Atheron kept both palms flat against the throne while four engineers knelt beneath its dais and worked six catches loose. The wards ran through his arms and spine without a flicker while the capital's damaged circulation kept turning far overhead.
At his word, they lifted the foundation keystone free and slid the seat's outer section aside on greased runners.
"Easy, easy, don't drop the royal furniture on the royal feet," Hajin muttered, crouching beside the dark mouth of the stair.
The last catch settled into an engineer's waiting maintenance frame with a dull clack that echoed downward.
"My father called it the root network," Atheron said, keeping his shoulders perfectly still against the seat.
"The accounts below contradict one another, and not one of them gives a map I would trust from this entrance."
