That thought didn’t bother him. That woman deserved death and more for what she’d done. He needed to stop fixating on her and focus on something possible, like finding Kosotta Brovau. Rilla had said the former nursemaid moved back to Tsaftown after King Axel’s death and was now working at a tavern, but she hadn’t known which one. Their band had played six or seven already, and no one had heard of her. Maybe Rilla was mistaken, eh? There weren’t many watering holes in Tsaftown left to check.
Kurtz stepped into Fat Vandy’s tavern. Warmth hit him first, then the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, followed by the low hum of conversation. Unlike the Ice House, the Tipsy Taproom, or Belanna’s Barrelhouse, this wasn’t a raucous den of drunkards. Fat Vandy’s was for travelers and families, it was. A place where a hearty meal and a warm hearth mattered more than tankards of ale.
Just inside the door, he paused to let nostalgia wash over him. Home. At least the closest thing he’d ever had to one. Four years here had been a lifetime compared to the dozen he’d spent bouncing between that nightmare of a brothel and the chaos of life on the road with his father. Fat Vandy’s had been his refuge, a flicker of light in an otherwise bleak childhood. Arman knew the few months he’d spent with Gavin had been colder than the streets.
“Kurtz!”
Hargis Vandy rose stiffly from a table by the hearth, beaming as he crept toward Kurtz. Rilla had warned about his gout. “Fat” Hargis was as round as ever, his white beard too big for his head, his clouded eyes full of warmth.
Kurtz met him halfway, letting the old man pull him into an embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and pipe tobacco.
“You blasted fool,” Hargis said, cuffing his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come see us the moment you got off that cursed island?”
“Gavin said no,” Kurtz said. “Then Lord Livna was killed, and we had to move south.”
“The king really freed you?”
“That he did.”
“What’s he like?”
“Spitting image of his papa. Smarter. More just.”
“Arman’s chosen.”
“Without a doubt.”
Hargis chuckled, the sound rich. “Why come so late? Serra’s already in bed.”
“I’m with a band now. We had dinner up in the hills.”
“I know better. Eagan’s got you wrapped up in some mission, hasn’t he?”
Before Kurtz could answer, the door opened, letting in a gust of cold air. Zanna stepped inside, commanding without effort.
“Evening, Anna.” Hargis greeted her with the fake name she used around town. “Have you met Kurtz Chazir? Kingsguard Knight.”
“I’m not a knight, Hargis,” Kurtz muttered.
“Bah!” The old man waved him off. “Kurtz lived here four years before joining the army. He’s like one of our own, he is.”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Zanna said flatly. “When you have a moment, Kurtz, I’d like a word. I’ll be quick.”
“Certainly,” he replied, watching as she moved to a corner table.
Hargis leaned in. “That one would make you a fine wife, she would.”
Kurtz barked a laugh. “I’m not looking for a wife. And if I was, she’d be last on the list.” Though if he were honest, that temper and steel spine of hers had started to grow on him. Like mold. Or fire. Or something equally problematic.
“You were never practical. You know, Rilla’s still single. Though I don’t fancy you two together. Both of you, always chasing a warmer wind.”
Kurtz chuckled. “So I’m fickle?”
“Naw, just haven’t found the right woman to make you stay.” Hargis patted his shoulder. “Thirsty? I’ll get Loanna to bring you a mug of blackbrew.”
Kurtz’s mouth watered at the thought of Hargis’s famous dark ale. “I’d like that, thanks.”
Hargis limped off toward the kitchen.
