“You have the manners of a pig,” he grumbled when she sat down.

Siobhan pointed to the door. “There’s the door. No one invited you to sit down so if you don’t like it, you can leave.”

He didn’t. The fool licked his lips as his eyes drifted toward the chicken and bread still warm on Siobhan’s plate. Both ends of her lips twitched as she re-grabbed her drumstick and slowly bit into the meat. With how quiet the tavern was, she swore she could hear the moron’s stomach gurgle as she chewed.

“M’lady,” Elisa sang, shaking his head. He was a step from making a ‘tsk tsk’ sound toward her.

She grunted and grabbed the roll off her plate, tossing it to her thief. He didn’t hesitate. One hand grabbed it and nearly shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Elias turned in his seat and waved toward Ivan. Siobhan didn’t like they were about to feed the fool who nearly got himself killed stealing her purse. But she also knew Elias would never allow the boy to leave the table when it was clear he was starving.

“How did you know I stole your purse?” the fool mumbled with his mouth full.

Siobhan finished her drumstick and tossed the bone on the plate, picking up the next piece of chicken. “Answer me this first,” she said, taking a bite. “How long have you been a thief?”

“What does it matter?” he asked.

Ivan set a plate of bread in front of the moron who quickly grabbed two more rolls and shoved them in his mouth. If it didn’t amuse her so much, she’d pretend his disregards for manners revolted her. It had to be grating on Elias’ nerves the way both of them paid no mind to common decency. To the Aquantian’s credit, he went about calmly eating his rice and drinking his mead.

“Answer the question or I won’t answer yours.”

“I asked you first.”

Siobhan grinned a sipped her mead. “I hold the cards here, moron.” She glanced to him. “And do at least swallow before you speak again.”

The thief stayed silent as he chewed. His food barely reached his stomach before he said, “What does it matter how long I’ve been stealing?”

“You are infuriating, moron. I’m going to say a week. Two weeks at most.” She took another bite of her chicken and stared at Elias. His silver hair hung loose off his shoulders, a single braid curled around his right ear. Tight skin creased with his wrinkles of age curved his wise oval eyes. There was a time when she thought his teal pigment to his iris was perfectly normal. It wasn’t until she ventured into the lowlands she understood it wasn’t common. More than once they concocted a lie to explain the strangeness of his eyes, going as far to say it was a rare defect from smallpox. In many ways, it amused her how easily the humans believed anything. However, several times they tested him as a mage and all times he failed. Elias had no magic outside of the water.

“What is your name, boy?” Elias asked.

“He hasn’t answered my question yet.”

“Perhaps if you knew his name instead of calling him moron or fool, he might be more inclined to answer.”

“I suspect she’ll call me moron anyway,” the fool said. Siobhan grinned. “My name is Wren. And I’ve been thieving for little over two weeks. How did you know?”

Siobhan set her chicken on the plate and grabbed her mug, watching Wren as he stopped devouring his food like a child. Instead, he peeled off pieces of bread and chewed them slow.

“You have multiple tells, really.” She took a drink and leaned back in her chair. One hand draped over the back. “First was the smell.”

“Vagrants smell,” Wren said.

“Aye, they do. One problem with you smelling in this particular city is that there’s a river splitting Scanla in half. Even the poorest of the poor can bathe daily in the river.” She grinned and set her mug down. Wren jumped when she grabbed his hand. “The next tell is your hand.”

He yanked it away and tucked it under his armpit.

“It’s far too clean when combined with the smell. A stench that bad suggests you haven’t bathed in days, if not weeks. Yet your hands are as clean as any. You were wise to smear dirt on your face, but you forgot the hands. There are no callouses anywhere and your nails are far too groomed to be that of someone digging through trash for their meal. Nay, your hands show you come from privilege and aren’t far removed from it.”

Wren ran a hand through his tangled light brown hair. His eyes bounced to Elias as if he were looking for help. None would come. He wanted to know how she knew, now she wasn’t going to hold back.

“Finally, your walk.”

“And what is wrong with my walk?” He crossed his arms and pouted.

“Supposedly you had no use of one leg. That’s fine; plenty of street rats lose the use of a leg in a fight or from disease.”

“Yet somehow mine is obviously fake?”

Siobhan nodded. “Indeed. You had no walking stick. Which also would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the fact you obviously could put weight on the leg.”

“I studied several vagrants and I saw few with any kind of walking aid.”

“I’m not claiming they don’t exist, but yours combined with the other tells equaled you being a liar.” She finished her mead and set the mug down. “You have speed, I’ll give you that. With training you might actually be a decent thief. If I hadn’t seen you coming I wouldn’t have felt you lift my purse from the belt. Had I known you’d be a moron and steal from a Vanguard General, I would’ve done you a favor and ended you the second you stole my purse.”

Wren finished the plate of bread and laid his arms flat on the table. She watched his lips wiggle, thin eyebrows bounced with every crease of his brow. One hand started to tap against the table before he turned his head. A soft scar split his chin and curved into the underside of his throat. Another scar split his right eyebrow in half, but otherwise his face was unmarked outside of the dirt darkening it.

“I want my money back,” he said.

“It’s not your coin.”

“It’s not yours either.”

Siobhan grinned. “Ah, but I stole it from you fair and square.”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “You ambushed me.”

“No.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I ambushed the crimson-cloaks.”

When the door opened again, instinct made her look away from the disgruntled face of Wren. She internally cursed when the smallest of the three crimson-cloaks entered the tavern. Wren followed her gaze and covered his face with a hand. Siobhan slapped it back down to the table and hissed.