Deepwoods - Honor Raconteur Page 0,115

a casual salute of acknowledgement.

Pushing back from the table with a scrape, she stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “See you in the morning.”

ӜӜӜ

“Siobhan.”

“Uhhhh.” She batted the hand away and attempted to roll over. This effort was thwarted by the wall that she smacked her forehead into. The beds in the inn were clean, but one could not describe them as wide.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and insistently shook her awake. “Siobhan!”

She cracked open one eye and aimed a murderous glare over her shoulder. Markl was leaning over her with a lantern in one hand, illuminating a worried expression on his face. Judging from the narrow window behind him, it was still in the middle of the night.

Uh-oh. Her brain woke up enough to point out to her that the only time anyone woke her up like this, something had happened. It usually involved property damages, too. “Who’s injured?” she slurred out, dragging her hair out of her face as she sat up.

“Wolf and Tran, although it doesn’t look too serious,” he answered promptly.

“Where?”

“Tavern across the street.”

She stopped with her legs half off the bed and gave him a long look. In a painfully level tone, she said, “Wolf and Tran went to a tavern. Together.”

“Umm…yes?”

“And no one stopped them?”

“Were we supposed to?”

She dropped her head into one hand and just groaned, long and loud. “How much damage did they do?”

Markl hesitated, searching her face and judging what words to say. When she just stared back at him steadily, he gave up and with a shrug told her bluntly, “I’m honestly surprised the building is still standing.”

Lovely. Shooing him out with one hand, she threw on the first clothes she found, dragged her hair back in a rough ponytail, and stuffed her feet into her new boots. Snagging her purse—and praying it had enough money to fix this situation—she stomped out of the room, down the short stairs, and into the cold night air. Rubbing her arms briskly, she got all of two steps when Fei appeared at her elbow like magic. He had a medical satchel in his hands, the sort that Conli issued to take care of minor medical emergencies.

Without a word to him, she crossed the street in quick strides to the tavern and shoved what was left of the door aside. The way it creaked and hung, the whole thing would likely need to be replaced.

Once she got a look at the room, she realized in dismay that the door was in good shape compared to everything else.

There was not one chair still intact. They were all broken, scattered over the floor like so much kindling. Only a handful of tables were still erect, two of which Wolf and Tran sat on. The bar behind them had mostly withstood the fight, but it had long scores in the wood, like a dragon had gnawed on it. People were laying injured, comatose, or just passed out drunk in every possible angle and position. She had to maneuver her way around the bodies, sometimes stepping over people, to get to her own.

Wolf and Tran looked up, spotted her approach, and gave her neutral expressions. That look alone told her that this fight was, indeed, their fault. For some strange reason, both of them were half-naked, only their trousers still on, and Tran was even missing a boot. She’d never seen a bar fight that had escalated to the point that it had stripped people before. Stopping in front of them, she planted her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, and gave them The Look.

“Boys. Why were you fighting?”

“I have a headache,” Wolf volunteered easily.

Tran half raised a hand. “I have a stomach ache.”

Patience. She had to exercise patience. “And how does that tie into getting into a bar fight?”

“Well,” Wolf explained innocently, “destroying things makes us feel better, so….”

Behind her, Fei choked on a laugh. Without looking, Siobhan threw an elbow into his ribs, which he mostly dodged, the rat. “Be serious.”

The two men exchanged glances, heaved identical shrugs, and came clean.

“Actually,” Tran admitted, “the real reason isn’t much better. See, we were arguing over who has the most scars—”

“Never did agree on that,” Wolf muttered to himself, as if only just realizing this.

“—and for some reason, the tables around us got really into it,” Tran continued with a cough and exasperated glance at Wolf. “One side said it was me, the other table said it was Wolf. So they got up

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