The morning mist still clung to the cobblestones of the capital city, turning the streets into a gray, ghostly maze. The air was crisp and cold, biting at exposed skin, smelling of damp stone and the charcoal fires of early risers.
Lily walked quickly through the fog, her head bowed low. She clutched a small, nondescript velvet bag to her chest, but inside the deep sleeve of her grey wool dress, she could feel the sharp corner of a thick envelope pressing against her wrist. It felt heavier than paper; it felt like a bomb.
She didn't look back. She didn't need to. She knew she was being followed. Marissa had told her she would be.
Fifty paces behind her, blending into the morning crowd of market vendors and milkmaids, was Ashlyn.
