LUCY
The bread tastes like sawdust in my mouth, despite the rich honey glazed over it. I force myself to swallow, watching Amara practically inhale a leg of roasted pheasant. The strength potion is doing its work, but she needs the caloric fuel to anchor her magic.
Beside her, Jaxl and Tavric eat with a mechanical efficiency, their eyes darting to the heavy oak door of the pantry every time a footstep echoes in the corridor.
"We can't go in looking like refugees," Tavric says moments later, dropping a clean bone onto a silver tray. He looks at me, his gaze sweeping over my dusty joggers and the tangled mess of my hair. "If we want them to listen, we have to look the part. Authority is half aesthetic."
I nod, agreeing with him. But how are we going to get appropriate garments for the festivity without being seen and questioned?
"Don't worry… I can handle that. Just follow my instructions…" He mutters, as if reading the uncertainty in my mind.
