Lanterns were being lit along the lower herb sheds of Ash Reed as Seyun, Daro. Kes prepared to climb the steep mountain trail back to the lower hospice and the abandoned seal court. By the wooden water-gate outside the forge shop, Joren and Kes stood three paces apart in the dusk, comparing the exact chest muscle tension of the one-heartbeat foundation pause. Kes—whose channels had been scarred by an Aperture Court substitute manual in Oran—showed Joren how he relaxed his injured right shoulder half a beat before stopping the breath. Joren, whose chest had been burned by a Court fire vessel, showed Kes how to keep the pause from drifting upward into the throat.
Watching the two young men from the bridge rail with his new short sword resting at his hip, Daro Kesh shook his head slightly. “Three times in four years I paid the stamp fee in Oran and filed formal petitions with the Aperture Court’s board of order to have the black-roof school’s teaching charter restored,” Daro said quietly to Seyun. “Every time, I told myself that until the test judges returned my bronze seal, my school was suspended.”
“And?” Seyun asked, tucking his Account Book into his coat.
