Thick, swirling clouds of glowing silver-blue mist rose from the wide subterranean spirit bath beneath the private estate, filling the vaulted crystal chamber with the rich, heady fragrance of aged spirit-sandalwood and concentrated Earth-Heart Spirit Marrow.
Outside and five hundred feet above the bedrock of Azure Fall City, the wooden prison-carriage carrying the disgraced First Prince Huang Wei was barely three miles down the snowy western highway. Down here in the warm, eighty-degree sanctuary carved directly over the ancient spirit vein, the bitter mid-winter gale did not exist.
Archmage Alaric Steele leaned his broad, muscular back against the smooth blue-gold crystal ledge of the steaming pool, the glowing water lapping around his waist.
