Hoping to shed some light on his primary concern: Was Peros trying to oust him? Isahn urged a narrow channel of water magic from his fingertip to the floor. He crept the glistening stream beneath tables, sending it skittering over sticky, unwashed planks, weaving up the leg of his uncle’s stool to press against the underside of the table top, amplifying their conversation.
Happy with the placement, Isahn lifted his watercoursing hand to his ear and listened in.
“You’re not in his good graces,” the man in the tunic growled.
“We tried to kill them. I found them at least. Iamtrying,” Sir Peros whined, his voice on the verge of pleading.
Isahn gulped. Were they talking about him and his sister? Why would these boldly dressed men care about Midlake in Selwas?
Solaelia was positive Peros was seeking an assassin to take them out and secure his own claim to the earldom of Midlake. She’d drawn Isahn into the cause, though he hadn’t been completely convinced assassination was on the table... until now. Their uncle had always wanted the damn title, though Isahn had expected Peros to lighten up on the grasping two yearsback after his son was hanged for unrelated treason against the Crown of Selwas.
He hadn’t. If Isahn’shypothetical son tried to overthrow the king, he’d probably go into hiding out of embarrassment, not try to steal a title no one wanted him to have.
Alas, Peros’s chubby fingers loved clutching too much.
“Trying is not succeeding.” Blue took a sip of his liquor and grimaced, glowering at his glass. “How the fuck is this so bad? We’re so close to Domos.”
Red shrugged.
“I agree it’s quite—”
“Shut up,” Red barked.
Peros shut his mouth so quickly Isahn couldhearhis uncle’s lips smack together.
“You wish to make this right?” Blue inquired.
“Yes, yes, very much.”
Ew.Uncle Peros was such a sniveling piece of shit that, even though Isahn had no idea what was going on, he thought he might be on the side of the men in colorful tunics.
“He will see you.”
Who?
“When?”
“Two weeks.”
“Where?”
“Come to Nowosmont. Get there early, if you can manage.”
Peros nodded, and while Isahn couldn’t see his uncle’s face, he could see the man’s shoulders drop as his tension drained away.
Why?What the fates is going on?Isahn’s thoughts tumbled as he watched Red and Blue leave the bar. After downing his own drink, Peros helped himself to the two glasses of liquor that the strangers abandoned.
Isahn took a deep pull of his dark beer. It was sweeter than he was used to in the south. He liked it.
When his uncle stood and passed by, making his way to the door, Isahn sank further into his cloak and peered out of the hazy window. A shadowy flash of movement caught his eye, but he lost the figure. That wasn’t uncommon here in Gramenia—discombobulating, but not uncommon. With lightmages and darkmages comprising most of the population in this country, the principalities, skulking about in shadow or zipping past in a flash of light, seemed to be the norm. It was one of a few light and dark magic abilities he’d been able to deduce from watching.
As he nursed his drink, the barmaid delivered tureens of stew to a table, and he wondered again just how he’d wound up in such a ridiculous situation.
Fucking Peros.
Whatever Isahn’s uncle was up to, it wasn’t good, and Isahn intended to uncover his end goal. It had to be done. Or at least, he was pretty sure it had to be done.
Swirling his ale, he watched it funnel down to the base of his mug. It hadn’t sounded like Peros was trying to hire an assassin in his conversation with the tunicked strangers. If anything, it sounded like his uncle was the one who wasdoingthe assassinating.
