The guest quarters of the Ironclad Estate were luxurious. The sheets were silk. The furniture was mahogany. The wine in the crystal decanter was older than the Empire itself. But to Kael it was just another cage.
He stood by the window looking out at the sprawling capital of Aethelgard. It was a city of spires and smoke. Magic lanterns glowing in the wealthy districts clashed with the coal fires of the slums. It smelled of unwashed bodies and expensive perfume. It smelled of lies.
"You are pacing again," Valeria said.
She sat at the desk surrounded by stacks of parchment she had requested from the Duke's archivist. She was still wearing her travel clothes. The dust of Oakhaven was on her boots.
"I can smell the arena from here," Kael growled. He turned from the window. "The sand. The blood. The fear sweat. It rides the wind."
"It is five miles away, Kael," Valeria said without looking up from a diagram of the Chimera. "You are smelling your memories."
