After returning to the inn, they ate first.
The meal was a simple one included with the room: each person received a piece of black bread, a bowl of stew, and a cup of watered-down ale.
The black bread had been baked the day before. Its crust was hard, and tiny crumbs fell when it was broken apart. It had to be softened in the stew broth before it could be bitten through.
The stew was made from potatoes and carrots, with a small amount of minced meat. A few lentils had settled at the bottom of the bowl, while a thin sheen of oil floated on the surface.
The ale came in clay cups. It had a faint sourness upon entry, little bitterness, and only a light aroma of malt.
Though the meal was hardly luxurious, compared to the commoners who could not even eat their fill, it was already a rare delicacy.
The three sat at a table by the window, eating their own portions without speaking.
Copperbeard finished the last mouthful of ale, set his cup down flat after swallowing, wiped the inside of it with his finger, then put the final drops into his mouth.
Carl used his last piece of bread to scrape the bottom of his bowl clean, then stuffed it into his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.
Mia ate the slowest. She mashed the chunks of potato in her stew with the back of her spoon and drank them down with the broth.
After dinner, they returned to Mia's room and bolted the door from the inside.
There was only one table, two chairs, and an oil lamp in the room, which was filled with a fresh scent of grass and plants.
It was Mia's scent.
Carl drew in a deep,