place. There was, he had to admit, a certain clarity of purpose that came with that manner of doing business.
He suspected Daniel of Doìre wouldn’t fare very well trying to cheat cheaters, which might turn out to be very useful indeed.
He spent the morning walking through the market with his hand on his purse, nosing about the odd shop selling potions and sundry that the mage up the way wouldn’t have lowered himself to produce, and sitting in a darkened corner in the seediest pub in town where he could eavesdrop in peace. All of it produced nothing more interesting than reports of Master Oban being even more stingy and high-handed than usual, which he’d already suspected, and a raging headache, which he’d acquired from listening to off-key musicians attempting to play whilst still laboring under the influence of things imbibed the night before.
He walked back to the Silver Swan by a fairly circuitous route simply from habit, then went upstairs and hoped for the pleasure of even a cold luncheon. He was weary, his head pained him, and he imagined that the search for Daniel’s trail could be taken up again later in the afternoon without undue trauma having been inflicted upon the world. For the moment, sleep was what he needed, sleep that followed something decent to eat.
He knocked on the door instead of simply walking inside the chamber because his mother had somehow managed to instill a few manners in him, then let himself in when there was no answer.
Sarah was asleep on the floor in front of the hearth. He was somehow unsurprised to find her there instead of on the very comfortable-looking bed. No doubt she had left that for him since he had paid for the chamber. He was tempted to use it, but that might have left him sleeping more deeply than he wanted to.
He started to remove his cloak, then hesitated. He supposed he couldn’t spend the next few days with Sarah—assuming that was how long it took to find her brother—never showing his face. He didn’t consider himself particularly vain, but there was no denying that his particular ancestry was difficult to hide.
Then again, given how enormous Sarah’s eyes had been as they’d walked into Bruaih, perhaps she had less experience with the world outside Doìre than she cared to admit. She might look at him and find him not only nothing out of the ordinary but actually quite repulsive.
At present, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised.
He tossed his cloak over the foot of the bed, yawned hugely, then went to sit in a chair in front of the fire. He ate without tasting any of it, then helped himself to a mug of ale that couldn’t compare on its best day to Master Franciscus’s poorest attempt. It was almost cold, however, and useful in washing down his meal, so he didn’t complain. Then he set his mug aside and paused. He had fully intended to close his eyes and have a bit of rest himself, but instead he leaned his head against the back of his chair and simply watched Sarah of Doire as she slept.
She was, as he had noted before, remarkably pretty, even with the dark smudges under her eyes and her fingers still slightly green from whatever she had likely been dyeing before her mother’s house collapsed under the weight of Daniel’s poorly wrought spell. He wondered what her life had been like, all those years with a brother dabbling in things he shouldn’t have been and a mother whose reputation for crotchetiness rivaled even his own. Perhaps she had found solace in weaving her own spells into whatever cloth she had made.
Why she hadn’t used some of that magic she’d inherited from her reputedly quite powerful mother to stop her reckless brother was something he honestly couldn’t fathom. Had the fool convinced her that she was not his match? Had she been intimidated enough to believe it? He couldn’t imagine it, but he’d learned the hard way that the world was full of quite a few things he never would have imagined in his youth.
He rose,
He suspected Daniel of Doìre wouldn’t fare very well trying to cheat cheaters, which might turn out to be very useful indeed.
He spent the morning walking through the market with his hand on his purse, nosing about the odd shop selling potions and sundry that the mage up the way wouldn’t have lowered himself to produce, and sitting in a darkened corner in the seediest pub in town where he could eavesdrop in peace. All of it produced nothing more interesting than reports of Master Oban being even more stingy and high-handed than usual, which he’d already suspected, and a raging headache, which he’d acquired from listening to off-key musicians attempting to play whilst still laboring under the influence of things imbibed the night before.
He walked back to the Silver Swan by a fairly circuitous route simply from habit, then went upstairs and hoped for the pleasure of even a cold luncheon. He was weary, his head pained him, and he imagined that the search for Daniel’s trail could be taken up again later in the afternoon without undue trauma having been inflicted upon the world. For the moment, sleep was what he needed, sleep that followed something decent to eat.
He knocked on the door instead of simply walking inside the chamber because his mother had somehow managed to instill a few manners in him, then let himself in when there was no answer.
Sarah was asleep on the floor in front of the hearth. He was somehow unsurprised to find her there instead of on the very comfortable-looking bed. No doubt she had left that for him since he had paid for the chamber. He was tempted to use it, but that might have left him sleeping more deeply than he wanted to.
He started to remove his cloak, then hesitated. He supposed he couldn’t spend the next few days with Sarah—assuming that was how long it took to find her brother—never showing his face. He didn’t consider himself particularly vain, but there was no denying that his particular ancestry was difficult to hide.
Then again, given how enormous Sarah’s eyes had been as they’d walked into Bruaih, perhaps she had less experience with the world outside Doìre than she cared to admit. She might look at him and find him not only nothing out of the ordinary but actually quite repulsive.
At present, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised.
He tossed his cloak over the foot of the bed, yawned hugely, then went to sit in a chair in front of the fire. He ate without tasting any of it, then helped himself to a mug of ale that couldn’t compare on its best day to Master Franciscus’s poorest attempt. It was almost cold, however, and useful in washing down his meal, so he didn’t complain. Then he set his mug aside and paused. He had fully intended to close his eyes and have a bit of rest himself, but instead he leaned his head against the back of his chair and simply watched Sarah of Doire as she slept.
She was, as he had noted before, remarkably pretty, even with the dark smudges under her eyes and her fingers still slightly green from whatever she had likely been dyeing before her mother’s house collapsed under the weight of Daniel’s poorly wrought spell. He wondered what her life had been like, all those years with a brother dabbling in things he shouldn’t have been and a mother whose reputation for crotchetiness rivaled even his own. Perhaps she had found solace in weaving her own spells into whatever cloth she had made.
Why she hadn’t used some of that magic she’d inherited from her reputedly quite powerful mother to stop her reckless brother was something he honestly couldn’t fathom. Had the fool convinced her that she was not his match? Had she been intimidated enough to believe it? He couldn’t imagine it, but he’d learned the hard way that the world was full of quite a few things he never would have imagined in his youth.
He rose,
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