In Old Town, a section of the city known for its cobbled streets and tall, narrow buildings, Rizla the Red Witch and Suga the Eunuch watched the actions playing out in the Great Throne Room through a rare orb. 

      The room was above an Apothecary shop. The shop’s sign banged against the postern in the rising wind, but inside, the sound didn’t register. Night noises were plentiful here: the scurry of rats, the cries of children, or the tread of footsteps followed by a body drop. None of it mattered, nor would it ever to the occupants of the room. Rizla the Red Witch and Suga the Eunuch. 

Rizla now lay belly down next to the low table on which sat the orb, peering with inscrutable intent. Images were moving within, a scarlet -clocked figure gesticulated wildly while two others read from a scroll. A man with broad shoulders knelt. With the long sheath of hernail, Rizla tapped lightly on the glass. 

The tap turned Suga’s concentration from the globe to the woman. He was enormously fat with folds of skin that failed to conceal the flush that happened when he watched her. A feral nature lurked behind the beautiful face; a twisted spirit clothed in magnificent skin. The Dark had paired them together long ago and he knew her nature, knew her flawless body as well since Rizla didn’t bother with modesty around him. 

On many nights, his hands, surprisingly firm for so soft a man, unknotted the muscles in her back (careful always not to touch the scar), soothing her temples and rubbing the pads of her feet. When she couldn’t sleep (and Rizla was a restless sleeper), she’d slip out and travel the Night Paths, seeking new doors. Though invisible to the naked eye, the paths were real enough and often she went where she didn’t belong. Her feet bore the brunt of it: stone-bruised and bleeding. She never wore shoes. She was always working, trying to meet the demands of the Tu’el who, other than the Curse Blessed, was the most feared on earth.