Chapter LXX

  The interior of the inn is spacious and yet cozy, despite the ck of any evident luxury. Oil mps cast a soft light and a slightly sweet aroma through the areas farther from the firepces, which crackle, driving away the cold that is beginning to settle in.

  As expected of a pce whose clientele consists rgely of elites from nearby cities.

  Seated near the entrance, Kina notices a rge man, his expression marked by boredom. That, however, does not stop him from giving her a lewd look, his eyes scanning her body. How he manages to determine her gender despite her long, heavy garments is beyond her.

  The warhammer at his side and the absence of a table with drinks suggest that he is the inn's guard. But there is something about his rexed posture that does not match a true warrior. The fact that he carries a warhammer in a pce like this indicates that his presence serves more to create an illusion of danger than to actually defend the establishment. Kina immediately dismisses him from her list of concerns.

  Most of the tables are empty—which makes sense, considering the time of year. Only two are occupied. At one, seven people wear hunter-like clothing or something simir. When she enters, they gnce at her briefly before turning their attention back to the adjacent table.

  That second table has four occupants. Two are dressed like the hunters, while the other two wear long robes in light colors, almost white, but not quite. Kina cannot draw conclusions from a distance, but something about the way they move suggests they might be priests—or something of the sort.

  The most important thing, however, is that she does not identify any real threats.

  On the opposite side of the room, leaning against the counter and talking to what appears to be the innkeeper, are her target and his companion. With no alternatives, Kina walks calmly toward them.

  As she approaches, she catches part of the conversation.

  — But what do you mean you have no clothes?! — protests the young man, his voice tinged with frustration.

  Nero, beside him, brings a hand to his face, clearly exasperated, but remaining silent.

  — Come on… in a pce like this, you surely have some pieces you can part with! — the young man insists.

  Across the counter, the innkeeper—a middle-aged man—rolls his eyes, visibly struggling to contain his irritation.

  — Maybe a coat? — the young man tries again, turning to Nero hesitantly. — A coat will do for now, right?

  The necromancer sighs, lowering his hand from his face before shrugging. Kina hears him mutter something about his luck.

  — We are an inn, not a clothing store, — the innkeeper finally replies, crossing his arms. But before he can continue, he notices Kina’s presence. With a practiced smile, he steps forward:

  — Customer, if you give me a moment, I’ll be right with you…

  Kina simply nods but thinks that if this man truly understood who was standing before him, he would hardly dare to ignore him so easily. Still, she cannot bme him. Even she would struggle to see that poorly dressed young man as someone of importance, let alone a powerful mage.

  The innkeeper turns back to the two men.

  — If you boys don’t want anything else, I have other customers. — He gestures impatiently toward Kina.

  The young man exchanges another gnce with Nero before straightening his posture. His expression becomes serious as he speaks again, now in a firmer tone:

  — Fresh provisions for a week. Good ones. And some meat.

  He reaches into a pouch and takes out something, pcing it on the counter beneath his fingers.

  — And I still want a coat. Thick, good quality.

  The innkeeper lets out an impatient sigh, but the young man continues:

  — The price is negotiable. But I expect you to have change.

  With that statement, he lifts his hand, revealing a gold coin.

  The irritation vanishes from the innkeeper’s face. He observes the young men with renewed interest. Gold is not something one receives every day, even in an inn like this.

  Kina cannot help but admire the young man’s move. With a single gesture, he makes it clear that he is not begging for favors—he is here to negotiate, and he can pay well. But Kina also notices something else in the innkeeper’s expression.

  It is not the young man that makes him hesitate.

  It is Nero.

  The necromancer does not even react to the sight of the coin. As if it were trivial. That, more than anything else, makes the innkeeper reconsider the two of them.

  — Maybe… maybe I can find something, — the man says, now with a more hesitant tone.

  The young man smiles and turns to Nero, waiting for approval.

  The necromancer, however, merely shrugs again.

  — This is going to take a while… — he murmurs, gncing around before pointing at a nearby table. — Grumpy, handle this. I’ll be waiting over there.

  With that, he walks away, without needing to say anything more. He makes it very clear who is in charge.

  Kina watches him. Now he will be sitting alone at a table.

  Perhaps this is an opportunity to start a conversation.

  Getting information through casual dialogue would be ideal. But there is a problem.

  Nero is neither a peasant nor a warrior—people with whom it is easy to talk and steer the conversation in the desired direction. He is a mage. Mages have complex interests, difficult to approach without prior study of those interests.

  And the subject that should interest him most—necromancy—is not something one casually discusses in an inn with a stranger.

  Much less is it what she wants to bring up.

  What truly matters to her is the necromancer’s experience with the Nintar and the Valley.

  Still, this might be her best chance.

  Taking a deep breath, she decides to follow him and see what she can find out.

  The necromancer doesn’t seem to notice her following him as he heads to the pce he had indicated. Once there, he drags out a chair and drops into it with a nonchant attitude that draws a few gnces.

  “Looks like they’ll be a while,” she says, gesturing toward his companion and the innkeeper.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” she asks, trying to start a conversation.

  He, on the other hand, remains retively expressionless, merely raising an eyebrow and gncing at her and the empty tables and chairs around.

  Still, she decides to take his silence as tacit permission. After all, it's unlikely he’d turn her to ashes just for the audacity of sitting next to him. So she pulls out a chair beside him and sits down.

  Luckily, that assumption proves true, as he doesn’t react. Unfortunately, it also means he hasn’t taken the bait and started talking. So she removes her hood to reveal her face more clearly, fshes her best smile, and asks:

  “So, first time at JustCraig’s Peek?” Something innocent enough, but she hopes it will help open him up a bit.

  His response is an indifferent shrug and a bored look around the room, showing no interest in her. Irritation bubbles inside her, but experience and training allow her to maintain a friendly smile and a practiced expression of interest.

  Honestly, it's not even the ck of manners that irritates her. It’s the fact that he clearly doesn’t see her as a threat. Which, under normal circumstances, would be a good thing—a perfect chance to act.

  It makes her imagine leaning in slightly as she draws the Ra’tel from her back. One quick motion toward his throat. Almost no one would even notice at first. Only the explosion of blood would draw attention—but by then, survival would be difficult, if not impossible.

  But she’s not stupid. She knows full well he’s likely under the effect of a physical resistance spell. Her Ra’tel would do nothing if it were a bonded weapon, maybe. But in the current conditions, she—and possibly everyone in this inn—would be dead long before the necromancer.

  So, she presses on diplomatically. “So… are you from far away?”

  Perhaps because of her persistence, he finally turns and looks directly at her. It makes her wonder if she’s made a mistake. But he merely lets out a bored sigh before speaking.

  “How should I know?”

  She can only stare at him in response to the strange answer. How could he not know where he’s from?

  Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—he continues.

  “For some people, a certain distance is just around the corner. For others, that exact same distance is practically the other side of the world.”

  All she can do is smile, remembering how much of a headache it is trying to talk to mages. They all have an ego that makes them think everyone else is an imbecile. The great irony is that the ones who compin most about the ego and arrogance of mages are usually other mages.

  Unfortunately, as in this case, they tend to have a point. And when they don’t, they can make the lives of those who disagree with them short and unpleasant. So, she finds herself shaking her head at this dangerous necromancer like some silly girl, thinking she’s had an easier time literally pulling someone's teeth to get answers.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she hears a young voice ask. Turning, she sees a teenage boy looking at her. The kid is probably a retive of someone at the inn, working here as a server.

  With the boy looking straight at her and completely ignoring someone capable of destroying the whole inn—just because he looks like a beggar—she can’t help but be reminded of something that’s always served her well: the power of appearances.

  But focusing on the more important issue, she turns to the necromancer and, with all the sweetness she can muster, asks:

  “Would the Lord like anything? My treat, to make up for the inconvenience.”

  Only when she sees the necromancer’s intrigued expression does she realize she’s just made a mistake.

  “Cute! Usually, something has to catch fire before anyone starts the Lord thing,” the necromancer comments with an amused smile. While Kina swallows hard.