Through the capital. Through the merchant quarter. Through the narrow streets where the buildings leaned together and the laundry hung from lines and the smell of bread and fish and horse filled the air. They turned left. They turned right. They passed a temple. They passed a market. They arrived at a building.
It was nondescript. A townhouse. Stone. Three stories. A wooden door. No sign. No markings. Nothing to distinguish it from any other building on the street.
Raven opened the door.
He walked in. Sera followed.
The room inside was warm. A fire burned in a hearth. Rugs covered the floor. A table sat in the center, covered with fruit and bread and wine. A bed was against the wall— large, covered in quilts, pillows stacked at the head.
On the bed sat a woman.
