She wasn’t mistaken. This was Noemi, the woman who had slapped Violetta that day in the market district. Her black hair was done up in elegant style with delicate silver links decorating her tresses, but there was no mistaking the poison-green eyes and the beauty mark by her mouth, nor the sour, sharp expression creeping into her gaze. Evening darkness had fallen, but the torch light was plenty enough to see by.
Anzi knew. This was her. And for some reason, she had the emerald brooch in her hair that Violetta had bought for her and held onto. Anzi could believe that young harem girls were forced to lend pretty baubles over to their senior sisters on demand, but something was wrong. Not only was Letti nowhere to be seen, but she had disappeared from the harem quarters altogether. After another fight—or more abuse, rather—had she run off somewhere so no one could find her? If Noemi had slapped her again and left another mark, Letti would hardly show herse
