With ten days remaining until Kaelen’s three-month cap, the outer Censorate library was quieter than a monastery tomb.
Two hundred yards away in the Royal Tea Garden, Kaelen Vance slept beneath his straw sun hat. Tracks Three and Four ticked steadily past one thousand nine hundred and twenty hours.
Inside the outer library reading room, Linnea’s romance-novel alchemist cult had arranged a quiet study circle around a long mahogany table.
Linnea set Kaelen’s loaned cedar box onto the felt-covered tabletop, laying out all eleven published booklets of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride in sequential order.
Soft footsteps padded across the woolen carpet.
Elder Sterling stepped up to the head of the table. A polished bronze badge was pinned proudly to his chest, stamped with bold characters: President of the Bandit-Bride Sword Research Society.
Behind him came Master Bao and three senior Seven-Tower alchemists, each clutching bundles of ink brushes and stone slates.
Old Barnaby brought up the rear, carrying a wide wooden tray loaded with steaming bowls of winter melon soup and roasted barley cakes, while Deacon Vane followed with his brass calipers.
