The sun had begun to set over the domes and marble columns of Lys, casting long golden shadows across the city’s perfumed streets. Sandoqa’s silent steps followed close behind the young Lord Rogare, her veil catching the breeze, her blade knocking gently against her hip. Merchants bowed. Cutpurses vanished. Even the city guard stepped aside. By the time they reached the gates of the Rogare estate, torchlight danced on the gilded stone lions flanking the entrance. She followed him to his room where she stopped, looking at him waiting for a order.