A porcelain cup of steamed green tea tapped the dark cedar table, its pale surface shivering as the muffled roar of the distant tournament arena filtered through the paper screens.
The private upper room of the Cloud Heron Tea House sat tucked inside a narrow lane off the central promenade, safely removed from the crowds celebrating the conclusion of the endurance trial. Caleb Conway unfastened the top clasp of his gray coat, letting the fabric settle against the wooden bench as he reached across the table to pour two measures of pale amber tea from the clay pot. Across from him, Iris loosened the silk sash holding her ivory mantle, her sharp amethyst eyes scanning the paper lattices that faced the alley before she rested her palms flat upon the polished wood.
"The arena officiators are
