Killian’s head swiveled toward her with laser focus. “How many cookies?”
“Two cookies.”
“THREE cookies.”
Sorcha blinked. “Fine. Three cookies.”
“With the chocolate chips?”
I stared at my son in impressed horror. “You’re really negotiating right now?”
“I’m a good nego-cya-tor,” he said proudly, stumbling over the word but getting the concept across.
“Where did he learn this?” Mal asked, looking at me.
“You. He learned it from you.”
“I am not that calculating.”
Sorcha and I looked at each other, then back at him in perfect synchronization. “Yes you are.”
“Three cookies with chocolate chips,” Killian confirmed. “And I pick which ones.”
“Done,” Sorcha said, holding out her hand.
Killian shook it solemnly like he was closing a business deal. Which, I supposed, he was.
We left him with Sorcha and approximately forty guards because we were absolutely not taking chances after the assassination attempt. Paranoid? Yes. Necessary? Also yes.
Torin was waiting outside the family quarters with a report.
“Your Majesties,” he said, falling into step beside us. “The trail on the assassins leads outside Lytopia. To kingdoms beyond our alliance.”
Oh. This wasn’t good.
“Which kingdoms?” Mal asked.
“Igryside. A shadowy kingdom near the sea. We don’t know much about them. They keep to themselves, very isolated. Not part of any alliances.”
Torin looked between us. “There’s a tavern on the outer borders of Ravenor where travelers from all kingdoms gather. People talk. We might be able to gather more information there before sending spies.”
“A tavern,” Mal said thoughtfully, then looked back at me. “We should go.”
“And I’m coming with you,” I said.
He didn’t argue. Good, because I was going whether he liked it or not.
***
The tavern was called The Rusty Dagger, which should have been my first clue that we were highly overdressed.
“This place smells like fish,” I said, looking around at the decidedly sketchy establishment. Dark wood, darker corners, and patrons who all looked like they’d killed someone at least once.
“We are not staying long,” Mal said, his hand on the small of my back.
“Everyone is staring at us.”
“We do look out of place.”
