The chamber was full.
Cloaked figures stood before her. Five of them. They wore dark hoods. Their faces were shadowed. They were the Queen's network—her spies, her informants, her eyes in the city. They stood in a line. Their heads were bowed. Their hands were clasped.
The central figure spoke.
"Indeed, First Queen," he said. His voice was muffled by the hood. Low. Respectful. The voice of a man delivering news he knows will cause an explosion. "The Crown Prince's men took the boy. From the market. In broad daylight. They grabbed him and a woman—a young woman, a fighter, possibly a knight. The woman was paralyzed. The boy was carried. They moved through the merchant quarter, through the back alleys, toward the eastern gate. Toward the Crown Prince's compound."
The Queen's eyes widened.
"Paralyzed?" she repeated. The word was sharp. A blade. "They paralyzed a woman in my city? In my territory? They took a child from my streets?"
"Yes, First Queen."
"Who is the woman?"
