The violent storm of the High Citadel had finally subsided, leaving the capital under the quiet, unchallenged rule of the South. But while the councilors scrambled to restore order and clean the blood from the marble steps, Draven had no intention of remaining cooped up inside the suffocating stone walls of the keep.
By mid-afternoon, he had ushered me away from the endless political inquiries and led me down the winding, ancient stone stairwells that descended deep beneath the castle foundations. The dark, cold passages eventually opened up into a hidden sanctuary—a vast, sunken garden nestled directly against the jagged southern cliffs, mere leagues before the iron threshold that led toward the desolate expanse of Vael'ethor.
