Vayne choked on his own spit, his fingers clawing at the hilt of his sheathed sword.
The thirty armored guards stood frozen on the steep rock path. Two of them still rubbed their bruised shins where the dropped iron ram had bounced off the stone.
“You dare come out dressed like a beggar?” Vayne snarled, his voice cracking like dry wood. “Where is your academy uniform? Why are you wearing a sleeping rag over your eyes?”
Kaelen took another slow sip from his warm clay cup. The fragrant steam carried the crisp, soothing tang of river mint and roasted valley barley.
If I walk fast enough to spill this tea, that’s three copper bits of dry leaf wasted, Kaelen thought. Rushing is a tax paid by people who lack proper time management.
“The morning air is crisp,” Kaelen said mildly. “Sera, guide the way. The steps here are uneven, and I dislike stubbing my toes before lunch.”
Sera Thorne stepped forward without a word. She held the blunt shaft of her blackened ash spear horizontally before her, letting Kaelen lightly hook two fingers over the polished wood.
Mina fell into step on his left flank. A faint frost-glimmer hovered around her fingertips, daring any guard to step within three paces of the frayed hem of her brother’s robe.
