His study was a God-damn battlefield. Bookcases turned over, floor ripped up, tapestries torn, the door was on fire, guards cowering in fear behind a bust of one of his ancestors, trying to push the other one out so they could hog all the space. Ivorybeak was in the ceiling, on the chandelier, Handy was ankle deep in torn papers and detritus, glaring wrath upon his poor chancellor.