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Verve patted the case. “It’s not hurting anyone.”
The barkeep snorted. “Aye, and I’m a sodding sentinel. No weapons.”
Verve bristled inwardly, but kept her face pleasant. She wasn’t just here for a drink, after all. Better play nice with the locals.
“I’ve no wish to cause trouble,” Verve replied, lifting her hands. “Where can I leave my belongings so they won’t walk away?”
“Outside.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Preferably at the bottom of the nearest sinkhole.”
Well, it was a sexy mutter, but still. He had some nerve. She bit back a frown. “Anywhere closer? I’m not made of coin. If they disappear—”
“Then leave.”
Sodding hell, this man! Verve replied between clenched teeth. “After the day I’ve had, I really need a drink.” She dug into a belt pouch and plunked a few damp coppers onto the polished bar. “Can’t we work this out?”
He eyed the coins like they’d personally offended him, then exhaled sharply and gestured behind the counter. “Set your toys there, if you must. But don’t expect me to babysit your gear. I’ve enough to do as it is.”
“Thank you,” Verve replied, stepping over to set her belongings down. “You’re ever so kind. Small wonder this place isn’t bustling with customers.”
She carefully stowed the crossbow case behind the bar, then made to go back to her seat.
The barkeep cleared his throat. “All of your weapons, ser.”
Verve lifted a brow but slid free a few of her daggers and set them aside, too.
But he stopped her again. “I said all of them.”
She scoffed openly now, and couldn’t help her glare back at him. “You can’t possibly think—”
“I know your type,” he broke in, “All. Your. Weapons.”
The tavern went silent again as they stared at each other. The barkeep was taller than her, but not by much, and in the dim lantern light his skin looked soft. He had the bearing of one who’d done a lot of physical labor, but he was obviously no fighter; he didn’t hold himself like he expected every interaction to come to blows. But the thin coat he wore couldn’t hide the sturdy lines of his muscles, and he smelled of jessamin flowers and green, growing things. But his scowl was ice.
If she wanted information on this Damaris mage, the local barkeep was probably the best place to start. She needed to play nice, or at least civil. But the idea of being unarmed made her skin crawl.
Her internal debate lasted only a heartbeat before she plastered a smile on her face and tried to sound like she wasn’t screaming inside. “Ah, you clever lad. Of course, I was only joking.”
She withdrew the last of her daggers—one in each of her boots and another smaller one up her sleeve—and set them with the rest. He glanced at her wire bracelet, but only nodded when she gestured to the stool again.
“Thanks,” he said as she settled down. At least the ice had thawed from his voice. “What’ll you have?”
“The strongest whatever’s at hand.”
He poured a measure of dark liquor into a small glass, adding a few drops of the honey-colored liquid, and passed it her way. Verve sniffed the mixture, but smelled nothing amiss, so she took a careful sip. The warmth of the liquor hit her belly, smooth and sweet, and sent a pleasant tingle into her fingertips.
She smacked her lips and raised the glass to him. To her delight, he smiled again. “Good, isn’t it?” he asked.
“What’s your name?”
He paused. “Alem,” he answered at last.
“It’s delicious, Alem,” she said, and eyed him up and down. A flush crept to his cheeks as he grinned, before he quickly turned to another patron seated down the bar.
Verve sipped for a while, savoring the flood of numbness to her limbs and the pleasant sloshy feeling gaining ground in her mind. She finished one round and ordered another. And another. Alem hesitated before giving her a fourth round, until she shoved a whole silver coin into his hand, which seemed to ease his conscience.
As she drank, she studied the tavern-goers. Most seemed harmless enough: locals who probably made turpentine or something else disgusting that more civilized places needed. A few watched her, but she saw nothing more than curiosity in their gazes, and when she caught them looking, they looked away. Good. Despite how her line of work often forced her to get chummy with strangers, keeping others at arm’s length was always the smartest choice.
But mostly she watched Alem. When he wasn’t interacting with her, he was speaking with his fellow townspeople, one woman in particular seated at the other end of the bar. She was probably around Danya’s age—older but not old—her face lined with experience. She had a booming laugh that made Verve jump in her seat the first time she heard it. Alem laughed with her, and Verve’s gaze stuck on the way his lips pulled into that easy, crooked smile.
