Meanwhile, in the capital city, deep beneath the red-light district, where the air stank of mold and metal… a man knelt in chains.
The torches along the tunnel burned low, their light trembling on the damp stones.
And into that cell, her steps soundless against the floor, walked a figure cloaked in black velvet. Shadows clung to her like old secrets. On her shoulder, a blood-red vyrnshade blossom pulsed faintly, its petals breathing with a life of their own.
"Lazira?"
Cedric Thaloryn lifted his head, squinting through the flickering light. The figure's face was hidden, but he had worked hard to figure out who the woman behind that hideous mask was. He'd spent days piecing together whispers, bribing informants, bleeding men for answers.
And at last, he had found the truth behind the name Lazira.
"Lorraine Regis…" he muttered, his jaw tightening as that cursed name left his mouth.
The figure moved before he could blink, there was a flash of motion, and then, a sharp crack…
