The free city of Nidus rose from the southern horizon like a glittering mirage with white walls baking under a relentless sun, domes and minarets catching the light, and the harbor a forest of masts from a hundred nations. There were no kings here, only the Merchant Council, and gold was the only law most people respected.With chains on her wrists and her heart still raw from the separation, Calista Walton stood on the deck of the slaver ship as it docked. The voyage from Miraolden had taken weeks, cooped in the hold with other captives, fed on weevil bread and brackish water. She had hidden her royal bearing the best way she could with her head down, eyes dull and answers short. But fear gnawed at her constantly. Robert Hawks had arranged for her death, just as he had done for Liam and Tamira. Hers was to be an accident at sea with a quiet knife in the dark, so she had expected it, at everybody until this day when the ship docked. Yet none came because greed had once again intervene

The spring fair in Preliand arrived like a storm of color and noise, transforming Lord Varyn’s estate from quiet oppression into controlled chaos. Traders poured through the gates, caravans of spices from the east, bolts of silk from across the sea, jugglers and musicians hired for entertainment. Guards drank freely causing their watches to lax. Slaves worked double shifts, cooking, cleaning, serving but whispers of opportunity ran like wildfire through the barracks.Tamira’s heart beats a constant rhythm of now or never. Four years in slavery and for two years she had planned with Elara, old Jorin the blacksmith, and Marta the cook. They had hoarded coins scraped from forgotten corners, fashioned tools from scrap and mapped every shadow on the estate. The drainage grate behind the pigsty had loose bars, wide enough for a determined body and it led to a culvert that emptied into the vineyards beyond the walls.The plan was simple in outline, but brutal in risk.On the fair’s final nig

The four years since the fall for Miraolden had been not challenging, and had come with a lot of growing up, Liam the seventeen year old prince who was dragged from his father's burning palace was now twenty-one, yet he still wore the name Laim like armor and his eyes which were once bright with youthful defiance now carried the quiet, dangerous patience of a man who had learned that vengeance required more than rage. He had risen steadily in Lord Ermin Rein’s household. He was no longer scrubbing pots or mucking stables; now he served among the upper servants, trusted with escort duties and light guard work. Colvin and Beatrix had grown used to his presence. The arrogant boy who once made his life hell had slowly become something closer to a rival, then a reluctant comrade. Beatrix’s curiosity had deepened into something warmer, though neither spoke of it.The spring trade fair in Korthos was always a time of opportunity and danger. Merchants from across Etoibard gathered, deals wer