The night was cold and sharp as a blade, the kind of cold that bit through even the thickest cloaks.
Ryse urged his horse forward, the animal's breath misting in the darkness as hooves pounded against frozen earth. Behind him, two dozen of his best men followed in tight formation, their faces grim and focused.
They had hours. Maybe less.
The search parties had already fanned out across the city's eastern approaches, covering every road, every alley, every forgotten path that might lead beyond the capital's walls.
Ryse had chosen the likeliest route himself, the old trading road that wound through the outskirts, dotted with abandoned mills and forgotten warehouses. The kind of places where people did business they didn't want witnessed.
The kind of places where human cargo changed hands.
His jaw tightened. If the Ravencrests had harmed Lady Eris's maid, if they'd done even half of what the evidence suggested, they would answer for it. Slowly.
