I’ve lived the past month without time.

  What a ridiculous sentence.

  It’s still the same day as when the world froze: dark clouds over the desert city, raindrops over in the sky, and the massive crowd waiting for their Queen.

  When that woman lunged at me with a dagger, I took one step backward and watched as the sharp blade narrowly missed my chin.

  There were too many people to use a longsword. I drew a dagger. We exchanged swipes and stabs, darting between people in the crowd.

  Neither of us can touch blade to flesh. Her dagger gets caught in someone else's cloak, and when I press the advantage, a dagger appears in each of her hands.

  She retreated back, heading down the street toward where the Queen had not yet begun the procession toward the waters of the Heart. As she passed through the curtain of rain, the outline of her body remained where the droplets had soaked into her clothes.

  Anyway, a month is just my best guess based on how many times I’ve slept. Not that real rest could ever find me. I would lie behind a locked door, furniture pressed against doors and windows, knowing she was hunting me.

  How do I know? Because I was hunting her. Once, I caught her unaware while she was foraging for food in a market. I notched an arrow in my bow, drew it back, but when I released…nothing happened. The bowstring remained pulled back, the arrow hung in the air.

  But I’ve had enough; the lack of sleep is driving me insane, the one-off dagger fights resulting in unsatisfying stalemates. I have found a bucket of paint, and I am writing on a wall:

  ‘I AM ZANE’

  And just below that.

  ‘& YOU?’

  My writing’s big. Blocky with sharp edges. When you learn your letters from your Uncle, who learned to read from a drunken captain in a trench at war, penmanship is not valued as highly.

  When I’d spent time wizarding, the other acolytes would poke fun at my journal, but they were all from merchant families or nobility. Besides, I could defeat any of them with a blade in hand instead of a staff.

  I return to the wall some time later to find a reply.

  ‘Jade’.

  An olive branch.

  Her penmanship is much better than mine, the words not separated by any spaces, but the whole thing one continuous stroke.

  Next to her name, I write: ‘PARLAY?’

  I return after a while, and she stands by the graffiti. Once she notices me, she pulls down her hood, and a long braid of hair falls behind her. She lifts her weapons up one at a time. She tries to toss them, but they just hover in the air. I can tell by her body language she’s as frustrated with this whole thing as I am. She places the weapons on the ground.

  I do the same, unsheathing a longsword and a dagger, and then begin to approach.

  “Thanks for the meeting,” I say.

  “This must end. I cannot sleep.”

  “Me either.”

  “Still, I cannot let you kill the Queen.”

  “How did you know the Queen was my target?” I ask.

  “You were up on the roof of that building.”

  “There were people lined up on the tops of all the buildings.”

  “Two foreigners. Out of place. Not smiling. Not happy,” Jade says.

  “I suppose that should warrant some suspicion.”

  “Also, I saw an arrowhead peeking over the tip of the wall.”

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  A keen eye.

  A small mistake is all it takes to be spotted by someone with these skills.

  Her accent is unlike most of those in the Atrium.

  “Where are you from?” I ask her.

  “From down the Vein, on the opposite side of the Heart.”

  The whole world is a mirror, with the Heart draining fresh water North, where she’s from, and South, where I’m from.

  “You should work for me with the Blood Coins. With this time spell, we could be unstoppable.”

  “Can’t. My contract with Atrium is for another year.”

  My contract still has almost two years left. We can work something out..

  “I tell you what. I’ll return in a year’s time. You help me with my contract. Then I’ll give you ten percent.”

  Jade laughs. She has a missing pre-molar, but she’s unashamed and makes no attempt to hide it.

  I know I lowballed, but I didn’t think it would be laughworthy.

  “Try again,” she says.

  “It’s only fair. My life is at stake if we fail, not yours.”

  I explain to her how the Blood Coins work. Malakar. The succeed or die contracts. Everything.

  “I see,” she says. “You get a premium because your client knows you can’t switch sides, and you will sacrifice everything to win.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why would I want to join that? I am willing to die, but not for a suicide mission.”

  “Malakar does not offer us unfavorable contracts. He wants his cut, after all.”

  “Sure, put trust in a devil. That sounds wise,” she says. Jade picks up her weapons from the ground and sheathes them. “I tell you what. Return once my contract has lapsed, and for 60 percent, I will help you with your quarry here.”

  “Maybe I don’t need your help,” I say. If this Jade were out of the way, this Queen would have a torso full of arrows, and I would have a vault full of gold.

  “You don’t understand. She has it. The power of the Light,” Jade says.

  “That’s not a wagon full of scat?

  “No. You’ll see,” she says. Ominous.

  “Split it in thirds, then. One for me, one for you, one for Ulfgar.”

  “Ulfgar? Your big friend?”

  “Yes, if you knew he was my ally, then why didn’t you kill him while time was frozen?”

  “It would be dishonourable to harm an incapacitated foe.”

  “But that’s how we will dispatch the Queen, with this same spell.”

  “You can deal the final blow.”

  “Fine. Now, how about we let this year-long countdown begin?”

  She nods.

  Ending a spell has some complicated rules, but basically: if ending the magic would affect both casters, then both need to end the spell. In this case, this magic appears to have impacted the whole world.

  We both close our eyes and let the magic dissipate. When I reopen, the rain begins to fall, filling in the spaces that Jade and I have left as we’ve walked through the city. The return of sound! I forgot how much I missed this. Maybe the silence had contributed to our insanity as much as the lack of sleep.

  “One year,” I say, speaking loudly over the rainfall. I hold out my hand for a handshake.

  “One year,” Jade says. She shakes. “And if you betray me, I will kill you.”

  “Same,” I say.

  I return to the crowds, weaving through, and I can spot the top of Ulfgar’s head.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks. “You were right behind me.”

  “It’s a long story. We’re delaying our mission.”

  “Delay? Why? We’re right here. I’m ready.” He reaches above his shoulder reflexively to touch the handle of his giant mace.

  “I’ll tell you on the way back. For now, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

  With time restarted, the procession begins. Six men, three on each side, carry the Queen and her son on a palanquin. She wears a crown with five long golden plates that extend above her head, with smaller ones connecting them horizontally. It reminds me of a sunrise. Gold bracelets, rings, and necklaces adorn her whole body. She nearly glows even in the shade of this storm.

  The rain is pouring, but the Queen holds up her hand.

  Directly overhead, the clouds part, and a beam of sunlight falls directly on her. The opening follows her procession while the rest of us get rained on.

  There are fifty soldiers before and behind her, marching, fully armed. Spear, shield, helmet. A short word on their hip, but no armor save for a lightly plated kilt.

  Priests of the Light can do similar magic. Small beads of light, like a candle. The best can heal small wounds, but I have never seen a spell so powerful from them. They use the Light itself as a partner for magic, much like wizards use the universe itself.

  They set her down near the lapping waves of the Heart. She takes her son's hand, and they enter the water.

  It begins to glow.

  Not from the sun, but from within. The water itself generates the Light.

  As she dips her son backward into the giant lake to baptize him, the Light stretches out, downward and outward, until the entire Heart glows as bright as the sun itself.

  I’m forced to close my eyes or be blinded.

  The clouds above dissipate. The rain stops.

  The crowd cheers, claps, begin to chant and sing.

  I can see why they believe she’s a god.

  The Queen returns to her palaquin, and the six men pick it back up to return her to the massive zigaraut. As she passes by me, her eyes connect. She stares at me a bit longer.

  It’s as if her eyes can speak. And they are saying:

  I see you.