The light of day was fading as Avasa perched on a parapet of the city wall, facing the ocean. The location was not a common gathering place, and she drew several strange looks from the guards who passed by and the people who passed below, but she wasn't causing any trouble, and so they left the woman alone. She hated the cold, and the sharp, salty breeze that blew from across the water was far more chilling than she would have liked. She hunkered down into her cloak, hood pulled tight beneath her chin, and watched the rapidly darkening water.
Avasa was not her real name, of course. It was not even a pseudonym she used frequently. Names were as traceable as faces and bank accounts, and it would not do to leave any prints that might be tracked. Using that old alias on the 15th had been a mistake, but she had taken care of that. The Lady Lotesse Alasseva made a show of leaving The Nightingale's Song on the evening of the 17th, stressing that she had just been delivered an important missive and was required to catch the next ship headed across the sea. Several patrons would admit to having seen a smartly-dressed man head up the stairs, only to descend and leave not a half an hour later. One woman would agree that she had seen something like a letter in the man's hand, though he no longer had it when he departed. And a certain captain's palm had been greased so he would lie and say that the lady had been among his passengers. The trail deftly led away from Rhy'Din. Anyone looking for her would be met with a dead end. The following morning, a Mistress Leuca Fane checked into more modest accommodations at The White Pony, whose name astutely matched its barn-like interior and hay-stuffed mattresses. Claiming to be a merchant of some renown in Halatir, Mistress Fane professed that her stay in the city was only temporary as she assessed the Rhy'Dinian market for elven goods.
Her new identity, for the moment, was in place.
Even as her carefully-laid plans clicked into place, one thing still made her uneasy. And it would be all the more disconcerting if her past decided to follow her to Rhy'Din.
The smartly-dressed man had seen the golden eyes of Valie, the thief.
Avasa was not her real name, of course. It was not even a pseudonym she used frequently. Names were as traceable as faces and bank accounts, and it would not do to leave any prints that might be tracked. Using that old alias on the 15th had been a mistake, but she had taken care of that. The Lady Lotesse Alasseva made a show of leaving The Nightingale's Song on the evening of the 17th, stressing that she had just been delivered an important missive and was required to catch the next ship headed across the sea. Several patrons would admit to having seen a smartly-dressed man head up the stairs, only to descend and leave not a half an hour later. One woman would agree that she had seen something like a letter in the man's hand, though he no longer had it when he departed. And a certain captain's palm had been greased so he would lie and say that the lady had been among his passengers. The trail deftly led away from Rhy'Din. Anyone looking for her would be met with a dead end. The following morning, a Mistress Leuca Fane checked into more modest accommodations at The White Pony, whose name astutely matched its barn-like interior and hay-stuffed mattresses. Claiming to be a merchant of some renown in Halatir, Mistress Fane professed that her stay in the city was only temporary as she assessed the Rhy'Dinian market for elven goods.
Her new identity, for the moment, was in place.
Even as her carefully-laid plans clicked into place, one thing still made her uneasy. And it would be all the more disconcerting if her past decided to follow her to Rhy'Din.
The smartly-dressed man had seen the golden eyes of Valie, the thief.