Outside, a steady breeze has started up, tugging at laundry lines and bringing in the scent of fresh green things from the plains. Lui really needs to get a washing line, not that that’s my concern.
I ask directions of an elderly shopkeeper, and am sent one street over, through a bustling market center that opens up to the river with its stone docks. They’re relatively compact, beginning a little way upriver and continuing only a little past me. For a moment, I freeze, brought up short by the sight of the three great merchant galleys moored here, pennants flapping in the wind, and a quad of river wardens in familiar uniforms walking the docks before them. They wear the same uniforms as the wardens who attacked us on board the galley in Tarinon, just as two of the galleys fly the green and
