Lanterns burned low and golden leaving honeyed light over lacquered bowls and steaming platters.
The air inside was spice—saffron, smoked pepper, and the copper-sweet tang of roasted meat.
Outside, the city of dragons murmured and moved; inside, the single room felt like a pocket of another world, warm and intimate and utterly removed from the politics that had summoned them here.
Aric and Serina sat opposite one another at a small wooden table by the papered window.
Steam rose between them, curling into the lantern light.
Servants moved with quiet obedience, placing dishes of braised root, skewered fish glazed with a sharp honey, and a thick barley porridge dotted with roasted seeds.
Aric paused only long enough to survey the spread before he spoke, the words tasting like iron on his tongue.
"You asked about the riders," he said, taking a small mouthful and rolling the flavor over his tongue as if testing thought, not food.
"The Flame Crusaders."
