The wind brought the scent of salt and damp earth into the capital of Draeven.
For the first time in months, the slush in the gutters of the lower districts had completely cleared, leaving the cobblestones scrubbed clean by the thaw.
In the Grand Hall of the palace, the atmosphere was similar.
A high-level delegation from the Frogeholds had arrived at dawn.
The lead envoy, Count Varic—a man whose career was built on sniffing out the rot in foreign courts—walked through the central market toward the palace. He expected to see bread riots, or at the very least, the frantic, disorganized city bleeding its resources dry to feed a war machine.
Instead, he found a clock.
Trade routes from the eastern ports were not only operational but flowing with a renewed, regulated vigor. Supply lines to the front were fortified by a secondary layer of civilian transit that kept the city's internal economy breathing.
