The smell of brine and rotting fish filled her nostrils, carried by the fog rolling off the harbor.
Through the silvery fog, Caina glimpsed the houses across the street, tall and narrow with small courtyards encircled by iron fences. Successful merchants occupied this district of the Imperial capital, merchants with money enough to purchase townhouses separate from their shops, but not enough to imitate the lifestyles of the high lords. Thick fog choked Malarae’s streets, transformed into a pale silver haze by the full moon overhead. She had a hard time sleeping without a weapon close at hand.Ĭaina crossed to the balcony doors and pushed them open a few inches, looking into the street below. Her right hand slid under her pillow and retrieved a dagger, the razor-edged blade glinting in the moonlight. She pushed aside the blankets and stood, her bare feet silent against the floor, her hair cool and dry as it brushed her shoulders. Yet Caina was certain that she had heard someone scream. Corvalis lay next to her, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with his breath. In the gloom she saw the table that held her mirror and cosmetics, a wooden stand for Corvalis’s weapons and armor, and the wardrobe that contained her disguises. A pale shaft of moonlight leaked through the balcony doors.
She turned her head, her hair rustling against the pillow.
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