"An ice-cold ale, please," Orn requested, sliding a few copper coins across the counter.
As he walked toward the common rooms where he'd sleep that night—a loft above a brazier shop—he unwrapped the cloth. The broth had grown cool, but the warmth lingered in his bones. It would not return him to courts or honors, but it would keep him moving, step by step. Exile had narrowed his world, but it had not erased him.
