The sun was already low when the carriage crossed the gates of Thirval. The air carried the heavy scent of sea salt and burnt iron. The coastal city rose between rocky hills and low towers, covered with dark slate roofs. In the distance, the sea reflected the golden light of dusk, and the distant sound of hammers echoed rhythmically, coming from the forges near the port.
Inside the carriage, Samira stretched impatiently.
"Finally. I thought this carriage was going to break down before we got there," she grumbled, pushing the door open with her foot.
Bellatrix pulled up her hood and looked out the small side window before getting out. "Wait," she said, observing the movement in the streets. The convoy mingled with merchants, cargo carts, and local guardsmen. No one seemed to pay attention to them—the disguise worked.
