It's been less than an hour since the shadow attack.
Morale is low.
They gave everything they had, and it wasn't enough. Korvosa held nothing back and there's now nothing left.
But still there's no rest for Field Marshall Cressida Kroft.
The people of Korvosa, reduced to the extremest misery and poverty, many without even a fork or washcloth to their name, sitting or pacing on unworked stone without beds to sleep in, have been stripped of that patina of human civility that blunts tempers sharp and raw. The indigent survivors of the city jumbled together without care for class or hatreds old and new makes for a volatile situation.
Her Guard is exhausted. It falls on the Field Marshall herself to break up the fights between commoners and nobles, Korvosans and foreign adventurers, Korvosans and those Academae wizards who couldn't save the city but who could set it on fire, between Chellish Korvosans and Korvosan Shoanti scapegoats. It seems all Korvosa's loudest have an opinion on who's fault tonight was, but the Field Marshall is well aware that the real villain is one Cressida Kroft, who wasn't prepared, and who didn't prepare the city. Some people intuit this basic point, if they follow less than valid routes getting there, but most fingers find someone less popular to point at. Which is another thing that she did wrong.