A slow, comfortable smile spread across Kaelen Vance’s face as he looked out across the turquoise waters of the lagoon.
“Three hundred novels,” Kaelen murmured, setting his empty porcelain teacup on the parapet. He held all four Slate tracks through the landing and auction preparations until the seventy-two-hour rest began. “And twenty-one thousand Sovereign Jade Cores.”
“Master Ash,” Deacon Vane said, his whiskers twitching with profound reverence. “Are you implying that we should intercept these venerable elders on the high seas?”
“Intercepting people on the high seas sounds like manual labor,” Kaelen replied. “We would have to untie ropes, shout through trumpets, and dodge ballista bolts. It is far simpler to let them sail to us and pay us for the privilege.”
Sera Thorne leaned against her newly reforged spear, watching the morning mist burn off the volcanic cliffs.
“Drift-Moon Island is forty miles northwest,” Sera noted. “It is the only neutral free port in the archipelago. The island council enforces a strict treaty of non-aggression, backed by three ancient harbor arrays.”
“Which means no warships,” Kaelen said approvingly. “No screaming marines, no naval drills, and an entire market street dedicated to mortal booksellers.”
Ninety days in a volcanic trench without reading material would be a death sentence.
