The basalt pillars shrieked as the planetary anchor bore the weight of nine worlds.
Dust showered from the high cornices of the Grand Vault, but Kaelen’s tea remained perfectly level in its cup.
He did not rush to the parapets. He did not watch the void bridges tear apart under the strain of the colossal winches.
Instead, he turned toward the center of the chamber, where the golden leaves of the Celestial Tax Ledger rested upon their silk cushion.
“Deacon,” Kaelen said smoothly, setting his empty cup on the table. “Open the distribution registers.”
Deacon Vane blinked, scurrying around the edge of the altar. “The distribution registers, Young Master? We are currently being hauled into a celestial furnace!”
“Which means we have an elevator ride,” Kaelen replied. “And like any respectable passenger, I prefer to settle the plumbing before we reach our floor.”
Sera Thorne stepped up to the pedestal, her fingers steady as she helped Vane turn the heavy silver-foil pages.
