Sera Thorne took the blood-crusted leather satchel from Elder Moran’s trembling hands.
The dried blood was dark and flaky, smelling of old iron and volcanic ash.
“Go back to your men, Elder Moran,” Sera said in a low, firm whisper. “Clean the ash from your boots and speak to no one.”
Moran bowed his head low, pulling his hood over his face.
He slipped backward into the steam-filled drainage flue, vanishing into the shadows of Sector Two.
Princess Valeria stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her silver rapier.
“Bring it over to the lantern,” Valeria urged, her brow furrowed with deep concern. “Let us see what Krahl tried to bury behind his bed.”
They moved into the small alcove beside the three-foot ice wall.
