The top floor of the main tower was quiet and empty. Ian could even hear his own breathing.
The old man across the stone table had graying hair and deep wrinkles, but his back was ramrod straight. The cuffs of his gray long robe were washed pale.
He lifted his eyes to Ian. They were very bright.
"Sit."
Ian pulled out a chair and sat down properly.
Morton didn't rush to speak. He reached out, picked up the ceramic pot on the table, and poured two cups of tea.
The tea was light brown, steaming, and had a faint, fresh, grassy scent.
He pushed a cup toward Ian.
"Try it. I grew it myself."
Ian picked up the teacup and took a sip.
The tea was slightly bitter, with a sweet aftertaste. A gentle warmth slid down his throat, soothing some of the fatigue in his Sea of Spirit.
"Good tea." He wasn't just being polite; the tea was genuinely good.
Morton smiled, the wrinkles on his face softening a little.
"I heard about what happened in the Sleeping Underground Palace."
