“Depends on what you’re using it for,” she sighed, propping her feet up on the table. “The weakest spell could make it last five hours.”
“Two silvers,” he countered.
“Four,” Brela replied.
The man flinched, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. Finally he grumbled and slammed four coins on the table before storming off. Brela grinned and swept them into the purse attached at her hip.
“Duping old men for their money?”
Brela didn’t acknowledge the silver-armored man. She’d been watching him closely, along with his four other friends who were making trouble around the market. Decorated armor, heavily jeweled swords, and the stench of Rooke snobbery.
She had already cursed herself because she had recognized the man that was four tables down from hers.
Rynn; the head of Gerrart’s guard. And for a second she thought they were incompetent, but now they had made it to Averlyn after a single night of investigating. She really had caused a mess. Ovir would make her pay for this, even more than she already had. She shivered at the thought.
The soldiers were not so subtly looking for Veil Worshippers, though it was clear from the questions she overheard that they had no idea who the Night Terror really was. Maybe they weren’t all that competent after all, since barging in with armor and threats did nothing to scare the village. She had to give some credit to the market vendors. They might not sympathize with Valisea and Veil Worshippers, but they hated Rooke arrogance almost as much as they hated the shadow-supporters.
“Hey,” the soldier snapped. “I’m talking to you.”
Brela rolled her eyes. “What part of that question did you expect me to answer?”
He snarled. “You’re all despicable. Averlyn is quite fitting for scum like you and that man.”
“Right. Because that man isn’t distinguished like you and your shiny outfit,” Brela replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize Carac, seeing as he’s one of Rooke’sdistinguishednobles.” She enjoyed the momentary shock on the soldier’s face. “He comes to Averlyn every other week to buy an earth-blessed strength stone in the hopes he won’t get noticed. You see, he has someperformanceissues—“
“I get it,” the man growled, his cheeks red.
“You sure? Because I can describe his wife’s appearance too, and the woman he’s with is definitely not—“
“I said I get it,” he snapped, still flustered as Brela bit back her chuckle. He cleared his throat. “We’re looking for Veil Worshippers in Rooke. Since you seem to see quite a bit around here, is there anything you can tell me?”
Brela gasped. “Veil sympathizers? In Rooke? I thought soldiers like you were taking care of them in Valisea?”
His jaw tightened. “Do you have any information? This is for your safety, ma’am.”
She clasped at her heart dramatically. “My safety? And here I thought Averlyn was fitting for scum like me, but now you’re here to rescue us? How noble.”
“We will reward you handsomely for information.”
Brela snorted in response, not trying to hold back her laugh this time.
The man’s nostrils flared. “If you can think of anything—“
“Trust me,” she said through sniggers. “I think I can pick you out of the crowd.”
He grumbled a few curses that she was sure he intended for her to hear before picking up a vial of useless herbs. “How much for the tea?”
“Eight gold coins.”
He rolled his eyes and set the vial back on the table. “The Veil Worshippers are cruel and heartless murderers. They won’t hesitate to kill you or anyone you care about, so you might want to reconsider helping the men who are trying to catch those monsters.”
“Oh, but I’d hate for you to scuff up that shiny armor while you’re in a scum village like Averlyn,” Brela replied with a sarcastic grin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have paying customers.”
He snarled and stomped off after she saluted him with an obscene gesture, winking at the young woman who was standing behind him and trying to fight off her own laughter.
* * *
Cason didn’t carethat Merik was going to say something to Rynn. It’s not like either of them could do anything to threaten Cason. The worst they could do was report it to Gerrart, and all it would get him was a slap on the wrist from Serill, though the prince wouldn’treallybe upset with him. He didn’t care about that either.
