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Brynn had a surname, but no one knew it. When asked, she'd say she'd lost it as a child and had never bothered to locate it again. She said family names made you easier to find, and she was right. As proprietor of The House of Kala, folks who didn't know any better tried to call her Kala, presuming she'd named the place after herself, but she'd glower at them and show them her teeth. Where she was from, Kala meant funeral, and Brynn didn't appreciate being likened to death.
“You promised you wouldn't gamble with Hayden again.” Carrion angled his head, eyes drifting upward as he pretended to think about this. “Did I?” he asked incredulously. “That doesn't sound like me at all.” “Carrion.” The bastard sucked in a sharp breath, his attention snapping back to me. “She said my name.” He pretended to swoon. “You all heard it. She said my name.” Again, this earned a round of snickering from his infantile accomplices. “Not only did you break your word, but you beat the living shit out of him, Carrion.” “Ahh, come on. Don't be so sour.” He held out his hands, palms up,
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Plus another five on top for the inconvenience of having to breathe the same air as you.” Carrion arched an eyebrow, considering me. I already knew I wouldn't like what was about to come out of his mouth. “Saeris, if I knew I could buy your time, I'd be bankrupt, and you would be a very rich woman. You'd have spent the past three months on your back, begging for me to ride you harder, and—” “One more word and I'll relieve you of your fucking balls, thief,” I snarled.
Vorath Shah peddled snake oil: tiny fragments of metal that he claimed contained traces of arcane magic; the stuffed, stinking feet of sand rabbits that were said to ward off disease; glass vials full of cloudy liquids that were supposed bestow gifts upon you if you drank them. Gifts that had long since been lost to us.
Vorath Shah peddled snake oil: tiny fragments of metal that he claimed contained traces of arcane magic; the stuffed, stinking feet of sand rabbits that were said to ward off disease; glass vials full of cloudy liquids that were supposed bestow gifts upon you if you drank them. Gifts that had long since been lost to us.
“The Gods,
These two are often counted as one god,” Everlayne said, gesturing to the two beautiful females who stood arm in arm atop the same marble plinth. “Balmithin. Twin sisters. Goddesses of the sky. Legend says that they once were one god, but a mighty storm came, and Balmithin refused to take shelter as it raged across the land. The powerful spirit within the storm was furious that Balmithin didn’t cower before him, and so he lashed her with forks of lightning. Again and again, the lightning struck Balmithin, but she didn’t die. Instead, she cracked and split in two, becoming Bal and Mithin.
“Where's Ren?” Everlayne demanded. Kingfisher's expression hardened. “I assume he's still scrubbing his balls,” he said dryly. “If you're trying to shock me by mentioning random parts of male anatomy, then you're out of luck,” the blonde-haired female snapped. “I've seen Ren's balls. I've seen yours, too. I've seen everything,” she said, pointedly glowering at Kingfisher's crotch, “so I know exactly where to aim my knee if you continue to test me. You don't seem to appreciate the level of danger you're in right now, Fisher.” The huge male glanced down at himself, then back up at Everlayne from
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“Don't worry. I wasn't planning on stealing it. It isn't very impressive. Looks more like a toothpick to me.” Everlayne stifled a bark of laughter with the back of her hand. “Oh, ho ho! I think that one might have drawn blood!” Renfis stood in the library's open doorway, shaking out his hair like a wet dog.
Kingfisher didn't pay him a lick of attention. He was still glaring at me. “This sword has slain thousands,” he seethed. “I wouldn't have thought that was anything to brag about,” I replied. “You should probably get it looked at.” “Hah!” Renfis stuffed his fist into his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he tried to swallow down his laughter.

