“You want to go to Meridian?” She massages her temples. “As in the abandoned city that’s a known hotbed of both dragonandraider activity? The city that I’ve heard is literally crumbling away, thanks to sinkholes that are swallowing up half its buildings?ThatMeridian?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Arowyn…”
“It’s a simple enough job. Retrieve some records from the old magistrate's hall, deliver them to Grenmire…and did you notice the payment?”
“I did.” She still doesn’t look convinced.
Koen takes the letter and reads it for himself several times before placing it on the table, smoothing it out, and clearing his throat. “What that deplorable, fatass of a baronisn’t telling you in his letter is that two Ashwalkers have already been sent to fetch things from that magistrate’s hall over the last month. They didn’t come back.”
The nervous energy in my gut twists into something more solid. Something heavier. “…How do you know that?”
“’Cause I have ears, darling.” He shrugs. “And the rumors have been louder than usual the past couple of days. Something very strange is afoot in the northeast corner of this kingdom, no doubt.”
Was thatsomethingalso the reason for the heightened Mouren presence?
The camp they set up wasn’t far from Meridian…
I shift in my seat, finding my balance despite that heavy weight sinking deeper in my stomach. “I still think it’s worth the risk.”
Koen chuckles and takes another swig of his drink. “And I think you’re fucking insane.”
“Good thing I care so little about your opinion, then.”
He pauses mid-sip to smile at me, his amber eyes shining. “So hateful toward me, my beautiful, darling Owyn. Is it because I broke your heart all those years ago? Because we can give it another shot, if you’d like—honestly, I don’t even remember why we split up.”
“We never dated, you moron.”
“Didn’t we?” He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. His gaze gets stuck there for a moment, presumably while he rubs the few sober brain cells he has together in an attempt to spark an intelligent response. “Well, it’s probably just as well,” he finally drawls. “Doubt you’re very good in bed.”
“Not with you, at least,” I say. “Considering I wouldn’t know what to do with such a small dick.”
Briar chokes on her drink.
I offer her an apologetic grin—she is trying to bed this idiot, after all—but she just laughs.
“The small ones try harder, in my experience,” she says with a wink.
“Both of you can go straight to hell,” says Koen.
“And we’ll see you when you get there, Tiny Dick,” Briar replies, lifting her cup to him.
He rolls his eyes, but then lifts his own drink and clinks it against hers.
We sit together for an hour more, occasionally re-reading the letter the Grenmire baron sent and rehashing the things we know about Meridian, both rumored and factual. The tone eventually shifts entirely away from bawdy jokes at one another’s expense to a more serious, somber discussion of potential plans and routes.
Koen doesn’t last long once the laughter stops; he slumps onto the table, face buried into his arms, and promptly falls asleep.
Briar, on the other hand, is sobering up slightly. Enough that her expression turns thoughtful, and she’s quiet for an uncharacteristically long time before she lifts her bright eyes to me. “You’re really considering this, aren’t you?”
I fold and unfold the letter in my hand again; I’ve done it so many times over the last hour that the paper is already starting to tear in a few places. “This town needs the money,” I tell her. “And Meridian will likely have supplies we can scavenge while we’re there, too.”
“We’ve been running multiple jobs a week as it is.”
“And it’s still not enough. We have to take these large jobs whenever we can get them, so long as there are so few of us to do the work.”
“More are going to join us eventually, aren’t they? Grier has some up-and-coming recruits that seem promising.”
