No.
Tell him. I mean it. Telling the story helps. I still can’t believe you killed an Eben with a flagpole. I should call you Lancecloth.
That’s really not necessary, Cole thought.
Bannerbane. Maybe Stormstaff. Achan laughed. I like Stormstaff. Write that song about yourself, will you, Cole? I want to hear it.
And with that shift in topic, Cole had reached his limit. Goodnight, Your Highness.
Night, Cole.
Several days passed before the band returned to the Black Boar. Cole still had no idea why Prince Oren wanted them here. Fenris? Erlichman and his ties to Thusk? They’d found nothing last time, but he hoped tonight would be different. The sooner they uncovered the mystery, the sooner they could move on and Cole could stop being Mistel’s cousin.
They arrived early for dinner and settled at a corner table. Cole sat beside Mistel, across from Kurtz and Zanna, trying to appear relaxed as his fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table. The grimy, smoke-filled tavern buzzed with its usual rowdy energy.
The barmaid approached—a different one from before—and Kurtz shot to his feet, nearly toppling his chair.
“Kosotta?”
Her eyes widened, and she curled her lip. “I thought you were in prison.”
He snorted, crossed his arms. “I’ll bet you did. The young king pardoned me. Wasn’t hard since he knew I was innocent.”
“Care to introduce us to your friend, Kurtz?” Cole asked.
“She’s no friend of mine. This is Kosotta Brovau, it is. She and Verdot Amal used to be quite the pair.”
“That ended a decade ago,” she said.
“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Kurtz shot back. “Kosotta was once a nursemaid to the infant king.”
“To Achan?” Cole asked, shocked.
Kosotta turned to Mistel. “What’ll you have?”
“Dinner for all of us, please,” Mistel said.
“I’ll bring it right out.” Kosotta strode away.
“Bring some answers with the meal, eh?” Kurtz called after her.
Kosotta glared over her shoulder before passing into the kitchen.
“She’ll spit in your food,” Mistel said. “Frix always did that when someone annoyed him.”
“Why does she hate you?” Cole asked.
Kurtz sank onto his chair. “She was there when King Axel was killed. Testified against me to the Council.”
“She didn’t seem eager to talk,” Zanna said.
“No, she wouldn’t, would she?” Kurtz said. “But I’d like to talk to her.”
Yet Kosotta didn’t return. Another barmaid served their meal.
“Rotting coward.” Kurtz pushed to his feet and marched toward the kitchen.
Cole didn’t know what to think of Kurtz and his side mission to exonerate himself. He hoped the man’s agenda didn’t end up blowing their cover. They weren’t supposed to be royalists, after all.
