Thick gray smoke smelling of rendered mutton fat and crushed cumin billowed across the rocky approach path.
Outside the iron gates of Cold-Spring Grotto, four scions of the Pill Houses huddled around a roaring iron fire pit. They wore heavy wolf-fur cloaks, gold-embroidered gloves, and smug, mocking grins.
Lucan Morvane held a whole roasted lamb leg over the embers. He turned the iron spit with a lazy flick of his wrist, letting sizzling grease drip onto the stones with loud, hissing pops.
“Third Son of the Vance house!” Lucan bellowed toward the cavern archway. “How does the frost feel on your knuckles? Is your tea frozen solid yet?”
Beside him, young Master Chen tore a juicy strip of meat with his teeth, laughing loudly.
“Come out and beg, Vance!” Chen yelled, waving an iron skewer in the air. “Hand over the grotto keys, and we might toss you a bowl of hot broth!”
Young Master Song and a cousin from House Pyre clinked their brass wine bowls together. They tossed charred rib bones at the frozen iron bars, shouting bawdy tavern verses about lazy beggars sleeping in ditches.
Their taunts echoed across the frozen gorge, intended to break Kaelen’s pride and force him out of seclusion.
