Around the square of Brun-le-Comté, beds of tulips intertwined with daffodils, splashing the ground with red and gold. Between them, forget-me-nots formed a sea of blue, their delicate blossoms shimmering in the sunlight. Farther on, paved walkways lined with shrubs guided the flow of passersby. Here and there, dresses rustled, boots struck stone, while the murmur of conversations rose, punctuated by the creaking of carts.

  At the center of the square, the statue of Helric the Wise towered over the crowd, standing four meters tall. His raised arm defied the sky, while a sword hung at his belt. At his feet, bas-reliefs told the story of his reign: walls rising like unbreakable ramparts, a library safeguarding the world’s knowledge, peace treaties carved into stone. Flowers were scattered across the marble at the base of the pedestal.

  A red-haired woman approached. Freckles dotted her face, and the green satin of her dress clung to her curves.

  “Rouis?” she called.

  He nodded.

  “My name is Ambre,” she added with a smile.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “I haven’t eaten yet,” she replied.

  He reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of bread.

  “Seriously?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  He bit into it, a sharp crunch echoing beneath his teeth.

  Ambre walked off, forcing him to quicken his pace to keep from falling behind. Behind the shop windows, stalls overflowed with silks, books, and pastries, the scents of honey and spices drifting through the air. Hanging pots brimmed with jasmine and lavender.

  When they stepped through the doors of the tea salon, the space unfolded across two levels around a central pool where lotus flowers with iridescent petals floated. Suspended lamps cast a soft, muted glow. Servers dressed in black tunics embroidered with silver thread set down steaming teapots. A living wall of greenery climbed from floor to ceiling. Upstairs, a wooden staircase led to a balcony overlooking the room. Along the railings, velvet armchairs were arranged. Near the pool, a dozen women sat at tables, their voices punctuated by bursts of laughter, while trays laden with fruit cakes and pastries circulated among them.

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  Ambre took a seat. Soon, a pale-faced man approached.

  “Have you decided, madam?” he asked.

  “A platter of pastries and a violet infusion.”

  “Very well, madam.”

  He stepped away, gliding between the tables. A few minutes later, he returned and set down a plate piled high with sweets. Beside it, a porcelain teapot released delicate curls of steam.

  Rouis sat down across from her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m sitting.”

  “Stand.”

  He moved behind her, his gaze sweeping the room. The murmur of conversation carried on, unbroken. No sign of danger. She selected a pastry and brought it to her lips.

  “Ambre! What a joy to see you!”

  A small, round woman approached, her bracelets chiming with each step. Her blonde hair, tied into a bun, let a few unruly strands escape, which she tucked back behind her ear. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile revealed a dimple on her right cheek.

  “Imelda!”

  Ambre stood and embraced her. Imelda took her hands, squeezed them, then sat down across from her.

  “When are you leaving?” she asked, spinning a bracelet around her wrist.

  “Today,” Ambre replied.

  “I would have loved to come with you to the capital.”

  “So would I, but I’ll bring you back souvenirs.”

  “Blue silk from the North?” Imelda asked.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “It’s time to go,” Rouis announced.

  “That’s him, your escort? He’s tall, but scrawny,” she said, looking him up and down.

  “And yet, he came highly recommended,” Ambre replied.

  She blinked, and laughter erupted around them.

  Rouis grabbed the pastry and took a bite.

  “What a brute!” Imelda exclaimed.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He grabbed Ambre’s wrist and pulled her toward him. The conversations died instantly, and Imelda slapped him. A burning sting flared across his cheek. Three servers rushed forward at once, and Rouis drew his dagger.

  “Stop!” Ambre shouted.

  Her fingers closed around Rouis’s arm, her nails digging into his skin.

  “I” Rouis tried to say.

  “Be quiet,” Ambre whispered.

  “Are you all right, madam?”

  “Yes, everything is fine,” she replied.

  Ambre released her grip, and drops of blood slid down Rouis’s skin before splattering onto the marble. She swallowed and forced a smile.

  “I’ll bring you back some silk,” she said.

  “Ambre,” Imelda breathed.

  “Everything will be fine,” Ambre assured her, taking her hands.

  Imelda squeezed her fingers.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  “We’re going,” Rouis said.

  Ambre nodded and cast one last look at her friend.