7 A Time of Mourning
Early the next morning, the roar of voices from the city square startled Dorian from his peaceful sleep. A quick yank from the curtains bathed Dain’s face with radiant light, yet another intrusion. “Damn it, Dorian. Every time,” Dain murmured, covering his face with the sheets. What’s all that noise?”
Dorian watched a crowd of people gather in the square below. “I don’t know. There seems to be some commotion outside.” Dorian hurried to the dresser, nearly pulling the drawer off the hinges entirely as he pulled.
“Hey, we can’t take those clothes. They’re not ours.” Dain protested.
“The last time I checked, we were honorary guests, Dain. Consider these honorary clothes. Get dressed.” Dain groaned as he rolled out of bed. Once dressed, he and Dorian hustled down the
