Tyr shook his head as he watched Aia Djtenga speak to her companions and her sharp white smile shone out. She stepped beneath a tasseled orange canopy carried on four poles and made vivid progress through the respectful crowds. It was as if the sun had gone in for shame.
Gradually, the street reasserted its presence around the dazed visitor from Falakhoth.
“She’s from Murinde, a kingdom in the far, far south,” said Azhur, still grinding his information mill. “Even farther south than Dhar. Her father is king and could be deposed, so she’s sought sanctuary from the Valgraav to represent her father until it’s safe for her to return. Formidable lady. I never know what to say to her.”
“Y’ve met her?”
“Oh, yes. She visits the Shrine archives, always wanting to learn. Lord Galdtchav regularly
