Rayson had recommended an inn about a half mile from the palace it was small and discreet and expensive, and Dalcey found it exactly to his liking. He knew there were dirtier, more dangerous streets a mile or so from the palace, but he did not need to recruit a thief or a murderer for this particular venture. Dalcey stuck to the wide avenues and well-tended districts where the wealthy lived and the traders did business. Ghosenhall was a good-sized city, mostly pretty. He had to make it plain to even the most casual visitor that his streets were patrolled, his doorways watched. A ruler whose throne was under siege by malcontents could afford to take no chances. King Baryn was well defended that was good to know. The gates to the palace grounds were not watched by ordinary soldiers, but by a handful of King’s Riders, elite and ruthless fighters ready to engage in deadly battle at the slightest provocation.ĭalcey nodded and rode on. Before seeking out an inn for the night, he guided his horse past the massive grounds of the king’s palace, gawking like any other visitor at the gardens and fountains and architecture visible just behind the walls. He noted with approval the sentries posted at the outer gates, the royal soldiers roaming the city in their formal black-and-gold uniforms. D ALCEY rode into Ghosenhall late on a bright, cold midwinter morning.
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