When Phoebe, goddess of the moon, is killed by the knights of the sun god, Hyperion, all who follow her are branded heretics. With Phoebe gone, the souls of the dead are no longer ferried to the underworld, and instead linger on as shades who feast on the blood of the living.

Raef is a child of the night. He lives in the shadows, on scraps, eking out a meager existence as a thief. But when an ornate box is sequestered in the Temple of Hyperion, the chance of a big score proves too great to resist. What he finds within propels him on an odyssey across the sea and back again, altering the course of his life forever.

Seth is a knight of the sun. But unlike the others of his order, the fire of Hyperion only brings him pain. He believes he deserves this penance, exacted for his unknown origins. Tasked with recovering the contents of the box, Seth must also venture beyond the horizon if he's to learn the truth about himself.

In a dying world divided by the greed of those in power, Raef and Seth find their destinies intertwined—and learn they might have more in common than they ever imagined.

Excerpt

The smell of wilting flowers and spent candles almost masked the odor of decay. Raef pressed against a statue and fought to keep from trembling as the knight with the flaming sword paced nearer.

He didn’t have much time. The sun would soon set, and the temple doors would close. If they did not find him, he’d be trapped. If they found him, they’d burn him alive.

Golden-haired and handsome, the knight approached Raef’s hiding place, waving his sword like a torch. It should be easy. One jab to the neck would do it.

Raef drew his knife.

The Knights of Hyperion, god of the sun, had murdered Phoebe, goddess of the moon. With her had gone the tides and the path to the Underworld.

They’d razed her temples and burned her priests, the only family he’d ever known.

A decade later, the screams of the orphans still echoed in his dreams, and he shook at the sight of fire. No matter how tonight went, he’d need a long pull from the rum bottle if he wanted any sleep.

Raef gripped the blade and inhaled the crypt’s moldy air.

It wouldn’t be murder, not really.

He tensed, ready to spring, and . . . lowered his hand.

The knight deserved it. They all did, but Raef wasn’t like them. They were his enemies, and yet . . . he couldn’t do it.

Sinking back into the shadows, he waited for the chance to slip away.

New flames lit the direction of his escape. Another sword, another knight, approached the tomb where the handsome one stood guard.

“It’s almost sunset,” the second knight said. Older, he wore a beard of steely wool. “Get to your penance, Seth.”

“I can guard with you,” Seth protested.

He looked about Raef’s age but sounded eager, youthful, probably because he hadn’t spent the last decade on the streets.

The veteran sneered.

“I don’t need the likes of you. See that the dark doesn’t seduce you.”

“Yes, Zale.”

Seth marched away, shoulders shrunk with disappointment.

Despite himself, Raef felt a pang of sympathy for the young knight.

Seth had been gone a few moments when Zale called out, “I know you’re there, rat. I can smell you.”

Raef froze.

“Get out here,” the knight commanded.

Raef’s breath caught. He could run, but Zale could call for help. Lowering his hood, Raef dropped his unsheathed knife inside it and placed his hands atop his head.

His stomach tightened to a stone as he stepped into the sword’s light.

“I’m unarmed.”

“You reek like a sewer. What are you doing down here?”

“Nothing,” he tried to sound confused.

“Here to steal, I’d bet.” Zale twisted the sword, aiming its flaming point at Raef’s eye. “I should blind you, or take your hand. That’s what they do to thieves in a civilized city.”

The tremor spread through Raef as the flames danced closer.

The priests of Hyperion preached their god’s mercy, but Raef had never seen it. Where Seth had seemed earnest, this man wore a cruel sneer.

Raef slid his hands to the back of his skull. The knife was the slightest weight there.

“I only came to pray. Really.”

“Nobody prays in the dark,” Zale said.

“Except heretics.”

Zale flinched at the admission, giving Raef time enough to bat the sword aside with his right arm. He drew the knife from his hood with his left hand and punched it into the knight’s shoulder, between the leather joint in the armor’s plates.

The sword rang against the floor. Raef expected its flames to die, but they flared instead, growing brighter as Zale backhanded him with a growl.

The mailed glove felt like a hammer. Stars lit Raef’s vision. He tried to turn, to run, but Zale lashed out with his boot. Raef felt something inside him crack as he flipped. Groaning, he landed hard against the stone of the floor.

Zale bent to seize Raef by the throat.

“Who do you serve?” he demanded, lifting Raef until they were face to face. The stars began to dance.

“No one,” Raef sputtered.

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

Zale tightened his grip.

“Phoebe.”

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About the Author

DAVID R. SLAYTON grew up in Guthrie, Oklahoma, where finding fantasy novels was pretty challenging and finding fantasy novels with diverse characters was downright impossible. Now he lives in Denver, Colorado, and writes the books he always wanted to read. In 2015, David founded Trick or Read, an annual initiative to give out books along with candy to children on Halloween as well as uplift lesser-known authors or those from marginalized backgrounds. Find him online at DavidRSlayton.com.