As Vencarlo Orisini led Orkatto's men on a noisy chase, I strolled out the front doors with my "bodyguard." In the darkened museum, and without his mask and cloak, which I carried folded under my arm, Master Raneiro did somewhat resemble the younger man who had accompanied me into the museum. I placed my hope in the bravo's topknot and the noisy diversion behind us.

Vencarlo retreated, turning to free his blade. I stepped behind him, pulling the scabbard and sword out of his grasp.

A Chelaxian by birth and breeding, Domina had come to Korvosa to rule. Her earliest proclamations had halved both the city's bureaucracy and its coffers. As part of her civic improvement efforts, she had reversed the ban on trees planted within the city walls—the result of a predecessor's shortsighted reaction to the destruction wrought by windstorms over a century earlier.

Several onlookers cursed the driver as he forced the Red Carriage into their midst, but the crowd parted. My footman opened the door, and I stepped out.

She looked me over again, her eyes lingering on my arms, the spurs on my elbows, my fists, and all the fights carved into my red leather jacket. "I thought you might be the sort of man who had killed before."

Locking my gaze to his jaundiced eyes, I made a silent inventory of my weapons: riffle scrolls before me, the Shadowless Sword at my hip, and Arnisant at my feet. Yet for the moment, my most powerful weapon might be a sharp tongue. "Prince Kasiya of Osirion."