Prologue


'Fear the shadows for they are dark and full of knives'

Old Zirkanian saying


Zoe, the youngest daughter of the famed master baker Hensalt Jansen, pulled the shawl she wore tighter around her slim frame to keep off the chill as she walked home from the local tavern. She passed a guard posted outside of the flour storage yard and traded some light-hearted banter with him as she had only a few hours before on the outward journey. The streets, unlike those of many other quarters, were well lit and clean due to the wealth of the merchant guilds so she didn't have to worry about filth staining her expensive shoes or dress. She felt safe as she walked amidst the alleys between the warehouses and storefronts and couldn't help herself stopping to admire a large, emerald adorned brooch in the Bakker jewellers which she had coveted ever since she had seen it the first time a month ago.

She was happy, full of fine wine, food and joy of youth. She would soon be married to the love of her life, Thijs, the son of the tailor Daan Visser who lived in the palace and clothed many of the staff. This promised to be an excellent match for both families and it helped, of course, that Thijs was also very handsome and charming.

She shuddered as she remembered their most recent and secret tryst in the abandoned mill just outside of the quarter and the mess they had made as they rolled in the discarded flour. She could recall the taste of him in exquisite detail and the thought of how they wrapped themselves around each other sent a chill of pleasure pulsing down her spine. She couldn't wait for another chance to repeat the performance and dirty their clothing again.

Zoe was so happy that she began to hum a dainty tune under her breath and it was the humming that killed her.

She didn't see the attack and, even if she had, she would never have been able to respond quickly enough to defend herself. It was so sudden that it took a moment to register that she had received a stab wound to her chest and as she slowly looked down she was shocked to see the end of the blade pierced through her ribcage, covered in her own blood, torn pieces of clothing and flesh. She tried to take a step forward, but her legs gave way under her weight and she fell limply to her knees.

She coughed up blood as her lungs filled. The pain was excruciating but it was lessening every second as her life ebbed away.

"Thank you, my dear..." the sinister and barely human voice spoke from the shadows behind her "...you have been most helpful".

Zoe tried to shout for help, tried to force anything at all out of her wrecked lungs but nothing worked.

At an hour past midnight, lying face down on the cold cobbled floor of Rind Street outside of the Bakker and Sons Jewellery shop, in the merchant and trade quarter of Pont Vanis, Zoe Jansen died to the sound of steady, careful breathing and the sound of a knife being slowly drawn from a well oiled sheathe.