The fragrant smoke of roasting sweet potatoes drifted across the white flagstones of the upper courtyard.
Twenty-four hours of unbroken peace had settled over Void Lotus Prison Isle.
Down in the sheltered bay, the twenty Star-Iron warships rode the turquoise swells at anchor, their sails furled and their gun ports closed.
Along the battlements, allied soldiers sat in the afternoon sun, polishing their armor and sharing dried fish rations.
In the center of the courtyard, Barnaby Holt tended a small charcoal brazier with his hickory ladle.
He turned four fat red-skinned sweet potatoes on the wire grate, their caramelized juices sizzling against the coals.
“Sweet potatoes need slow heat,” Barnaby muttered happily, adjusting the draft with his tongs. “Rush the fire, and you burn the sugar before the meat is soft.”
Beside the brazier, Claire Vance sat in a low bamboo armchair, wearing a clean robe of soft gray wool.
