The rumors began before the bridge was closed.
They started in the taverns, as most rumors did. Low voices over cheap ale, heads bent together, eyes darting toward the door whenever a stranger entered. The Voss family had been arrested. The Grand Bridge was crumbling. The king had known for years and done nothing. The king had just found out and was covering his tracks. The duke's new husband had discovered the truth during a moonlit swim and had surfaced with water dripping from his hair and doom on his lips.
By midday, the city was breathing whispers.
Kaelen heard them as he walked from the castle to the bridge site, Lysander at his side, the beast in his arms. They came from street corners and market stalls, from the windows of shops and the steps of tenements. They were carried by fishwives and merchants and children too young to understand what they were saying but old enough to know that something was wrong.
