A gray homing pigeon fluttered through the porch lattice, crashing beak-first into Kaelen’s bowl of salted melon seeds.
Kaelen caught the bird before it could knock his teacup into the charcoal brazier.
He stroked its neck, detaching a narrow copper message tube from its talon. The cylinder was sealed with Deacon Vane’s personal black-wax crow crest, stamped in such haste that the wax was smeared with grease.
Kaelen cracked the seal and shook out the strip of paper.
Deacon Vane’s handwriting was frantic, sprawling across the sheet in jagged strokes.
Master Ash! Blood-Hound Vael has surrounded the Black-Crow auction hall with two hundred heavy blades and iron ballistas.
Vael swears he will flay my hide unless I surrender your sales ledger. Bring Elder Sterling and Senior Sister Sera at once!
Kaelen folded the paper into a neat square and set it on the tea table.
