THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR-Chapter 321: MORNING ARRANGEMENTS.

Dawn broke over Valemir in gradual layers of amber and gold, the early morning light filtering through the partially drawn curtains of The Crooked Spire Inn. David stirred from his bed in the small adjoining room he'd secured from the innkeeper the previous night.

Despite the added expense, he'd insisted on acquiring separate accommodations for their unexpected guest—a decision based on practicality rather than chivalry. Sylindra's condition required privacy and proper care, and converting their single room into an impromptu infirmary would have severely limited their operational capabilities.

The innkeeper had raised an eyebrow at his late-night request for an additional room, but a few extra silver ternion coins had silenced any questions. "For the elf," was all the explanation he'd provided, which seemed to satisfy her curiosity—or at least her willingness to appear curious.

He rose silently, careful not to disturb the others. After stretching to work out the stiffness in his limbs, David approached the washbasin, splashing cold water on his face. The shock helped clear the lingering fog of sleep, though it did nothing for the dimensional fractures that periodically distorted his vision. Another small crack appeared at the edge of his sight—there and gone in an instant, but a reminder of his deteriorating condition.

The previous day's events played through his mind with methodical precision. The slave auction, his impulsive purchase of Sylindra, the journey back to the inn. Each decision seemed reasonable in isolation, yet collectively they'd added an unexpected complication to an already complex mission. Still, the potential value outweighed the inconvenience. An elven princess, however damaged, possessed knowledge that might prove essential.

David dressed quickly in practical, durable clothing typical of traveling adventurers—sturdy leather pants, a simple linen shirt, and a well-worn but maintained vest with multiple small pouches for essentials. Their cover as mercenaries seeking work through Valhalla Adventurers Guild required a careful balance: equipment good enough to suggest competence but not so fine as to indicate unusual wealth.

He strapped on a plain short sword—functional rather than ornate—completing the image of a capable sword-for-hire looking for contracts in the capital. He then moved to check on Sylindra in the adjoining room.

The door opened without a sound—Luna's work, no doubt. She'd spent the previous evening meticulously oiling every hinge in their suite, eliminating potential noise that might alert others to their movements. David's Aetenus left nothing to chance when it came to security through David's direction.

Inside, he found Elara seated beside the bed where Sylindra lay. The Archon's hands hovered over the elf's temples, suffused with a gentle amber glow. Flames danced between her fingers—not the destructive fire she wielded in combat, but a subtler manifestation of her power. This was healers' flame, designed to mend rather than destroy.

"How is she?" David asked quietly, closing the door behind him.

Elara didn't look up, maintaining her concentration on the delicate work. "Her physical wounds are beyond my abilities," she replied, her voice strained from extended focus. "But the mental trauma... I can at least ease some of that. Create safe spaces within her mind where healing might begin."

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David approached, studying their unexpected charge. In the clean light of morning, Sylindra's injuries appeared even more extensive than he'd initially assessed. The burns covering the left side of her body weren't random but followed precise patterns—ritualistic torture rather than battlefield damage. Her breathing remained shallow but stable, occasionally punctuated by soft sounds of distress when Elara's healing flames reached particularly painful memories.

"Luna?" David called softly, knowing his Aetenus was present even if not visible.

A portion of shadow beneath the wardrobe deepened, then separated itself from the darkness. Luna materialized gradually, her golden eyes gleaming in the half-light. "No threats detected," she reported. "I've connected to every shadow in the building. No one approaches without my knowledge."

David nodded, satisfied with her vigilance. "And our elven guest? Your assessment?"

Luna tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing as she approached the bed. She leaned in close to Sylindra, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, scenting the elf like a predator assessing prey. A low rumble, almost a growl, emanated from her throat.

"Smells of... old magic. Deep forest." She circled the bed, movements suddenly more lupine than human. "Weak now. Broken. But blood still strong." Luna's tongue briefly flicked across her lips. "Flesh healing. Slowly. Mind scattered like frightened birds." She reached out, fingers hovering inches from Sylindra's face, claws momentarily visible before retracting. "Interesting prey. Too valuable to consume. Worth keeping."

"She's not prey, Luna," Elara interjected sharply, a note of reproof in her voice. She finally lowered her hands, the healing flames dissipating as she exhaled slowly. Dark circles beneath her eyes testified to her extended effort. "She's a person who's suffered immensely. Show some respect."

Luna merely blinked, neither accepting nor rejecting the correction. To her, the distinction likely seemed irrelevant.

David studied Elara's face, noting the signs of exhaustion. "You've been at this all night."

"Someone needed to monitor her condition," Elara replied, stretching her neck to release the tension. "Her fever broke around midnight. That's something, at least."

"You need rest," David stated, not a suggestion but an observation. "And probably some fresh air."

Elara shook her head. "There's still much to do. Her burns need—"

"Her burns need specialized treatment that none of us can provide," David interrupted. "We meet Yue tomorrow. Until then, basic care is all we can offer."

A moment of silence stretched between them as Elara considered his words. Finally, she sighed. "Perhaps you're right. I could use an hour or two away from this room."

"The market district should be opening by now," David suggested. "We need supplies anyway, and you could scout the area, get a feel for the city."

Elara's lips curved in an unexpected smile, a hint of mischief appearing despite her fatigue. "Are you asking me on a date, David De Gror?"

The question caught him slightly off guard, though not entirely without precedent. David recognized the return of her playful side—glimpses of which he'd seen during their early interactions at Lysora Castle, before the attack. For weeks after that tragedy, Elara had been all business, her grief and responsibility hardening her demeanor. This momentary flash of her former self suggested healing—a good sign.

David hesitated, noting the shift back toward the dynamic they'd briefly shared before everything had gone to hell. It was a complication he hadn't factored into his calculations for their time in Valemir.

"I... that's not..." he began, then stopped, silently cursing his uncharacteristic inarticulateness.

Elara's smile widened at his discomfort before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Relax. I was joking."

Luna observed this exchange with obvious curiosity, her head tilting further as she processed the social dynamics at play. Her expression suggested she was filing away this interaction for future reference.

"I'll go find some breakfast," Elara continued more briskly, standing and smoothing her clothing. "The elf needs something substantial but easy to digest. Bone broth would be ideal, with some soft bread. Her body is severely undernourished."

David nodded, grateful for the return to practical matters. "Take your time. Luna and I can manage here."

Elara gathered her cloak from where it hung near the door. "Keep the blinds drawn. Her eyes will be sensitive to light after so long in darkness. And try to get her to drink water regularly, even if she resists."

"I do know basic first aid," David reminded her, though without irritation.

"Of course you do," Elara replied, then hesitated briefly before adding, "Be careful with her. Not just physically. She's likely been betrayed by everyone she ever trusted. Any kindness will seem suspicious."

With that, she pulled up her hood and slipped out the door, leaving David and Luna alone with their unconscious charge.

Luna immediately moved to the window, positioning herself to observe Elara's departure through a narrow gap in the curtains. "She will attract attention," Luna observed. "Too beautiful. Too confident. Eyes follow her."

"Elara knows how to handle herself," David replied, though he moved to join Luna at the window.

Below, Elara emerged from the inn's entrance, blending seamlessly into the growing morning crowd. Even in simple traveling clothes, she carried herself with the unconscious authority of someone accustomed to command. Several passersby turned to look at her—not with suspicion, but with the automatic deference attractive power tends to inspire.

"She likes you," Luna stated flatly, still watching Elara's retreating figure.

David chose not to respond to this observation.