Marked for the Pyre (A Brands of Taelgir Novel Book 2) by M.T. Fontaine

Author:M.T. Fontaine [Fontaine, M.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-08-29T22:00:00+00:00

The inn’s tavern beat to the rhythm of the ballad and its melody. It played as far away from the kitchens as possible and in front of a surprisingly, decent-sized crowd considering the still early stages of the night. The tavern maids’ shoes tapped to that pulse as they walked, as did the few drunkards failing to dance. Even the good cheers and conversations ebbed and flowed with it. The barks from the kitchen staff only added to that buoyancy. Add in the beef vegetable stew perfuming the air and the imprint of cheap ale in every crook and cranny, and Andreiyes was almost persuaded the gods approved of his plans.

He plopped down on the table’s bench beside Uslan and accepted the pint of ale his man had ordered for him. In the exchange, Uslan slipped a small pouch into Andreiyes’ palm. The leathery texture of it squished around the powder within.

“You certain it will work?”

“Aye.”

Andreiyes’ gaze swept over the tavern’s patrons, keeping his hood firmly in place so as not to reveal his uniquely royal amber eyes and dark skin in the sea of paleness. No one had noticed who was among them. Not even the barkeep was aware Andreiyes had chosen a night in his establishment instead of the more luxurious counterpart up the road. Yet his personal guards were all here, two in position spread out within the tavern, ready to intercede if needed. And Uslan at his side. Andreiyes wholly trusted each one of them.

While the Steward never dared to dirty her robes in these sorts of establishments – her vices being of a more peculiar sort – the scribe, on the other hand, had a penchant for piss-poor ale and gossip. He was sure to be in shortly. By reputation, this was the loudest tavern out of the two in this town, generally full to the brim of loud conversation, decent music and regular townsfolk. He would be here. It was only a matter of time.

Uslan took a large gulp of his ale. Foam clung to the ends of his mustache before he swiped it away on his sleeve. His eyes wandered everywhere but on his charge.

“The apothecary said ‘twas potent. Enough for twenty, if need be. A jot of water, and out goes the Steward.”

“Let us hope ‘tis enough.”

Uslan’s grunt was followed by another gulp as Andreiyes rotated his mug, the ceramic grinding against the table’s wood grain. When a patron frowned at him oddly, Andreiyes pinched a smile, raised the tankard and took a sip of his drink, working his damnedest not to cringe. It was far too-watered down to be palatable, the flavor of hops almost completely drowned. Andreiyes shoved his mug over to Uslan who had already finished his drink. The man raised it in thanks then cocked his head, glancing around Andreiyes before swilling a mouthful.

“There he is.”

Cautiously, Andreiyes peered over his shoulder. As Uslan said, there was his scribe, a limp to his obvious strut. There was a smug grin on his long, pointed face that Andreiyes was eager to smother.

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