The Three Mugs Bar was lively that night. Laughter and mugs clashing filled the air, but as soon as Arden and his group stepped through the door, the noise shifted, not silenced but colored with whispers. People had seen their faces on the battlefield, and respect carried quickly in a place like Greyhold.
The receptionist, a thin man with quick hands and a quicker bow, rushed forward. "Honored guests," he said, voice dripping with courtesy, "what may I bring you? Refreshments? Something to ease the wait before I fetch Master Boro?"
Rael leaned closer to Nyra and muttered, "This feels strange. Like we suddenly grew a second skin."
Nyra only nodded, though her eyes softened. It was a welcome change after the scorn they had grown used to. Arden gave a small smile and waved his hand. "Just water will do. Call Boro."
The man bowed so low Arden thought his forehead might hit the floor.
