It was not the first time he had looked inside it.
Days ago, in Zarven's office overlooking the harbor, he had glanced into the ring once, then again. It had been enough to see more wealth than he expected, and enough to make him feel like a pauper for the second time in Vhal-Sar.
But a glance was all it had been.
He had not looked properly.
Now he did.
The space inside the ring was far larger than he had assumed. It was larger than his courtyard, and perhaps even larger than the entrance hall of the Varn residence with its silver tree and glass cases.
And unlike most spatial rings, nothing inside it had simply been thrown in.
Thin lines of amber light divided the space into sections, like the aisles of a trading hall. Every item had its own place. Every pile had its own corner.
Even inside a ring, the Daegrins kept their ledgers in order.
Simon's perception moved to the nearest section first.
Hell Stones.
Piles of them.
