The scent of crushed herbs lingered in the room. 

Adriana stirred faintly. 

A dull ache throbbed through her left hand before the memories came rushing back. The assassin. 

The dagger. 

The strange silver light. 

Her eyes flew open.

She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her palm and she winced. "Easy there." 

Annie's familiar voice reached her ears and Adriana turned her head. 

The cheerful woman sat beside the bed, carefully grinding fresh herbs in a small stone mortar. Rolls of clean linen, wooden bowls, and tiny clay jars were arranged neatly across the bedside table. 

"You gave us quite the scare," Annie said with a...