After passing several taverns, they both found themselves drawn to one in particular. The Cedar Mug. As soon as they stepped inside, a rich, woody scent hit them, warm and overwhelming, as if the walls themselves exhaled it.
The scent of ale and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of smoke from the great stone hearth at the far end of the room. The glow of lanterns cast flickering shadows across the rough-hewn beams overhead, their surfaces darkened from years of smoke and spilled drink. Most importantly, the scent of the aged wood wafted through the air like an old ghost, causing Korie's nose to tickle. Perhaps the varnish on the floors had been recently reapplied; the scent was almost overpowering.
The tavern was lively but not rowdy. Patrons sat at thick, sturdy tables, their surfaces scarred with knife marks and old stains, speaking in low voices or laughing over their mugs. A few travelers occupied the corner booths, cloaks draped over the backs of their chairs, while a group of locals stood near the counter, exchanging gossip with the innkeeper. The bar itself was a long slab of polished oak, behind which shelves held bottles of varying sizes, some filled with amber and deep red liquids, others unlabeled, their contents a mystery.
In one corner of the tavern, a small stage was tucked against the wall, just large enough for a lone bard to perform. At that moment, a cheerful bard stood there, clearly enjoying himself as much as the attention. His voice rang out with tunes filled with a playful sense of pride. The patrons clapped, cheered, and whistled in good-natured approval, amused by the lively performance, even if it was more theatrical and whimsical than of musical mastery.
The warmth of the tavern crashed over Lyra like a wave, replacing the crisp bite of the evening air with the scent of spiced ale, roasting meat, and the unmistakable musk of too many bodies packed into one space. It should have been a relief. Instead, the sound of the bard hit her next. His cheerful, theatrical voice rang through the space like a bell - grating, piercing, far too pleased with itself. The patrons clapped along, whistling, amused by his performance but to Lyra, it was nothing more than an irritant. Unfortunately, she didn't have enough coin to pay to shut him up.
Her scowl deepened as she stepped further inside, her fatigue settling heavily into her limbs. The journey had been manageable and had the situation called for it, she could have kept going - pushed through, ignored the aches in her muscles, the stiffness in her back. However, now that she was here, surrounded by the promise of warmth, food and sleep, her body had decided to remind her just how much it needed all three.
To the left, a stairway led up to the rooms for rent, the steps creaking under the weight of a serving girl carrying a tray of fresh food. Despite the noise, The Cedar Mug carried a certain warmth, a steadiness that made it easy to settle in.
Then there were the merchants.
Their voices were sharp and insistent, rising above the general hum of conversation like the screech of seagulls circling over a market stall. They huddled together around tables, weaving through the tavern with baskets of goods slung over their arms, each one eager to show off their wares. Their calls echoed off the wooden beams; enchanted trinkets that would cure ailments, jewels that gleamed with false brilliance, potions that would give the consumer power like they've never had before. The merchants' eyes, cold and calculating, never left their potential customers, watching for signs of interest, pouncing on even the slightest hesitation.
Korie, for one, was relieved they'd finally gone indoors. The biting cold had sunk deep into his bones, the chill gnawing at his skin with each step until his body began to feel heavier, his limbs sluggish and stiff. All he'd wanted was a warm room, a soft bed, and the chance to sleep without the weight of the cold pressing in on him, and this seemed like the place to get it. As the door closed behind him, the warmth inside wrapped around him like a cloak, causing him to shiver off the tingling cold. Fatigue still lingered, however. They'd been traveling all day in order to reach the city in time.
Lyra’s stomach was twisting in protest. She was hungry. Thirsty. That damn bard was not helping. Find a table, get food, get a drink, get some rest. That was the order of things. The rest could wait.
As Lyra and Korie wove their way through the crowded tavern, heading towards an empty table tucked into the back, she felt the weight of eyes turning toward them. At first, the looks were curious, fleeting - the way people naturally glanced at newcomers, assessing whether they were worth paying attention to. Then, their gazes dropped to the band looped around her arm and curiosity hardened into something sharper, heavier. Expressions shifted - some barely concealed, others blatant in their reaction. A flicker of hostility here, a gleam of interest there. Some looked at her as though she were an unwelcome intruder, a symbol of a power they had no loyalty to, no reason to respect. Others watched her with something calculating, hungry, like they were already considering what use she could be, or what they might gain from her. Then, there were the ones sizing her up. Weighing her in their minds, determining whether she was worth testing.
Korie watched their stares, unsure of why they were so careful as they watched the two of them make their way through the tight paths between tables. The chatter would turn into hushed whispers as they walked past, but all he could see was Lyra's armoured back. Sure, Lyra had an arrogant energy to anyone who met her, but to be so upset as she was only walking past--
Oh. That damn armband.
Lyra was used to being stared at. Even without the armband, her presence drew attention, her bearing too sharp, too practiced, too unlike the weary travellers or simple merchants that drifted through places like these. She met every gaze with unwavering stone-faced indifference, letting them look, letting them judge her if they wished. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword, her fingers curled over the cold metal - not outwardly threatening, but a silent indicator. A reminder that she was not some meek noble playing at power, nor a guard who had forgotten how to wield a blade. Perhaps Korie had been right - perhaps Aurumvale cared little for the Crown.
Lyra, however, was stubborn. She wouldn’t cower from their stares, wouldn’t shrink beneath them, nor would she hide the band. If they wanted to stare, they could.
Lyra reached the table and sat without hesitation, positioning herself with her back to the wall, ensuring she had an unobstructed view of the room. Years of habit, of training, of knowing better than to leave herself exposed. Her posture was unapologetically confident, shoulders squared, one arm resting loosely on the table while the other remained close to her sword. She exuded the kind of quiet control that came naturally to those who had long commanded authority - not loud, not brash, but impossible to ignore. She let the tension of the tavern roll off her, unbothered by the lingering stares, by the hushed conversations shifting just out of reach.
Korie held back a sigh as they reached a suitable table, choosing one as far from the obnoxious bard as possible. His gaze flicked to Lyra with quiet irritation as she claimed the better seat without a second thought. He hated sitting with his back to the room; exposed, vulnerable, unable to see who might be watching or waiting for the right moment to strike. His eyes lingered on the seat across from her, the worst possible position for someone as cautious as him. He hesitated, weighing his options, before finally deciding against it. Instead, he slid into the seat beside Lyra, pressing his back partially against the wall. It wasn’t perfect, but at least this way he had some protection and he wasn’t left completely defenceless.
Had Lyra had chosen her seat out of the same cautious instinct that guided him? Maybe they were more alike than he wanted to admit. A woman of her rank, someone who had surely navigated power struggles and hidden dangers, would have learned to be just as wary. She must have.
Lyra became acutely aware of Korie’s presence as he slid carefully into the seat beside her, pressing himself against the wall with a wary precision that so sharply mirrored her own. Their shoulders brushed lightly, and she tensed, her jaw tightening slightly at the unintended contact. Yet she didn't move away. Strange how he felt safer beside her now, rather than across from her, exposed. It struck her suddenly how similar their instincts were, both habitually positioning themselves to see danger coming before it arrived. Such caution wasn’t learned through mere prudence; it was forged through hardship, betrayal, and a deep understanding of vulnerability. She stole a quick, discreet glance at him, tracing the lines of tension around his eyes, the subtle dim of the icy freckles scattered across his shadowed skin. What kind of past must he have endured, she wondered silently, to shape such meticulous wariness into every quiet breath and careful movement? A life spent hiding secrets, navigating threats - experiences not so different from her own, perhaps. The realisation unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Her gaze then flicked to Korie with a new purpose, sharp and expectant.
“How much gold do you have left?”
There was no need for preamble, no need for pleasantries. Their supplies had dwindled on the road, and while she was willing to use the influence of the band where it benefited them, she needed to know their financial footing.
Because if the people of Aurumvale weren’t inclined to respect the crown, then money would be their only true leverage.
As for their gold... Korie pressed a few fingers against his temple, preparing himself from an oncoming migraine. "Not nearly enough for a bed to sleep in. I can afford our meal, but anything beyond..." He let the sentence hang, the implication clear. They were running low, and unless they found more coin soon, comfort would be the least of their worries.
Her thoughts shifted swiftly when Korie mentioned their dwindling coin. Lyra pressed her lips into a thin line, irritation flaring beneath her carefully controlled expression. Quietly, she tallied through her own limited reserves, frustration rising as she spoke. "I have a handful of silver and gold left," she admitted, her voice calm despite the tension underlying her words. "Enough to buy a meal or two - perhaps a couple of nights in a bed, if we're careful. Beyond that, we're empty-handed."
Korie leaned back in his seat, his mind turning over the idea of finding work in the tavern. He reasoned with himself that, if he did manage to get a job here, it would tie them down for at least a week. It would delay their journey, giving him the chance to find a way to convince Lyra to turn back, instead of... the alternative. He wasn’t blind to the way she pushed forward, driven by something he couldn’t fully grasp. But if she grew tired of the stop, if the weight of their delay wore on her, he could use that weakness. That would be his opening, the perfect moment to convince her to abandon the journey entirely. In the long run, stalling now could be his best chance.
"Maybe I'll work here if they'll allow it. I need to save up some gold for..." Korie slowed down, shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. He tried not to let the weight of his deception creep into his heart.
Move on.
"Well, I'd like a set of armor. All I'm wearing is this shirt, and it'll hardly do me any good in combat," He patted his chest gently, showing off how thin the fabric he wore was. "Some leather would do wonders in comparison."
When he spoke of needing armour, tapping lightly at the thin fabric of his shirt, Lyra gave him an appraising glance. He wasn't wrong; their journey could become dangerous without warning and he was vulnerable, dangerously exposed in the simple clothing he wore. Yet she hesitated, silently wondering how experienced he truly was in combat. Korie seemed so cautious, so guarded and how much could he have seen working in a tavern? Then, her eyes flickered to the bow he carried. No one carried a bow as beautifully crafted as his and didn't know how to use it. Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second before she caught herself, quickly masking the brief slip with practicality. "Leather would certainly help," she agreed quietly, her voice neutral but acknowledging the logic behind his request. "We’ll ensure you’re properly equipped before we leave, one way or another."
The idea of Korie seeking employment in the tavern bothered her deeply. The thought of remaining stuck in Aurumvale, waiting tables, slowly scraping together small sums of gold was maddening. Each day spent idle was another day Nocturne gained ground, another lead lost. Her fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop, betraying a restless impatience beneath her composed exterior.
His earlier thoughts returned; he'd been genuinely considering that a new piece of leather armor would certainly keep him safe on their journey, but... why? He would not need such armor. He'd not planned for them to reach the cult in the first place; there would be no danger that he'd need to protect himself from. Sure, there could be highwaymen that might assault them, but did he care? He'd let Lyra handle it. If she was killed in the process... that was what he wanted, right?
A sickening twist in his stomach told him otherwise. He ignored it.
Leaning forward slightly, her voice grew more decisive, laced with practicality. "Serving ale is reliable, perhaps, but it’s too slow. We can’t afford to linger, counting coppers." Lyra paused, eyes flicking momentarily toward the murmuring tavern around them, gauging the hostility simmering beneath the patrons' wary stares. Her voice dropped lower, cautious but firm, "Aurumvale may dislike outsiders, but hostility breeds opportunity. There must be other jobs here - riskier, perhaps - but a single bounty could sustain us far longer than tips from drunken patrons."
She glanced at Korie again, carefully assessing his reaction, searching for any indication that he might resist her suggestion. It wasn't without risk, she knew, but risk had become an inevitable companion on her journey.
Korie could feel the shift in her. She was already thinking ahead, plotting some way to turn their luck around. He could not let that happen. Plus, if she attempted to use her status to get them a nice discount, he was afraid that it would backfire. "I don’t expect miracles to happen from that thing," he replied dryly, glancing at the fabric wrapped around her bicep. He had to convince her that stalling here was a good idea.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
"We stay only as long as we must," Lyra stated firmly, resolute and unwavering. Her gaze hardened with quiet determination, reflecting a disciplined will shaped by duty and betrayal alike. "We earn enough to keep moving. Anything else is a distraction."
Korie wanted to fight her on it. Lyra was so adamant on continuing forth she was ignoring how little they had in terms of supplies and gold. He highly doubted they'd manage to make enough money for new armor and fresh supplies in the span of a day or two, chasing after some bounty. But, he held his composure. He could tell Lyra wouldn't bend if he whined about her lack of patience. He did not let the growing annoyance display on his face. He simply blinked, stifling any need for a displeased expression.
He would not cave so easily, however. He would not let Lyra have her way once more. At the end of the day, he was the one in control here and she could not progress without him. Still, he didn't want to put too much pressure on her; if she decided to give up on following his lead, to go off on her own, that would be trouble he had not yet planned around.
"We'll take what gets us gold the quickest," He spoke, eyeing her with a calm, neutral expression. "That might mean picking up a local job, temporarily. But sure. We'll check the bounty board tomorrow," He shrugged, putting his hands up casually.
Either way, it was time for dinner. Korie's stomach rumbled in complaint as he tried to spot one of the service workers. The tavern’s kitchen was close by, and he could catch a waft of the roasted meats and fresh breads. It all smelled mouthwatering, especially after two days on the road with no proper meal aside from rations and wildberries. A server passed by them, his tray held underneath his armpit and pressed against his side. He had that anxious posture that Korie was so accustomed to, that came as naturally as breathing. Hard not to after all those years working in a tavern.
Still, that was not the only part that caught his eye. The man had a pretty face, broad shoulders, lean body... it was difficult to keep his eyes away for a few seconds. He scratched his cheek with one finger, forcing himself to look down and away. Lyra was sitting right there next to him and he didn't want her to catch on to his thoughts. He kept his personal preferences from most people, for obvious reasons; not many took kindly to a man who cared not for the gender he slept with. He had no plans in risking their sort-of friendship; it would make life harder in the long run. He needed her to trust him.
He called for the server anyway, raising his hand and motioning him over. He approached to stand before them, wiping his hands on his apron as he pulled out his notebook, quiet and nonchalant. He was in his element, for sure; the man had probably worked in that tavern for a few years. All those customers, every night? Sounded like a real nightmare. He had black hair, slightly long over his ears and forehead, a stubble around his lips that was cut in a clean manner. His looks were clearly important to him. "What'll it be?" He spoke, his voice a bit on the gruff side.
"Something filling. What do you have?"
"Stew’s fresh," the server said, tapping his pencil on his chin. The movement was relax, almost like he was chatting with a friend. "Thick with meat and root vegetables, slow-cooked since morning. Comes with a good hunk of bread, fresh-baked. There’s roast chicken too, crispy skin, basted with herbs. Good if you want something heartier."
Korie nodded up at him, eyes lingering. The smell coming from the kitchen had already made his stomach tighten with hunger, so anything sounded good. "Stew and bread for me. And something to drink..."
The server gave a knowing grin. "Ale, mead, or something that'll burn on the way down?"
"Ah--" Korie glanced at Lyra then, almost as if he'd forgotten her presence entirely. And their financial situation. "We could share a jug," He offered, leaning back on his seat as he eyed her, a bit wary. He hoped he hadn't appeared too distracted.
Lyra considered the elf for a moment, eyeing him. Travelling for so long and purchasing Orion had stripped her meals down to whatever was fastest, whatever was cheapest, if she had to pay. Aurumvale certainly didn't have a welcoming attitude towards her and the band she carried and, whilst she wouldn't admit it out loud, Korie had been right that her band wouldn't get the freebies that had been thrown at her in Zephyr Hollow. That only left paying as the option. Lyra was tempted to order whatever was cheapest but the memory of the swill she'd had in Brimmond had her grimacing. If they had to spend coin tonight, she refused to waste it on something watery and bland.
"Something honeyed to drink. Mead, if you have it. Something with spice if you don't," she told the waiter, not bothering to ask Korie if he agreed with her choice, given that they were going to be sharing. "A jug, to share... and I'll take the roast chicken."
She leaned back in her seat then, arms crossing lightly over her chest as she considered her order, the waiter leaving to place it. She had a sweet tooth, always had, though it wasn’t something she made a habit of acknowledging but little comforts were few and far between these days, and she’d learned to take them when she could.
Korie was amused by it; they were at a point where they were counting their coin, talking all about how they were going to get by, yet Lyra chose to indulge, opting for the pricier option. The more they spent their gold on comforts and treats, the longer they'd have to stay there, yet she did it anyway even after claiming that she would not allow for the trip to be stalled. Her hypocrisy crossed Korie's mind as he watched her sit with her arms crossed, that permanent scowl in her expression, yet a little smile curled the corners of his lips in reaction simultaneously. It amused him.
The server was gone by the time Korie had turned his head to thank him. He was hardly thinking of him by that point, his mind more focused on the weird sensation inside his stomach. Hunger, surely.
The server returned after a short while, balancing a tray with practiced ease. The scent of warm spices, slow-roasted meat, and freshly baked bread filled the air as he set their orders before them - Korie’s thick stew, steaming in a sturdy wooden bowl, a generous slice of crusty bread resting beside it, and Lyra’s roasted chicken, golden brown and glistening with the sheen of herb-infused juices. The skin was perfectly crisp, flecked with rosemary and coarse salt, and for the first time that evening, Lyra allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.
Then came the mead - a deep amber liquid poured into a simple clay jug, the faint scent of honey and spices rising with the warmth. She thanked the server with a slight nod and poured both herself and Korie a cup of mead before picking up her utensils.
Despite the rough setting, old habits remained ingrained - she ate with the quiet precision of someone who had spent years at noble tables, cutting neatly into the chicken, ensuring no unnecessary mess or wasted motion. The knife glided effortlessly through the tender meat, separating it from the bone with careful, practiced ease. She speared a bite and brought it to her mouth, savouring the warmth, the crispness of the skin, the balance of herbs. It was well-cooked, simple but rich in flavour.
She reached for her cup, taking a sip of the mead. It was pleasantly smooth, the honey and spices lingering on her tongue. A small indulgence, but one she allowed herself.
Korie dug into his meal as soon as it was brought in front of him. The stew was rich and hearty, with tender meat and sweet, earthy root vegetables. Savory herbs and spices lingered their flavors on his tongue, blending into a deep, comforting warmth. It was exactly what he'd needed, something familiar, something warm. He took a sip of the mead, feeling its light burn on the way down; its scent and flavor were tangy and sweet, its taste tempting him to drink the entire tankard in one go. Flickers of lights flashed across his cheeks, a shade that pulsed to the beat of his heart in their excitement. Maybe it was the two days on horseback side of him feeling it, but the taste of it all locked an irreplaceable memory within him. He'd remember to stop by that tavern on his way back to Brimmond once he was done with... the current journey.
For a while, the only sound between them was the quiet clink of utensils, the steady hum of the tavern filling the silence. Lyra wasn’t opposed to quiet meals - there was a certain efficiency in eating without unnecessary chatter - but eventually, she set down her knife, mulling over what to say to the elf.
Lyra’s gaze flickered briefly to the longbow resting against the other side of the booth, partially obscured by the dim light of the tavern. It was a fine weapon - sleek, well-crafted, the kind of bow that wasn’t just picked up out of necessity but chosen with intent. The wood was polished, the string well-maintained, and even in the low light, she could see faint etchings along the limbs, subtle but deliberate. It was not the weapon of a novice.
She took another sip of her mead, considering it for a moment longer before speaking. “That bow of yours.” Her voice was casual, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it. “It's beautiful. Where’d you get it?”
Lyra watched the shift in him the moment her words left her mouth.
Her curiosity about his bow was truly commendable if her intention was to bother him. As though she instinctively knew how to press his buttons, her words brought up those same memories that violated his thoughts relentlessly. A shiver of discontent shook through him. He was careful to set his utensils down in order not to appear too shaky.
It was subtle at first - the slight pause in his movements, the way his fingers still against his utensils. Then came the tremor, faint and fleeting, and the quiet way he set them down, careful not to draw attention to the unease creeping into his limbs. She'd meant the question as idle conversation, perhaps even a quiet attempt at connection - but it had touched something deeper, something raw. She could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, how his gaze dropped not in thought, but in retreat. His silence wasn't the silence of thoughtfulness. It was withdrawal. When he finally spoke, the words came cold and hollow and they dropped between them like a blade.
"Where we're headed," He revealed quietly, his eyes turning to his own bow to admire it. An heirloom from a time that he hadn't quite been able to erase, a weapon that had not yet forgotten its past. The bow was crafted masterfully; the old forest's once cold shaded wood, stained with pure black, sucked in all the light around it. It bore decorations, carved swirls and symbols that meant little aside from aesthetic purposes. Along its core, Korie could still remember the ridges and bumps of words that had once held meaning. He'd taken great care to sand them off, and it was as though they'd never been there in the first place.
The thought sickened him.
The lack of proof, tangible and certain, erased; yet not from within him, no. Korie and those memories danced waltz every night in his nightmares. He moved his head away from Lyra, shutting his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. He could not begin that train of thought. Not there. Not then.
He knew then that if he were to speak, his voice would come out shaking. So, he did not. Instead, he reached for his cup, his fingers trembling as he grasped it, then steadied it with both hands. He took a long, slow sip of mead, the sweet warmth sliding down his throat, until the cup was empty. The silence hung heavy, suffocating, and he exhaled sharply, trying to release the tightness in his chest. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and tried to find the courage to speak, but it eluded him, leaving him only with the tangy aftertaste of fear. Protect your own, old words echoed in his head from a time that no longer defined him.
"... It was carved of cursed wood for me, with the intent to kill."
The words slipped from his lips, detached, forced and heavy of heart. He looked at her then, his eyes meeting hers, a gaze powerful and cold.
Lyra stilled completely, a faint breath caught in her throat. One eye the pale blue of fractured ice, the other a pit of darkness that offered no bottom. There was no rage in them, no desperation - only weight. Depth. Pain forged into something cold and sharpened. His gaze was steady, but not hard. It wasn't the look of a soldier, nor a hunter - it was the gaze of someone who had been made into a weapon, shaped without choice. There was something ancient in it, something too large to belong in such a youthful looking face.
What shook her more was the familiarity. Something that stuck like a bell in the deepest part of her, like an echo of something long buried, stirring a quiet ache beneath her ribs - like a memory from another life, or a dream she'd once forgotten. It tightened, sharp and aching, a hollow thud of recognition that had no name. For a breathless moment, it was if she'd known that gaze before - known him, even. Not Korie, perhaps, but some version of him, some distant shadow of a boy carved from pain and held together by silence. It unsettled her, that ache. It made her feel exposed in a way she hadn't in years.
She pulled in a slow, steadying breath as Korie finally looked away and dismissed it all quickly - blamed it on the heat of the mead. Too much honey. Too much spice. She took another small sip, trying to ignore the tightness still caught beneath her ribs.
"I didn't know," she said finally, voice quiet, composed, but not cold. "I shouldn't have asked."
There was no apology in the words. Just understanding. A mutual, wordless respect for the things neither of them were ready to speak of aloud.
But in her mind, ever-moving, ever-focused, turned again to their destination - the place Korie had not yet named. The place he walked toward with a quiet dread that she was only beginning to recognise. What kind of land carved cursed wood into weapons? What kind of people handed them to boys and called it purpose? What force had shaped Korie into what he was and how deep it run?
She had trusted him to lead the way because she had nothing left to follow. No trail. No witness. Only a burning need to chase justice into the jaws of whatever waited at the end. He was all she had left. The trail she'd once followed had grown cold, scattered by whispers and dead ends. All she had left was a memory, and a name she couldn't bring herself to say.
Not her name. The woman whose laughter had once echoed in palace halls, whose fingers had brushed Lyra's just long enough to leave a mark that never faded.
Her thoughts grew heavier the longer she sat in silence. She hadn’t asked before. She hadn’t needed to. But now that quiet trust between them had shifted, pulled taut by a truth he hadn’t meant to speak. Lyra looked back at him, voice low and steady.
“Where we’re going… you said the bow came from there.”
Her hand tightened slightly around the clay cup, her eyes not leaving his.
“Do you think we’ll find what I’m looking for?”
She didn’t clarify. She didn’t need to. The truth had a thousand shapes - justice, revenge, redemption. They all felt the same when carried long enough. All she wanted now was a thread - any thread - that might lead her to the truth behind the poison, behind the noble’s smirk, behind the moment she had collapsed, gone before she could scream.
If that thread ran through cursed lands and the remnants of Korie’s past… so be it.
Korie met her eyes steadily, finding his confidence once more after such a heavy confession. The noise of the tavern was a distant echo in his mind, his focus now fixed on her question.
The simple answer was yes. And that was all he ought to say to her, really. What would be the point of explaining that curse bearing land in depth? She would never come to see it with her own eyes, that he had to be certain of.
However, she would absolutely be dissatisfied if he told her nothing. He could imagine it already, the scowl that would deepen in her expression, her tone firm and her words harsher than necessary. Korie was far from strong and confident unlike her and her intimidation tactics proved far too powerful on a man such as himself. In the few days that he'd come to familiarize himself with her, he'd seen those eyes enough to be able to tell the obvious mark of anger. His heartbeat would speed up at a pace he feared might be audible whenever she gave him that look.
He had to calculate his words and figure out how much he could really admit to. Which... was difficult. He'd never thought he'd be having such a discussion in the years he'd been free. He made his tone quiet, allowing it to blend with the murmurs and clinks of tankards in the tavern.
"We'll find him," He reassured her. Lies. "He may not be there, but his trail will be easy to follow. He always returns to that... place, one way or the other."
