Cover photographs: River Thames © Michael Trevillion / Trevillion Images; abstract waves © Uka/Shutterstock; abstract wavy lines © Tarchyshnik Andrei / Shutterstock.

Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Contents

Praise

Ace Books by Benedict Jacka

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

chapter 1

The night was warm and still. Through the open windows of my flat a gentle breeze blew, faint scents carrying on the air: tarmac, burnt rubber, the distant smell of a barbecue. The street outside was filled with the steady whisper of traffic, voices rising briefly above the background noise before fading into it again, and from two blocks over came the rhythmic thump of club music. A helicopter was prowling the skies above, tracking the wail of police sirens, and from time to time it would pass overhead in a clatter of rotors.

Inside, my flat was peaceful. Flies moved in lazy arcs under the light, and birds and animals looked quietly down from the pictures on the walls. The coffee table had been moved to the centre of the room; it was covered with cardboard hexes and wooden playing pieces, and four out of the five of us were sitting around it. Sonder and I were on chairs, Luna was sitting cross-legged on a beanbag, and Variam was at one end of the sofa, scowling down at his cards. At the other end of the sofa and a little way from the game was Anne, curled up with her legs tucked under her.

“Uh, Variam?” Sonder said. Sonder has messy black hair and glasses, and always seems to have a permanent air of scruffiness about him, as though he’s just slept in his clothes. “Your turn.”

Variam picked up the dice and threw them without looking. “Seven.”

Luna stretched to see. “That’s an eight, you idiot.”

Sonder perked up. “Awesome! Five ore, two grain.”

Variam ignored them both. “We should be practising,” he told me.

“You’ve been practising for weeks,” I said, waiting for Sonder to finish scooping cards before taking my own.

“It’s better than just sitting here.”

“Are you done?” Sonder asked Variam.

Variam nodded, and Sonder picked up the dice. “We could do more combat drills,” Variam said as Sonder made his roll.

“You don’t need more combat drills.”

“She does,” Variam said, pointing at Anne.