silt, and below that the dark glass of the reservoir ref0 reads0 likes
A garden of borrowed yearscomplete
You count them again. You close your eyes, open them, and count a third time because the number does not change and you need it to. Sixty-one. The stems hang above you on the oldest bough like small accusing fingers — three of them, pale wh0 reads0 likes
The last honest broker in Threefallcomplete
The morning satchel sits open on your desk, its leather flap still curled from the runner's hand. Ten tokens rest in the felt-lined tray where you've sorted them by weight, the way you always do, the way eleven thousand tokens have taught y0 reads0 likes
The winter that would not be spoken tocomplete
The lake stretches before you like a slab of polished slate, featureless and grey all the way to the far shore where the pines stand black against a sky the colour of old bruises. The light is failing. Not quickly, the way it fails in warme0 reads0 likes
Eight bells at the Gate of Iron Sailscomplete
The bell is still ringing — eight strokes, deep and bronze, rolling through the stone throat of the harbour like a warning that knows exactly where you sleep. You are standing on the main deck of the *Lamplighter's Daughter*, a mid-weight s0 reads0 likes
The apothecary's second customercomplete
The bell is still ringing when you take stock of him. Aldous Vane — though you don't know that name yet — stands in the doorway of your shop with the rain coming off his good coat in sheets. He is fortyish, clean-shaven, the kind of man who0 reads0 likes
Salt-iron and the hollow crowncomplete
The vault smells of brine and old iron, the two smells of this coast, layered so deep into the stone you can taste them on your teeth. Water seeps along the far wall in thin trails, black as ink, pooling in the grooves the masons cut into t0 reads0 likes
The cartographer of drowned roadscomplete
The courier arrives at first light, which is not unusual. What is unusual is the seal — two circles of dark wax, one inside the other, pressed with the Cartographers' Hall signet but smaller than you've seen before. You take the envelope at3 reads0 likesMost read