Veshara kept the carriage curtains shut until the wheels stopped inside Granny's courtyard. Through a gap in the cloth, she watched the old woman close the gate behind them, shutting out the afternoon traffic.
Only then did she step down, her tail wrapped beneath a broad cloak and its hood pulled over her horns. Drazek had arranged the carriage to collect her from Vhalessa's private entrance, keeping Sarthal's recently unemployed captain out of public view throughout the journey.
"Wait here," she told the driver before following Granny inside.
The old dragonkin locked the courtyard door and shuffled toward her usual chair by the mirror. A heavy saber hung above the shelves of combs, oils, and horn files, its grip worn smooth from the campaigns she'd long since retired from.
She'd been tending Veshara's hair and everything else that kept this woman in a presentable form for a long time. Today, she had a cup of tea in one hand and apparently no intention of hurrying through it.
