The Port Authority is housed in a three-story building, the adobe walls painted a bright white with wide blue stripes at eye level. The engraved, iron-bound wooden double doors stand open to the beautiful spring weather, as do the shutters to all the windows. There are no balconies here, but the shutters are carved and the building as a whole is both utilitarian and lovely.
“You’re really the woman on the flyer?” Nesa asks for the fourth time. Beside her, Gair stands with his big shoulders hunched. He holds a short length of silky ribbon, running it steadily between his pointer and middle finger. It seems to keep him focused.
“I’m her,” I assure Nesa. “You know what to do when we go in—and after, right?”
She nods. “Mage Ehelar told us you were dealing with some trouble and you might nee
