Aurra only shook her head, a soft laugh escaping before she could stop it.
“That right there,” she said lightly, “is exactly why I said it. Maybe sometimes I won't want you to behave."
She smiled to herself and turned towards the door. She didn't want to tease too much, she had already spoiled too much of his innocence.
The warmth of the tavern met them as she pushed open the door. There was no fire, it was just the warmth of bodies inside.
The air was thick with the low hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, and the scent of spilled ale. Lanterns hung from the beams, their light glinting off brass and old wood polished by years of elbows and spilled drink.
She stepped aside to let
Nuir through first, eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. A handful of sellswords lingered near the bar, and a minstrel tuned a lute by the fire.
At the far corner sat a cluster of robed figures deep in talk. One of them, a grey-bearded man with a pointed hat far too theatrical for common sense, looked suspiciously like
Gideon.
Aurra’s expression softened when she looked back at Nuir. “You’ve got that wide-eyed look again,” she murmured, though there was no real bite in it.
“Try not to stare too hard at anyone with a sword. It’s a good way to start a fight.”
Her gaze lingered on him a beat longer than she meant it to, something fond and unspoken tugging at the edge of her smile. Then she turned toward the bar, voice low but certain.
“Come on, healer. Let’s get you a beer and just keep put eyes open a moment. "