The dining table looked as though a crowd had just ransacked it.
The lobster had been torn apart, its empty shell piled on a napkin at the edge of the table. Every oyster shell had been fished out of the broth, the juices lingering in their hollows mingling with the scent of lemon and spices.
Nothing remained of the fatty lamb chops but bare bones. The wine jug lay tipped over, dark red dregs settled at the bottoms of glasses, and breadcrumbs covered the tablecloth...
The smell of leftovers mingled with the sea breeze, candles, and roasted meat seasonings, filling the air of the inn suite.
Renato leaned back in his chair and wiped the grease and grains of salt from his fingertips with the last clean napkin.
He was in no hurry to have anyone clear the table. He let the mess remain before him as he savored the lingering afternoon.
Across the sitting room, the leather sofa sagged deeply. Fresh from her bath, the Sea Elf lay comfortably sprawled on it, her wet hair spilling over the edge of a cushion. Droplets rolled slowly down her neck and shoulders, soaking a small patch of leather dark.
Selina had eaten her fill as well and was enjoying a post-meal afternoon rest. Her pointed ears twitched occasionally, as though the fierce combatant of the previous night had been someone else entirely.
Although Renato had declined the former pirate chief's invitation and returned to High Tide to rest, the Governor's Mansion backing Barnaby seemed quite stunned by Black Blade's single-handed destruction of the Pickle Barrel the night before.
In an unusual departure from their habits, White Harbor's bureaucrats neither dragged their feet nor skimmed off a portion under the pretext of taxes. Instead, they sent someone at noon with a tightly