Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
I’m probably going to have to work for Mistress Umala again. Ugh. I scrub a hand down my face, forcing those thoughts away. “I don’t think time alone is going to be a thing in the near future.”
The smile he gives me is faint, wry. “Probably not.”
However annoying the lack of privacy is for me, it has to be worse for poor Raptor. “You need a potion, then?”
He rubs his chin. “Not yet, but you might.”
Me…?
* * *
To my surprise, we head to the King’s Onion tavern. Why is it that we keep ending up back here? I glance around curiously, but I don’t see anyone in the tavern who looks like a mancer or even a potion maker of some kind. Are we meeting someone who hasn’t arrived yet?
Raptor leads me to the bar and pulls out a stool for me.
“Are we stopping for a drink?” I ask, unable to hold it in any longer.
“In a sense.” He takes a seat next to me.
Naiah crosses over to us, slinging her rag over her shoulder. Her smile is bright as she flicks a glance at Raptor and then at me. “Afternoon to you both. What are we having?”
“We’re having two beers, four wedges on each, Naiah.” Raptor inclines his head at me. “I believe you know Gwenna.”
Naiah’s eyes narrow and she glares at Raptor so furiously that I’m taken aback. Then she composes herself and gives us both a cheery—if puzzled—smile. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about. I always give my customers a wedge of onion with their drink.”
“You do. But this customer wants four wedges on each drink.”
She smiles again, but her expression is more forced. “Got it. Afraid I can’t talk for long.” She puts one mug under the barrel spout, filling it with beer even as she gives us a sunny look. “Getting a delivery at the back door. Leave your change on the bar, hmm?”
When both mugs are filled, she garnishes them with the onion wedges—gods, this place loves a damn onion—and then walks away.
I eye Raptor as he steals the garnish from my drink and pops it into his mouth. “Should I even ask?”
“No, but drink up.” He lifts his mug and drains it in one gulp as Naiah heads farther down the bar. She greets a few customers, refills drinks while I sip mine, and beams at everyone. Eventually she heads into the back room behind the bar, the entrance covered by a thick curtain.
I take one last sip of my drink and then hand the remains to Raptor, who downs it in one swig. He winks at me. “Come on.”
I want to ask where we’re going, but I get the impression that the less I ask, the better. We head out of the tavern, and then immediately Raptor steers me toward the back alley behind the inn itself. Down the long alley, there are stacks of crates and two barrels. Outside of a small alcove right behind the inn and next to the well is Naiah, leaning against the inn wall. There’s a furious expression on her face.
“What the muck do you think you’re doing, Raptor? I should poison your sorry arse for running your mucking mouth.”
“Good to see you, too.” Raptor grins, utterly unbothered by Naiah’s fury. He gently nudges me forward. “Gwenna is my mate. She’s in need of assistance.”
His mate? He called me that in front of an acquaintance? Goodness, are we telling bloody everyone now? It makes me feel vulnerable, and I’m not sure I like that.
Naiah arches an eyebrow at him, and then studies me more closely. “You got this old dog to settle down, then? That explains why business is drying up.”
“You need more customers,” Raptor tells her.
“Aye, more customers for my secret business that no one is supposed to know about and that my clients swear not to share or else I cut them off.” Naiah gives him a furious look.
“Don’t worry. Gwenna knows all my secrets.” His arm drapes over my shoulders possessively. “Even that one.”
I eye him with amusement. “He told me about the potions, aye, but I don’t know if I buy this. Every village has a wisewoman, and most of the time their concoctions are nothing but kitchen scrapings and lies.”
“That’s because those people are what we call ‘charlatans’ and I’m the real thing,” Naiah says confidently.
“How did you learn how to make potions? Who taught you?” I’m fascinated. “Does it run in your family?”
“Maybe it does. Maybe we’re mancers from ten generations back. Maybe a star fell from the heavens and granted me magic. Maybe I bargained with the fae in exchange for power. Who can say? Certainly not me.” She cocks her head and gives a casual shrug. “I would never admit to something so terribly illegal.”
Uh-huh. I know a liar when I hear one. “You admit your potions are just herbs and wishful thinking stuffed into a jar.”