“Deal,” Kaelen said without hesitation.
He tucked the vellum map into his inner pocket alongside the Sword-Heir token.
“Deacon Vane already left the advance press copy on my nightstand,” Kaelen added. “Keep your mornings clear. Once I finish reading part four, you can borrow it—unless you interrupt my nap to ask who poisoned the Duke’s wine, in which case I’ll burn the final five pages.”
Elder Sterling shuddered, clutching his scholar robes to his chest like a child guarding a secret treasure. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Kaelen replied smoothly, turning his back on the plaza. “Sera, guide the way. The noon sun is giving my crown chakra an undignified sunburn.”
The walk back up the mountain path was gloriously quiet.
No disciples blocked the gorge stairs. No enforcers shouted challenges from the pine trees.
Whenever an inner student caught sight of Kaelen’s faded bathrobe and black silk blindfold, they pressed themselves flat against the cliff face, bowing until their foreheads brushed the ferns. Word of the Founder Stele trial had already spread across every courtyard in the academy.
