The sweet, nutty aroma of roasted chestnuts drifted through the fifth-floor Inner Sanctum at noon on Day 33.
Kaelen Vance sat on a low wooden stool beside a bronze Spirit-Charcoal Brazier.
He held a pair of long iron tongs, lazily turning six fat chestnuts over the glowing red embers. Every few moments, a shell would crack with a sharp pop, releasing a puff of fragrant steam.
“Spirit-charcoal makes the best chestnuts,” Sterling remarked, sniffing the air with appreciation. “Normal wood coal smokes too much. It leaves soot on the skin. Spirit embers give an even heat that caramelizes the sugar inside the meat.”
“Mina picked them from the market,” Kaelen murmured lazily. “She traded three copper coins for a full basket.”
Beside him, Mina sat cross-legged on the carpet, watching the chestnuts like a hungry hawk. “The merchant said they came from the Northern Pine Ridges. If you roast them slow, they taste like honey.”
Across the room, Elder Sterling leaned against a bookshelf, squinting across the chamber trying to read Book 9 from eight feet away. Sera Thorne sat by the window alcove, dipping a whetstone in sweet almond oil to polish her needles.
Inside Kaelen’s mind, the Fallow Slate hovered in calm, majestic serenity.
