Two heavy iron drop-bars crashed across the pavilion doors, rattling the bronze fittings in their sockets.
Elder Sterling drove the butt of his iron broadsword into the floorboards, cutting off the southern exit. His eyes burned with fury as he scanned the assembled inner elders.
“Nobody leaves this hall,” Sterling growled. “Not an elder, not an envoy, not a house servant.”
At the council dais, Grand Rector Shen laid the black jade slip upon the cedar table.
The blood-inked seal of Patriarch Morvane gleamed in the firelight. Beside it, cramped accounting symbols formed a jagged column of text.
Kaelen Vance sat on a bench near the eastern wall, his black linen blindfold tied firmly behind his head. He leaned back against the cool plaster, holding a half-eaten candied hawthorn between his fingers.
Investigating a treasonous conspiracy sounds remarkably like paperwork, Kaelen thought, chewing slowly. If I take off this blindfold, someone will ask me to cross-reference ledger balances, and my Track 2 multiplier will go right down the privy.
Inside his dantian, the Nine-Ringed Fallow Core spun with smooth, silent rhythm.
