Midnight arrived with the sharp scent of mountain frost and pine sap.
Outside Cold-Spring Grotto, the terrace glow-stones cast long amber beams across the weathered tea table. Princess Valeria unrolled four separate survey charts, weighting the curling corners with polished iron ingots.
“The primary magma conduit cuts through Sector Nine,” Valeria whispered, tapping a charcoal cross on the parchment. “Warden Krahl’s patrols rotate every forty minutes. If we miss the gap between the third and fourth watch, the crimson crystal towers will burn the ravine to ash.”
Elder Sterling leaned over the table, his scholar cap replaced by an iron combat helm. He held a brass drafting stylus in his left hand, his face pale in the lantern light.
“The guard rotation is tight,” Sterling agreed, shaking his head. “And look here. Krahl has placed three blood-iron ballistas on the ridge overlooking the slag bridge.”
Both of them turned their gazes toward the far side of the table.
Kaelen Vance sat comfortably on his folding bamboo chair, his feet propped up on an empty herb crate. A small ceramic lamp rested beside his elbow, illuminating the crisp pages of Book Seven of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride.
Kaelen took a slow sip of cold jasmine tea. He did not glance at the tactical maps.
