The morning of the third day in the Celestara Spire arrived with a quality of light that felt almost liturgical. It was a dense, liquid gold that poured through the star-glass windows, illuminating the motes of opalite dust that danced in the air like microscopic constellations. Kael stood on the high balcony of the medical wing, his fingers curled loosely around the cool marble railing. He was dressed in a simple tunic of dark, unadorned wool, a stark contrast to the heavy ceremonial silks he had worn before the Council. The mountain wind was a gentle thing today, a soft breath that smelled of high-altitude ice and the faint, citrusy tang of the sun-blooms beginning to open in the hanging gardens three levels below.
He stood perfectly still, his eyes closed, practicing the slow, deep inh
