It was easy to tell that trouble arrived when the stranger in bright green shoes appeared at the town’s dance. Especially because the dance was secret. Old and private. The dancers, the ironworkers and lumberjacks didn’t appreciate an audience. It wasn’t for outsiders to know that the same hard men and women who stared down steel eyed lynxes and solicitors alike with icy glares could move with freedom and grace, in time to the music. Sometimes when you give so much of yourself up for others, you fiercely guard the part you keep for yourself.
    I’m rushing ahead, already.
    Bast was the first to spot the stranger with green shoes. He wasn’t particularly strong or good at staring down his enemies being the Stronggate’s shoemaker. But he had a knack for spotting trouble. He saw her standing at the corner of the square, her bold shoes gleaming in the lamplight, and stopped still among the current of dancers. One by one the others noticed too and slowed, until someone turned down the music and all went still.