Four days later, the sky above the imperial capital turned the dark purple of a bruised plum.
A heavy, rhythmic shudder rattled the porcelain teacups on the stone tables of the Royal Tea Garden.
Boom.
The sound was not an ordinary thunderclap. It struck straight at the marrow of the bone, vibrating through the grass and shaking loose autumn leaves from the willow trees.
Boom. Boom.
A mile away on the garden lawn, Grand Alchemist Xuan dropped his iron gardening shears with a muffled yelp.
The old man clutched his temples, rolling across the freshly weeded dandelion patch. Blood dripped steadily from his nostrils, spattering the damp soil.
“The drums,” Xuan whimpered, pressing his face into the soft loam. “The Emperor has ordered the Cardinal Blood-Drums sounded. The madness is starting.”
