The morning dawned shrouded in a thick fog. The muffled sound of Arven's bells barely penetrated the heavy air that covered the city. Damon had been awake for hours, watching the canal from his bedroom window. The surface of the water reflected the pale gray of the sky, still as glass.
A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he said, without turning around.
Ester entered, a sealed letter in her hands. The wax seal was black, marked with the emblem of a rose between swords—Elizabeth's seal.
"It arrived a few minutes ago. A messenger came directly from Mirath."
Damon turned slowly, looking at the envelope carefully.
"She hurried more than I expected."
"That's never a good sign," commented Aria, who appeared in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe with a piece of bread in her hand. "Elizabeth doesn't write to say 'good job'. When she sends a letter, it's because someone is going to bleed."
Ester gave her a sharp look, but didn't reply.
