On the outside, Heena looked every inch the imperious, untouchable aristocrat ready to tear the intruders limb from limb. Inside, however, her nerves were pulled taut as a bowstring, a cold tremor running beneath her skin.
She had thrown this entire setup together in less than sixty seconds. The fresh dirt over the buried chicken was barely three feet away from her heels, and she knew that if even one sharp-eyed local looked past the smoke and noticed the disturbed soil, she was finished. She had no choice but to go on the absolute offensive. In this city, the divide between the nobility and the commoners was a massive chasm; even as a castaway, if she projected enough ruthless, high-born arrogance, these market vendors wouldn't dare look too closely.
Wiping the streaming tears from her eyes, Old Zhao coughed violently into her fist and glared through the acrid, stinging haze. "What in the heavens are you doing in here?! Boiling poison?!"
