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Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six There was food in the servery. Ryann couldn’t face eating—even the smell of the food turned her stomach—but others did. They grabbed plates and cutlery, and sat at tables, like it was just another day. Nobody spoke, though. And there were too few people to fill the place. Daman and Murdoch both had food, but they sat away from the others, huddled in private conversation. The Preben had not left Daman’s hand, and every now and then he’d look round the room and let the barrel follow his gaze. Ryann was sure it rested on herself and Arela longer than on anyone else. There was a pile of torches on one table, too. And everyone wore a couple on their belts. Ryann sussed, keeping her communication tight to Arela. Arela sussed. She sat next to Ryann, one hand round a steaming
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