Kaelen prodded the crimson obsidian talisman with the burnt end of his bamboo stick.
The volcanic glass did not scorch the wood. Instead, a pleasant, gentle warmth radiated outward, making the steam above his jasmine tea swirl in tight red spirals. Deep within the stone, the captive ember pulsed in slow, steady intervals.
Most cultivators look at a royal heirloom and see thrones, armies, and revenge, Kaelen thought, watching the red light dance on his knuckles. I just see a very efficient portable stove. It would probably brew red-bean porridge in three minutes without leaving a trace of charcoal soot.
He looked up at Princess Valeria.
The dispossessed heir of the Iron-Crown Duchy stood tall on his rickety porch. Her silver-streaked hair stirred in the mountain breeze, and her amber eyes were fixed on his face with razor-sharp intensity.
“You speak of royal keys like they’re market trinkets,” Kaelen said, setting his stick down on the rim of the brazier. “What does an exiled princess want with a reclusive old pill master?”
Valeria took a slow step forward. Her dark leather boots made the old pine boards creak softly underfoot.
“I need Master Ash because he is the only man in this duchy who can refine zero-poison medicine,” Valeria said. Her voice was quiet, but every syllable carried the weight of cold steel.
