Mist covers the courtyard. Morning sun mingles with pearly drops of opal and gray. The fresh scent of last night"s rain, one of soaked earth and bruised grass, of budding cherry blossoms and rose buds, drifts in a balmy breeze.
“Got your book?” Lanying’s arm slips into mine.
I frown, and my hand drops over my bag. My book? The stiff leather hides it, but my fingertips sense the contours of the wrapped pothi pages. I haven’t touched it since we left home.
She hisses an order at the two guards lagging behind us. One of them skirts away. Within moments he’s back—hooves prance on the cobbles and the thinning haze reveals an agile body. The guard leads a fine stallion on his side.
“The drawing.” Lanying’s hand squeezes mine. “We need it today.”
An iron bolt clangs, the gate swings
