An hour later Aria moved through the capital's lower market in a plain cloak and half-mask, golden hair hidden. She stopped at two stalls that sold her medicinal soaps and herbal sweets.
"How are sales?" she asked the first woman quietly.
"Steady enough," the vendor answered, wrapping a package, "but people talk. Some say the Duchess of Ravensdale knows things she shouldn't. Fixed a sickness in her own house too fast. There's a play going around about a lady who mixes black draughts at night."
Aria's stomach tightened. She turned to the older man at the next stall. "And here? Same stories?"
He nodded. "Odd talk. Nothing open, but enough to make better households hesitate. Shame. The soap works better than anything else on the shelf."
She bought a small tin she did not need and turned to leave, only to find Leander leaning against a post a few paces away, clearly having recognized her despite the mask.
"What are you doing here?"
"You seemed to run into trouble here."
