Gates of Thread and Stone

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DEATH LIVED IN a glass tower at the center of the White Court. I could see the tower from anywhere in the city. It cut the skyline like a blade. Death—she probably had a real name—was Kahl Ninu’s right hand and his personal executioner. Or, at least, that’s what the rumors said. I didn’t really care if they were true so long as it wasn’t my head on the chopping block.

The fact that the Kahl’s executioner lived in the most impressive building in the city wasn’t the only reason the White Court unsettled me. I never went any farther than the barracks along the inner wall, but I could see the Court’s elaborate Grays dashing through the cobblestone streets, some with monstrous forms, their hulking bodies big enough to carry three riders at once.

The strap of my messenger bag dug into my shoulder, and I hoisted it up as I turned right, toward the gate. Twenty-foot walls separated the White Court from the rest of the city. Only people with the right permissions could enter or leave.

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