They found a small bakery on a quiet side street, its windows filled with golden-brown loaves of bread and trays of sweet, sticky pastries. The smell was heavenly.
They bought two large, fruit-filled tarts and sat on a bench in a small, sun-drenched square to eat them. It was the most normal, peaceful moment Nox had experienced in his entire life. And it was perfect.
"So," he said, after demolishing his tart in about thirty seconds. "A kingdom on the verge of civil war. We need to find the 'fulcrum point'. Any ideas?"
"We observe," Serian replied, taking a much more dignified bite of her own pastry. "We listen. The whispers of a story are always loudest among its everyday people."
They spent the rest of the day just… walking. They wandered the city, listening to the snippets of conversation in the marketplace, the hushed arguments in the taverns, the proud boasts of the city guards.
