The journey to Daushni Province had been long, and the shadows of dusk clung stubbornly to the rolling hills when the carriage finally creaked to a halt. The driver—a mute conjurer bound by oath—held the reins steady as two cloaked figures stepped down upon the marble-paved courtyard before the Moon-Petal Pavilion.
The pavilion itself was a delicate wonder: its roof tiled with jade-green shingles, its columns carved into the likeness of phoenixes, and its lanterns glowing with fireflies caught in glass. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and plum blossoms, drifting from the gardens that surrounded the estate.
