The Poisoner's Enemy (Kingfountain, #0.4)

by Jeff Wheeler

War is a fog, Ankarette. You can’t see your hand before your face.

“Are you drunk?” Eredur shook his head, his eyes blazing with intensity. “No. I just want to live past breakfast.”

One wall contained a wooden rack that was completely filled with bottles of wine, there were probably fifty different varieties.

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“No, that was beyond my ability and resources,”

The man’s eyes lit up with greediness and he bowed with as much respect as money could buy.