Tower of Dawn

The part that had glimpsed the spires and minarets and domes of the god-city breaking over the horizon as they’d sailed in, the shining pillar of the Torre standing proud over it all, and had to swallow back tears. Words from a mysterious stranger, perhaps a god who had worn the skin of a battered young woman, whose gift of gold had gotten her here. To him, to anyone. “Lord Westfall is now Hand to King Dorian Havilliard.” Shock slackened the merchant’s face. And after two weeks at sea, dodging fierce storms that the captain only called Ship-Wreckers … his stomach had finally forgiven him.