out into the fireworks of battle,
slicing through the enemy, dealing death. He dropped behind a
bulwark
to reload, was slamming home his last projectile deck into the AD52’s ammo bay, about to take aim, his finger on the trigger, when—
The Glass Eyes swarmed him.
CHAPTER 5
H EART PALACE’S inaugural gala had drawn to a close and the verdict was unanimous: The event had been a success, a sparkling gemstone in the crown of a queen still new to the complexities of party planning. Alyss herself, however, was not pleased, too prickled by her meeting with King Arch to have enjoyed the festivities as thoroughly as her guests. Why did he have to mention my father?
Indeed, she had never heard her father mention him. But then, why would Nolan have troubled a seven-year-old with matters of state involving an unlikable neighbor-king? The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day. She’d been so young when she last saw him—in person, that is, because she had seen him twice since his death: once in the Looking Glass Maze, and once in a glass at Mount Isolation’s Observation Dome shortly after Redd’s defeat. But it wasn’t only on Nolan’s account that she was agitated. She had recently realized that any mention of a father caused her to think not only of him, but also of her other father, the one from her thirteen years on Earth—Reverend Liddell of Christ Church College, Oxford University. Her memories of the Liddells were so much more vivid than anything she remembered of Nolan and Genevieve. But then, she had spent more time with the Liddells than she had with the king and queen whose blood throbbed in her veins. More than half my life.
Alone in one of the palace’s seven state rooms, Alyss tried to recollect times spent with her beloved parents. But she was unable to concentrate. In her imagination’s eye she watched the walrus-butler supervise the sweeping and hosing of garden paths, the spritzing of sunflowers that had sung their voices ragged, the distribution of leftover wondercrumpets, tarty tarts, and other treats throughout the capital city. She gazed at these things, thinking not of her mother or father, nor of the Liddells, her loving adoptive parents; she thought of Bibwit. Why didn’t he tell me Morgavia is stockpiling weapons? Or of Unterlan’s troubles with the Ganmede province?
She had felt like an idiot lying to King Arch and feared her ignorance of these matters had showed on her face. Bibwit’s keeping intelligence from her—he wasn’t up to anything diabolical, she knew; only trying to prevent her from being overwhelmed by the responsibilities that fell to her as queen. The politicking within the queendom was enough to deal with without being burdened by inter-realm squabbles, but… From now on Bibwit must inform me of everything, every scrap of intelligence, no matter how small or apparently meaningless.
Her imagination’s eye fell on what had once been the Five Spires of Redd construction site. The monstrous edifice had been torn down before its completion, its mottled crystal recycled in the urban renewal projects of the neighborhoods most blighted by Redd’s tyranny. The grime and soot of Wondertropolis had been scraped off a layer at a time until the once radiant surfaces emerged and could be buffed to a sheen. Spangles of luminescent blues again mingled with vibrant reds and dusky golds on
to reload, was slamming home his last projectile deck into the AD52’s ammo bay, about to take aim, his finger on the trigger, when—
The Glass Eyes swarmed him.
CHAPTER 5
H EART PALACE’S inaugural gala had drawn to a close and the verdict was unanimous: The event had been a success, a sparkling gemstone in the crown of a queen still new to the complexities of party planning. Alyss herself, however, was not pleased, too prickled by her meeting with King Arch to have enjoyed the festivities as thoroughly as her guests. Why did he have to mention my father?
Indeed, she had never heard her father mention him. But then, why would Nolan have troubled a seven-year-old with matters of state involving an unlikable neighbor-king? The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day. She’d been so young when she last saw him—in person, that is, because she had seen him twice since his death: once in the Looking Glass Maze, and once in a glass at Mount Isolation’s Observation Dome shortly after Redd’s defeat. But it wasn’t only on Nolan’s account that she was agitated. She had recently realized that any mention of a father caused her to think not only of him, but also of her other father, the one from her thirteen years on Earth—Reverend Liddell of Christ Church College, Oxford University. Her memories of the Liddells were so much more vivid than anything she remembered of Nolan and Genevieve. But then, she had spent more time with the Liddells than she had with the king and queen whose blood throbbed in her veins. More than half my life.
Alone in one of the palace’s seven state rooms, Alyss tried to recollect times spent with her beloved parents. But she was unable to concentrate. In her imagination’s eye she watched the walrus-butler supervise the sweeping and hosing of garden paths, the spritzing of sunflowers that had sung their voices ragged, the distribution of leftover wondercrumpets, tarty tarts, and other treats throughout the capital city. She gazed at these things, thinking not of her mother or father, nor of the Liddells, her loving adoptive parents; she thought of Bibwit. Why didn’t he tell me Morgavia is stockpiling weapons? Or of Unterlan’s troubles with the Ganmede province?
She had felt like an idiot lying to King Arch and feared her ignorance of these matters had showed on her face. Bibwit’s keeping intelligence from her—he wasn’t up to anything diabolical, she knew; only trying to prevent her from being overwhelmed by the responsibilities that fell to her as queen. The politicking within the queendom was enough to deal with without being burdened by inter-realm squabbles, but… From now on Bibwit must inform me of everything, every scrap of intelligence, no matter how small or apparently meaningless.
Her imagination’s eye fell on what had once been the Five Spires of Redd construction site. The monstrous edifice had been torn down before its completion, its mottled crystal recycled in the urban renewal projects of the neighborhoods most blighted by Redd’s tyranny. The grime and soot of Wondertropolis had been scraped off a layer at a time until the once radiant surfaces emerged and could be buffed to a sheen. Spangles of luminescent blues again mingled with vibrant reds and dusky golds on