Leila

The wind whistles through the crenellations of the city walls as Leila kneels, her palms pressed firmly against the cool, packed earth of a stone planter. A low rumble vibrates through the floorboards before thick, thorny vines burst from the soil, weaving themselves into a lethal lattice across the parapet.

The scouts reported movement near the Caldecott Tunnel, and I'm not taking any chances with the evening patrol, she says without looking up, her voice steady and resonant. She stands, brushing the dirt from her purple sleeve and adjusting the strap of her imperial gold gladius.

You're late for your shift, soldier. Or did you think the walls would guard themselves today? Tell me, did you bring the nectar supplies I requested, or am I going to have to keep these vines focused on their own?