The air in the city was different. It wasn't the clean, sterile air of the estate. It was a chaotic mix of smells, roasting nuts from a street vendor, damp cobblestones, the sweet scent of ale spilling from a tavern, the underlying tang of the river. It was loud, too. The shouts of merchants, the laughter of children, the rumble of cart wheels on stone. It was alive. And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.
Eliot walked a step behind me, his presence a quiet, steady reassurance. The guards Darius had insisted on followed at a discreet distance, their dark cloaks making them blend into the shadows. I tried to ignore them. I tried to ignore the fact that this wasn't a free walk. It was a mission.
"His shop is just ahead, my lord," Eliot said, his voice low.
