The night was silent, except for the rustle of leaves. Eirene moved quickly through the forest beyond the palace walls. She wore a black cloak that covered most of her face, her steps careful and precise. She glanced around several times to make sure no one had followed her.
The forest here was old. The air smelled damp and heavy, thick with rot from fallen leaves and decayed branches. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, and then it was quiet again. Eirene stopped when she reached a clearing where the ground was darker and the trees bent toward the center as if hiding something.
She stood still. "I am here," she said quietly.
For a moment, there was no response. Then the air shifted, and a shadow began to take form. The Wanderer emissary stepped out from behind a tree. His skin looked dry and gray, his eyes hollow, but there was movement in them—like ash stirred by the wind.
"You took your time," he said, his voice low and broken.
