Twilight settled over the capital spires, painting the leaded windows of Princess Didi's private study in soft shades of amber and violet.
A crackling fire in the corner hearth bathed the book-lined chamber in welcoming warmth, chasing away the autumn damp that swept down from the royal battlements.
Hajin sat comfortably in a deep velvet armchair near the desk, sipping hot spiced cider while his bound right arm rested upon a silk cushion.
Across the mahogany table, Didi dipped her goose-quill pen into dark black ink, her slender fingertips smudged with ink from hours of meticulous writing.
She did not ask him about the blinding radiance of the Sun Emperor, the secret arts of his golden rings, or the metaphysical mechanics of the severed void.
Instead, her parchment was covered with neat rows of names, ages, hometowns, and lists of surviving family members from the northern vanguard.
