He was looking at her with such warmth and compassion, she almost blushed. “You have managed beautifully,” he told her. “You are an extraordinary woman, truly.”
Lana looked down so that she didn’t have to meet his gaze. She had very little experience with compliments and wasn’t sure how to react to that. She chose to ignore it.
“This means that no one is searching for me, doesn’t it?” she asked him, hopeful.
“Perhaps. It could be that they will announce there is an impostor claiming to be you and matching your description so guards will be on the lookout, but I don’t think that’s likely, especially after what you’ve told me.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “They were at your room preparing to kill you when you escaped, so they knew you were aware of their plans. It could be that they will allow you to go, sure of the fact that you never intend to return.”
He stood up and began pacing.
“The people of Loral don’t know you and the other royal families wouldn’t help you,” he continued. “They wouldn’t benefit from putting you back on the throne. No, I don’t believe you have any reason to fear pursuit.”
Lana breathed a sigh of relief. What he said made sense. She felt like she had finally been cut loose from the last true worry that had weighed on her heart since she escaped. It was both liberating and frightening. She was free. She was no longer a princess, she realized. She was simply Lana. She had been born anew this day.
* * *
After finishing their dinner, Clay suggested that they go out and explore the town together. Lana seemed hesitant but he cajoled her until she relented. They paused at the tavern door and he tried to catch Nym’s attention. She had joined the dice game in the corner and was laughing rowdily with the men in the crowd. She saw them and waved them off, apparently content to stay where she was. Clay shrugged and led Lana out the door and into the streets.
His heart hurt for this poor halfling girl who had lost not only her father but also her station this day. She seemed to take it well on the surface but he thought that perhaps she would weep privately when she was able. Lana was a princess to her bones, cold and haughty when it suited her, but he knew that there was a soft heart underneath it all.
Eager to distract her, he led the way to the seamstress, a short distance from the tavern. He had visited Coalfell on his way to Loral so he knew his way around a bit. The shop had brightly colored fabrics on display in the windows and the proprietress was a jolly looking woman of middling height who wasted no time fawning over Lana, exclaiming over her beautiful coloring and showing her all of the fabrics that would suit her. Lana seemed to be a little overwhelmed by the attention and kept very quiet but before long she was thumbing through colorful bolts of cloth, egged on by the shop owner.
She purchased a new outfit for traveling and the seamstress took her measurements. She told them to come by in the morning to pick up the finished product. Lana thanked her warmly and they left.
“It will be nice to have some clothing that fits,” Lana told him with a smirk.
“Hey, I can’t help that I’m not good at picking out sizes. I did the best I could,” he shot back.
Smiling, she took his arm and they continued to stroll around the shopping district. He paused at the weaponsmith. There were barrels outside filled with various types of weapons but Clay knew what he was looking for. He approached the quarterstaves and began pulling them out one by one and examining them from tip to tip. Lana watched him with an amused expression.
After going through most of the weapons in the barrel he finally found exactly what he wanted. It was white oak, slightly shorter than he was tall and, most importantly, it had the marking at the end that told him this was elven made. It would have come from a limb that fell from a tree rather than one that had been cut down. The weight and balance were good, not as good as Lana’s, but it would suffice. He hefted the staff experimentally as the weaponsmith made his way over to the potential customers.
“It’s a beautiful piece,” he told Clay. “Made by the elves. Now, I know they’re dangerous creatures but they make good weapons. Solid.”
“Hmm,” Clay said, eyeing the staff in his hand as if he wasn’t sure about it. “Seems a little weak to me, it might just crack in two the first time I hit anything with it.” This was completely untrue but he knew about dickering and the first rule was to underestimate the worth of whatever you want to buy.
“No, sir!” the man exclaimed. “Why, you could hit a stone wall with all your strength with that staff and it wouldn’t even show a scuff! It’s three silver, thank you very much.”
Clay laughed as if the man had told a great joke. “Three silver? For this? No, I think one silver is probably the best I can do.”
They began arguing over the price, the weaponsmith making grand declarations over the weapon’s finer points and Clay maintaining his uncertainty about its value. Eventually, Clay parted with a silver and some coppers, pleased at getting such a good deal. The smith, on the other hand, was not happy at all, but as soon as he turned to his other customers, he was all smiles and grand declarations again.
Lana had watched this exchange with a look of quiet amusement.
“Wanted one of your own?” she asked him, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he
