Dawn broke over Valemir in gradual layers of amber and gold, the early morning light filtering through the partially drawn curtains of The Crooked Spire Inn. David stirred from his bed in the small adjoining room he'd secured from the innkeeper the previous night.
Despite the added expense, he'd insisted on acquiring separate accommodations for their unexpected guest—a decision based on practicality rather than chivalry. Sylindra's condition required privacy and proper care, and converting their single room into an impromptu infirmary would have severely limited their operational capabilities.
The innkeeper had raised an eyebrow at his late-night request for an additional room, but a few extra silver ternion coins had silenced any questions. "For the elf," was all the explanation he'd provided, which seemed to satisfy her curiosity—or at least her willingness to appear curious.
