The market square was a riot of noise and color, the midday sun reflecting off the brass pots of the merchants and the bright silks of the shoppers. Ashlyn moved through the crowd, her head held high, followed closely by her maid who struggled under the weight of several heavy packages.
Ashlyn had spent the morning spending. She had bought expensive wine, rare tobacco, and a set of gold-inlaid daggers—gifts for the generals Carlos needed to impress. She had mortgaged her mother's estate, trading her security for a gamble, but she felt confident.
The plan was in motion.
"Be careful with that box, Myra," Ashlyn snapped, glancing back. "Those bottles are worth more than your life."
"Yes, My Lady," Myra panted, adjusting her grip.
Ashlyn turned back, her mind already calculating the next step. She wasn't watching where she was going.
She turned a sharp corner around a fabric stall and slammed directly into someone.
