Siobhan entered the tavern and nodded toward the bartender Ivan. He jerked his head toward the farthest corner of the sparsely filled lower level. Elias sat in a high backed chair, his back to the door. Siobhan never understood his lack of wanting to keep his eye on potential threats entering rooms. Taverns, at their best, invited unsavory characters. She should know, often she was one. Elias was far too trusting.

This tavern often saw the working girls come after their nightly escapades to obtain one last score for the evening. The lowest forms of life Scanla had to offer filled the tables many a night. That was a reason whenever Siobhan passed through she chose to stay at that particular tavern that also acted as an Inn. Though it helped Ivan gave her a better deal than any of the other three inns’ in the city.

Two tables filled with men burying their cares away into a mug of mead paid no mind to her as she sauntered past. She recognized most of them as regulars, there to drink themselves to a stupor before returning home to unhappy lives. It was far too quiet for the normally boisterous tavern. Not even a minstrel played on the small pallet tucked against the southern wall. It unnerved her. She liked routine. Anything else made her nervous.

Candlelight from the wall sconces illuminated the narrow room. Ivan’s tavern, the nameless beast that it was, was the smallest of the three. However, that had more to do with his back-room dealings than anything else. He closed off half of the building for “storage” purposes where he sold illegal totems and other magical artifacts.

Siobhan removed her cowl and tossed it onto the back of Elias’ head. He didn’t grunt when he pulled it off and rolled it into a ball, tucking it into the tattered bag he always carried. If the Aquantian had any emotion other than calm, she rarely saw it. She grabbed an empty chair and turned it around to straddle it backwards. Elias slid a mug closer to her and she accepted it without thanks. Politeness wasn’t needed with him. He understood her better than anyone, a fact that also often annoyed her.

She pulled the extra purses stolen from the moron off her belt and slid them across the table. If it were any other place, she’d be more discreet about her actions, but in there she was among her people. Among people who knew not to mess with her and her coin.

“I see our thief was productive.” Elias grabbed the purses and combined the coins into one he carried around his neck before discarding the empty leather to the side. Siobhan didn’t particularly care how much the new conquests added to their end game, just that they did.

She shrugged. “He may be sloppy, but he had swift hands. I’ll give him that, but he’s lucky he’s not dead. We won’t be staying in Scanla past the night thanks to him.”

“I take it your fun went less than expected?”

She rolled her eyes at the twitch of his lips. As much as he could read her, she could read him. Because he didn’t agree with her methods, when they backfired on her it gave him great amusement. Elias’s high collar was still buttoned tight, but she could make out the soft tissue above his highest gill. How she wanted to poke them to annoy him. Bushy eyebrows wiggled when he laughed as he took another drink.

“No. It didn’t go the way I’d planned.”

“I’m sure there’s a lecture in there about your brazen attitude but . . .”

“I’m sure you’d like to sleep under the roof tonight instead of with the horses.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I do enjoy a bed over a bale of hay. I also like being able to walk straight without your proverbial foot up my ass.”

“I can’t imagine it’s any easier to walk with your foot always in your mouth.” She rubbed her fingers over the lip of her mug and sighed. “How did we do with the kills?”

“The skins sold, except for one. I kept that for our travels this winter and took the liberty of having it treated in exchange for some of the meat I couldn’t sell.”

She nodded. “Good idea.”

“We gave some to the Foundling House, but over all I managed to obtain two hundred coins for our troubles today.”

“That’s not bad. Would’ve preferred at least five, but it’ll do.” Siobhan leaned on her hand and watched as Ivan walked from behind his counter with two plates of food. Her stomach growled when he slid the plates in front of them. The chicken aroma pierced her nose and it took all her good graces to not eat like a common behemoth and lick the plate.

Ivan leaned against the table and glanced toward the other patrons before saying, “I’m going to need some assistance to refill certain objects.”

Siobhan nodded and took another drink. “I’ll be sure to take care of it when we settle our tab in the morning.”

He nodded and returned to his spot behind the bar. Siobhan grabbed a chicken breast off her plate and peeled away some of the moist meat, licking her fingers when Elias shook his head. He took a spoon full of rice from his plate and ate it with all the manners Siobhan knew she lacked. There was a time when appearance was everything even for her. She spoke proper, dabbed her lips with a handkerchief, and used all the appropriate utensils. After near six years on the road, her manners reverted to that of any commoner in any city. Sometimes worse.

The door to the tavern opened, bringing with it a gust of wind that flickered the flame even on the sconces closest to their table. Siobhan groaned when the stench covered moron slithered in. Even with limited interaction, she couldn’t forget that smell or the stained brown cloak he wore over his body. The fool bowed his head, but she still saw his lips twitch when he caught her eye. Elias turned when she frowned.

“Is that . . .”

“Our moronic thief.” She shifted her chair so it faced correctly and leaned back in the seat. Her arms crossed over her chest as the buffoon made his stumble toward the table. Other guests covered their nose when he passed, but otherwise remained uncaring to his presence. It wasn’t the first time someone smelling worse than horse dung came for a drink, nor would it be the last.

Siobhan arched a brow when he sat beside Elias. His blue eyes danced between her and Elias, occasionally dropping to their food. At their close proximity, with no fresh air to dilute it, the smell was wretched. It burned her eyes and nose, bringing with it the taste of bile crawling up her throat. She grunted and pushed away from the chair. The fool jerked and fisted his hands as if he’d punch her if she attacked. She grabbed the collar of his cloak and ripped it off his shoulders.

“Hey!” he shrieked.

She ignored him. Holding the cloak outward from her, she marched it back to the door from whence it came and tossed it into the dirt street. He was frowning when she returned, slapping the smell from her hands.