The city shifted beneath them.

Not violently, not visibly, but in ways that left traces on every street, every courtyard, every market stall. Varenth was awake now, but not fully conscious—its choices still forming, its loyalties not yet fixed. The lines of power were drawn more clearly than ever, yet no one—least of all Draven—could see where they would end.

Draven walked along the parapets above the western district, his coat catching the wind. The morning fog curled between buildings ...