17The smell of Mrs. Wyatt’s usual stew drifted through the halls of the inn and stuck in Lena’s gut. She left Edwin to his reading and wandered outside, dropping her gaze as she passed by sailors exchanging hearty pleasantries on the lawn.
The fresh air gathered up her long hair and tugged her toward the grassy, yellow-speckled meadow, luring her feet toward the sea. She let herself be tempted away, her stomach aching for the sea fare she was used to. Mrs. Wyatt’s cooking was savory and warm, but it was strange. Heavy and overcooked and dripping with grease.
Tonight, Lena wanted something that tasted like home.
Thorns and tangled branches snared her skirt as she ducked beneath the thin canopy of trees, retracing the unbeaten path Jace had carried her along. She needn’t have remembered i
