Veyra bristled at his tone, and was about to say something, but Sol placed a calming hand on her arm. He didn't mind the arrogance. As long as they paid well.
"A pleasure," Sol said smoothly, with a smile.
He didn't serve him in a gourd. He reached under the table and pulled out one of their own clay bowls. He ladled the richest, fattiest broth from the center of the pot, ensuring he scooped up a large chunk of the tender meat and plenty of the 'Root of Resilience.'
He handed it to him with a smile.
The guard took it. But instead of drinking it there like everyone else, he lifted the bowl to his nose. He sniffed it once, his expression impassive. Then, he nodded slightly, as if confirming a suspicion.
He didn't drink. He produced a large, clean leaf, covered the bowl carefully to seal in the heat, and turned around.
"Keep the change," the guard grunted, gesturing to the expensive cut on the table.
