Buon lunedĂŹ, prodi seguaci!đĽ
Questo fine settimana mi sono dedicata alla lettura di City of Betrayal di Claudie Arseneault, secondo capitolo della serie City of Spires, e adesso che l’ho finito non so come farò ad aspettare City of Torment per sapere come continuerĂ la storia…đ
âMilady, youâre ⌠awake.âÂ
Branwenâs clear laugh startled him. She leaned against the frame, one hand still holding the door. âGood morning to you too, Jaeger. To what do I owe the visit?âÂ
âDid you sleep at all?â Jaeger regretted his question right away. How unprofessional. After the initial shock, heâd picked up on a few more detailsâ how the makeup didnât quite hide the bags under her eyes, and the small yawn sheâd stifled before answering himâand it seemed the most logical conclusion. It still wasnât his place to ask. âI apologize. Itâs none of my business, and I didnât mean to pry. Lord Dathirii sent me.âÂ
Her smile vanished, and her eyes darkened. She resented Dielâs lack of immediate action to save Varden, and Jaegerâs stomach squeezed at the change in her expression. He missed Branwenâs incessant and demonstrative love for her uncle. He missed so much of the Dathirii before they had provoked the Myrians. Branwenâs lifeless shrug just added to the pile.Â
âYou shouldnât apologize for asking, Jaeger. Youâre not a steward to us, youâre family. You know that. And no, I havenât slept. I canât, even after so many days.â She opened the door a little wider and motioned for him to enter. âIâve been working on something.âÂ
Jaeger followed her inside, and the sewing area drew his gaze. Branwenâs quarters were outfitted with three mannequins, including one carved to her measurements. Sketches and paintings of clothes covered the wall behind themâmost were of elaborate dresses, but not all. Disguises and menâs outfits also featured prominently. A round wooden stand flanked them, poles jutting out in all direction. Hundreds of fabrics of all colour and texture buried it under their weight. At the moment, Branwenâs usual image wall was hidden behind drawings of Myrian outfits. Most looked like robes for Kerothâs acolytes, but others were more akin to what Master Avenazar or his apprentice wore. Jaeger studied them a little before shifting his attention to the redâor so he expected, anywayâorange, cream, and black fabrics sheâd laid out near her sewing table. Branwen specialized in disguises, and it wasnât hard to guess what she had in mind.Â
âIâm not sureââÂ
âSomeone has to do something.â She strode to the piles of fabrics and ran her fingers over one. âMy backâs feeling great now, and Iâm tired of waiting for Uncleâs miracle. Donât even try to stop me.â
 âI wouldnât.â Some fights were lost ahead of time, and one look at Bran- wenâs grim determination told Jaeger this counted as one of them. âYou could, however, say that Dielâs miracle is underway, although the use of âmiracleâ in this instance may prove hyperbolic. There is a solution, risky as it may be, and your uncle would love to discuss it over breakfast.â

The whole city is searching for Hasryanâsome for revenge and justice, others to save their friends. Yet no one knows where to find him except Lord Arathiel Brasten, who vanished 130 years ago only to magically return.
Lord Diel Dathiriiâs struggle to free his city from the neighbouring imperialistic enclave is far from over. Enemies gather around him, and without allies in Isandorâs upper spheres, he must place his fate in Lower City residents. Little does he know, the city heâs trying to save might well save him in return.