A porcelain teacup rattled softly against a bronze serving tray as three rapid knocks sounded at the heavy oak door.
Sera Thorne crossed the floor in two silent strides, pressing her ear to the thick timber. Her hand rested on the pommel of her dagger, her muscles coiled like a spring.
“Who is it?” Sera demanded in a low whisper.
“Fresh barley tea for the White-Lotus delegation,” a muffled, cultured voice answered from the hall. “With extra dried melon seeds.”
Sera drew back the iron bolt.
A young tea maid stepped quickly through the doorway, holding a polished bronze tray piled with steaming ceramics. She wore the plain blue cotton smock and white headscarf of the bridge service staff.
The moment the heavy door slammed shut behind her, the maid set the tray on the cedar table with a sharp click.
She pulled off the white linen headscarf, shaking out a cascade of black-and-silver hair that tumbled past her shoulders.
