A small clay kettle bubbled merrily over the glowing coals, sending a pale ribbon of steam toward the damp limestone vault.
Beside the warm spring, Alchemist Linnea knelt on a clean grass mat, her delicate fingers measuring dried mint and crushed jade-dew tea leaves into four glazed earthenware flagons. Her silver-rimmed spectacles sat perched on the bridge of her nose, reflecting the orange glow of the brazier.
Twenty paces toward the entrance, the bottleneck remained silent.
Sera Thorne stood with her boots planted firmly on the dry rock just behind Mina’s sheet of black ice, her star-iron pike resting against her shoulder. Her dark eyes scanned the shadowed cleft every few seconds, listening to the drip of water.
Behind her, Mina sat wrapped in a thick wool blanket, sipping a cup of hot turnip broth to restore her frost Qi after twelve hours of holding the ice barrier.
“Drink slowly, Mina,” Linnea called out softly, adjusting the charcoal draft with a brass poker. “I added three drops of White-Honey Dew to soothe the chill in your chest.”
“Thank you, Sister Linnea,” Mina said, her voice muffled by the rim of the wooden cup. “It tastes like sweet ginger.”
Linnea smiled, then turned back to the rows of clay bottles lining the stone shelf.
