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lived in rooms above the shops. Karigan could not verify this, for she did not follow the trends in poetry.
    A man leaned in the doorway of his music shop playing a jaunty tune on a pipe for passersby while two men beside him argued philosophy.
    The scents of spicy foods drifted into the street from tiny eateries and mingled. There was a growing population from the Under Kingdoms now residing in the city, bringing with them the sounds of their ringing accents and the flavors of their exotic foods.
    The horses skittered around an oblivious fellow who crossed the street with his nose in a book. A man and woman, gaudily dressed and painted, juggled rings and balls for a collection of youngsters and their parents.
    The colors, smells, and sounds of Gryphon Street were an enlivening feast for one who had been spending far too much time on castle grounds. Mara was right: it was good to get out and see something different. When Mara was well enough, Karigan vowed to bring her here to Gryphon Street, and maybe to other parts of the city as well. There was so much to see, but it seemed like she never had the time. Until today.
    Along the way, Braymer spoke little. Perhaps he was shy, or maybe just content to absorb his surroundings, looking from side to side as the carriage rolled down the street. Karigan supposed that if she were playing more the part of a lady, she’d engage him in some meaningless conversation, or flirt, or something. She just didn’t feel like making the effort.
    Presently the carriage pulled up to a bright storefront under the sign of the teapot and cup.
    “Ah, this is the place,” Braymer said, an expression of delight on his face. “Mistress Lampala’s Tea Room. I understand it is very good.”
    Fortunately, when one was in “lady mode,” the gentlemen were quite willing to assist one in disembarking from the carriage. They even opened doors!
    Karigan teetered on the uneven cobblestones. “Ridiculous shoes,” she murmured to herself. Only Braymer and Styles prevented her from falling face-first into horse droppings. No wonder some perceived women as weak—it was the clothes!
    She had to admit that the solicitous attention was nice. She rarely received such courtesy when in uniform.
    The tea room was dark after the bright sunshine on the street, the sound muted. There were eight tables inside, mostly occupied by couples. One young woman sat alone by a window scrawling furiously on a sheaf of papers, crossing out most of what she had just written with dramatic sweeps of her pen, and pausing only to sip from her teacup. One of Gryphon Street’s forty poets?
    The aroma of delicious baked treats drifted in the air, mixing with something more exotic. Kauv. Kauv was a hot, bitter drink imported from the Cloud Islands that was all the rage among the nobles.
    The tea room was not the fancy, formal place Karigan feared it might be, the type of place where noble matrons nibbled on sweet dainties and gossiped the afternoon away. Rather, it catered to the artistic denizens of the neighborhood, as well as a healthy mix of everyone else, from the common laborer to a pair of stylish aristocrats.
    Just as Karigan’s feet began to go completely numb in the bloody shoes, a voluptuous woman burst from a back room, seeming to suck in the energy from all those around her.
    “Hello, hello, my dears,” she said.
    This would be Mistress Lampala no doubt, Karigan thought.
    “Be seated, be seated.” She swept them to an open table, Styles scowling all the way.
    Judging from Mistress Lampala’s accent and deep bronze skin, she hailed from the Cloud Islands, a likely connection that allowed her to serve kauv in her tea room. Not only did the beans that made kauv grow on the islands, but so did sugarcane, and in Karigan’s opinion, one needed lots of sugar to make kauv palatable, otherwise it tasted rather like burned bark. It was a winning situation for Mistress Lampala who charged an exorbitant price for both, but