Mistress Jardena

The fight spilled into the rain. Toman and Old Hal moved like windmill arms, trading blows with hired men. Mira dove beneath a thrown blade to knock a soldier into the tide. Jardena fought Locke on the quay; his sword was clever and practiced. Around them, the town's folk formed a ring, some with pitchforks, many with frightened faces. The blue rose in her pocket hummed against her palm, a steadying pulse.

"People are missing," Jardena said. "Old promises were broken. Your maps involve Halmar. Why?" mistress jardena

Jardena set the Heart on the swollen planks between them. "The pact belongs to Halmar," she said. "Not to your markets." The fight spilled into the rain