By Dru Pagliassotti
A steampunkish romantic fable set in Ondinium, a urban that beats to the ticking of a clockwork center. Taya, a metal-winged courier, can shuttle freely around the city's sectors and mingle indiscriminately between its castes. A bold mid-air rescue results in involvement with scions of an upperclass family members and entanglement in an internet of terrorism, loyalty, homicide, and secrets and techniques.
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Extra resources for Clockwork Heart
The woman took it with a gnarled, ink-stained hand, and Taya thought again of Cristof's hands. Which direction had he been coming from? Would a terrorist stop to help a woman in distress immediately after he'd planted a bomb? Annoyed at herself, Taya turned, weaving her way through the narrow streets of book stalls and publishing houses until she reached Gryngoth Plaza. The plaza was dominated by a bronze statue of Lictor Gryngoth on horseback and was built on an outcrop that provided a clear view of the sweeping mountainside below and the majestic range of peaks around them.
Straighten up. " Taya stiffened her back. "I can't believe you icarii,” he grumbled. “You're thin enough, but none of you have any breasts. And your legs are too short. And your arms! ” Taya protested. " "You're cut? ” Before she could argue, he'd pulled up her shirt and was groaning to himself. “Not even bandaged. I don't believe this—do you want a scar? Fine, fine, no problem. I can work around it. It's too cold for bare shoulders, anyway. ” she insisted. ” He scowled, his pencil flying over a sheet of paper.
For several minutes they sat in the ticking, whirring room, working on the food. It was a crude but filling meal, reminding Taya of the workman's lunches she'd brought to her father in the smelting factory, back when she'd been a little girl. He'd shared them with her on a wooden bench outside the factory, covered with dirt and sweat but full of smiles for his oldest daughter. Not at all like the dour-faced outcaste across from her. Once the edge was off her hunger, Taya wiped her hands on Cristof's cleaning rag, picked up the bottle of stout, and refilled their cups.