After a leisurely morning in the barracks, Kaelen strolled down the winding dirt path as the late-morning haze cleared from the lower canyon terraces.
He held a chipped bamboo tea canister loosely in his left hand while Mina walked beside him carrying a steaming porcelain kettle. On his right, Sera Thorne matched his pace, her dark eyes scanning the armed guards lined along the canyon rim. Behind them, Barnaby Holt marched with his wooden ladle clutched against his ribs, muttering half-coherent prayers.
“Forty-seven hours in a hemp hammock,” Barnaby hissed under his breath. “Now he walks to the executioner’s block with a kettle of tea.”
“Hush, Uncle Barnaby,” Mina whispered softly. “Brother knows what he is doing.”
“He knows how to read trashy romance books!” Barnaby croaked, his single hand tugging his gray beard. “That is what he knows!”
Linnea hurried to keep up, her silver Guild alchemist badge clinking against her collar. “Kaelen, Senior Appraiser Justin from the Northern Division is notoriously strict. If your cauldron is cold when the third bell tolls, he will declare a forfeit on the spot!”
“A cold cauldron is easily warmed,” Kaelen replied mildly. “A burnt tongue, however, ruins an entire morning.”
They rounded the final stone buttress and stepped into the central square.
