The officer let go of Edwin and followed the gentleman. The servants began to herd the slaves into a line and lead them out of the plaza. Matthew refused to turn around, his eyes latched on Edwin’s face.

For a minute, Edwin stared dumbly back. Matthew mouthed something, something too complicated to make out. A servant shoved him, and Matthew stumbled into line. Even as he started walking away, he looked over his shoulder and said something else, this time aloud. “I love you.”

Edwin screamed. There were words, but he couldn’t remember what they were. He ran. Matthew disappeared in the crowd. Edwin shouted again and pushed himself faster – then tripped. He crashed into someone.

The officer gripped Edwin’s shoulders and kept him from falling face-first in the dirt. Before Edwin could regain his balance, he felt cold steel press against his neck. He froze.

“Behave,” the officer hissed in his ear, “or we’ll count you with the casualties.” Edwin tried to stop breathing, but his chest heaved, making the knife brush the underside of his chin.

The officer glared in his eye for a moment, then lowered the knife. He hauled Edwin back to his place on the wall and dropped him. Edwin collapsed in a dusty heap. No one made him stand back up.

Edwin scanned the dwindling crowd in the plaza, but it was too late. Matthew, Luke, and their new master were gone. He was alone.

It's Ruritanian, by the way.

I'm getting ready for NaNo while still doing some Firmament work.

Jonathan, are you still thinking of working on your new novel during November?

Good.


No, now I'm planning on doing extensive revisions to The Resurrectionist.

No, now I'm planning on doing extensive revisions to The Resurrectionist.

Most people haven't heard about the other novel. I don't know when I'll get to it, though.

Edwin forced himself to think about something besides the pain. His thoughts turned into a prayer, a plea for Galen and a request for strength – and perhaps an extra-hearty breakfast.

Footsteps broke his conversation. He looked up, hoping for the supervisor, but it wasn’t – it was Nick.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re a fool.”

Edwin clenched his fists, unsure of how to reply to that.

“There’s one way to live in this place. Survive. Focus on your lot and you’ll make it out alive.”

“And how would you know? You haven’t been here any longer than I have,” Edwin returned.

“I know,” was all Nick offered for an explanation. “That’s the way with places like this. If you have any respect for Galen you’d leave him to mind his own business. Keep interfering, and you’re both going to end up in the grave.” Nick turned and left.

Edwin growled, flexing his fists. Angry retaliations filled his mind, but he tried to pray instead.

Well, I did not get those three scenes written. However, I did a lot of work with my first book, So I am very happy with my overall progress. The goal for November, however, is to finish those final three scenes for the second book and get the third draft done. Then it will be ready for beta reading.

Mark stared at the house from across the street, marveling. It was such an insignificant house – a simple two-story, with plain features and a modest display in the shop window. It seemed so unnatural that the humble dwelling contained secrets that could upset an entire country’s existence. They were secrets that people could be killed for knowing, if they didn’t die trying to keep it hidden.
Yet the street was oblivious. The house blended seamlessly with all the other structures in the row, quiet and dark except for one light on in an upper window. For all apparent purposes, the couple that lived inside was nothing more than an old seamstress and her husband, making a modest living while raising a young boy.
Mark had expected something like that. Perhaps that’s why it annoyed him so – he had suspected that Kennard was staying quiet, living a peasant’s life under the care of George and Maria. Mark wasn’t a mite surprised to have his assumptions confirmed.
He was perturbed to find that the family’s hideout was only a few hours from the capitol. Edric’s men had searched the entire countries of Reval and Alaidia, but the family had evaded detection for ten years. They hadn’t even left the region or changed their names.
George and Maria had hid themselves well. And for the moment, Mark was content to keep it that way.
“They claim he got lost in the battle, and they haven’t seen him since.” Saul reigned his horse in closer to Mark’s and lowered his voice. “I have my men keeping an eye on the area in case he returns. I am also checking all the casualties.”
Mark nodded, though he doubted it would be that easy. He had ceased to believe in ambivalent fate, but he hadn’t quite acclimated himself to the idea of a concerned God. Regardless, he doubted either of them would be that kind.
“I can question them further,” Saul offered.
“No. I don’t want you or your men to be seen around the house, in case he’s still in the area. I also don’t want the neighbors to worry.” Mark nudged his horse and trotted a ways down the alley, out of sight of the house. Saul followed, nodding.
Mark glanced around the alley. “How many of your men know about this?”
“Just him,” Saul gestured at the guard mounted beside them, “and two others.”
Mark looked at the guard, then turned his gaze back to Saul. “Keep it that way.”
Saul bowed his head slowly, then turned to go. His horse trotted to the end of the lane before Mark called out to him. “Oh, and Saul…”
The commander paused and glanced over his shoulder. Mark stared him in the eye. “Remember, you report to me, not Edric.”
Saul held his gaze for a moment, then a slight smile lifted his lips. “Yes, your highness.”

Nearing 40k now. Bare minimum, I need to clear 43k this week... Hoping to go past that.