Across the hushed tiers of the Grand Cauldron Hall, three thousand spectators leaned over the balcony rails with their necks craned toward the forty-fourth stall.
In the sudden, taut stillness, the hiss of dying embers sounded like rushing water. Near the judging dais, six senior proctors halted in their tracks, their eyes locked on the pile of black mineral and the lead weights resting in the lantern light.
Senior Appraiser Kael stood on one leg for a second longer before slamming his boot down onto the flagstone.
His face flushed from curdled white to a dark, furious crimson. He puffed his chest out, smoothing his blue silk sleeves as if dusting off a speck of soot.
“Preposterous!” Kael bellowed, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling. “This is a baseless slander against a senior elder of the Nine-Cauldron Guild!”
Kaelen Vance didn’t flinch. He stayed seated on his three-legged pine stool, resting his chin on his palm.
“That’s a lot of noise for an empty stomach, Elder,” Kaelen said. “I only asked why my coal smelled like vinegar.”
“That is not vinegar, you ignorant hill-town clod!” Kael shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the heap. “That is Iron-Vein Dark Charcoal, imported from the high northern crags at great expense to stabilize deep-draft bronze pots!”
