Constantine woke before sunrise, the chill of the morning clinging to his skin. He lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet of the palace. There were no shouts from the courtyard, no clatter of weapons, only the distant call of a seabird and the drip of last night's rain off the eaves. He was not a man who loved sleep. For him, every hour in bed was another hour lost to the hunger of the world. He turned onto his side and watched as a narrow band of light crept up the wall. The city was waking.