Lanterns lit the study, old brass lanterns that burned with Charter Magic in place of oil. Smokeless, silent and eternal, they provided as good a light as the electric bulbs of Ancelstierre.

Books lined the walls, following the curves of the tower around, save for where the stair rose from below, and the ladder climbed to the observatory above.

A redwood table sat in the middle of the room, its legs scaled and beady-eyed, ornamental flames licking from the mouths of the dragonheads that gripped each corner of the tabletop.

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