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Chapter 2: The Broken Voice
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Chapter 4: The Ash-Bound Ledger
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... ng and look only to the cold drama of the street.
Soren noticed it first in the way the bread hawkers sang their prices: not at the passersby, but up to the walls, as if hoping the stones themselves might buy a loaf or two.
Then in the bruise black flags gone limp over the watchtower, and in how the wasters and half-orphans, boys like Soren, once began to drift to the margins of the market, never gathering in groups of more than three, never still for longer than a coin’s toss. < ...
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