15. Fenric #3
“I wouldn’t keep him waiting. His temper is quite frightening,” Lirion sang. The place was growing louder by the second, but Fenric could still make out Lirion’s annoying but melodious words.
“Stay out of this!” Fenric barked.
“I sold it already!” Calder sobbed. Tears ran down his face and dripped into his lunch. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t know the heroes had stolen it. If I had—”
“If you had, you wouldn’t have given them so much money for their goods,” Fenric growled. Calder was a fence of illegal goods. He might claim to be a harmless dealer in unique items, but all of Moorwood knew what he really was. “Who did you sell the box to?”
“Lord Mire!”
Fenric sat back and blinked. “You’re shitting me.”
Calder shook his head. His panicked crying stopped and words gushed from his lips.
“That vile man was in town a few days ago, searching for help against the finfolk, who had started to flood his land. He had one of his people post a job on the board.” A bony hand shot out and pointed at the far wall.
“While he was here, he demanded I show him the wares I’d just acquired from some heroes.
He became ecstatic the moment he set eyes on the box and offered me an absurd amount.
There was no way I could pass it up. I was afraid if I turned him down, he’d kill me for it. ”
Something cold slithered through Fenric’s stomach and chilled the blood in his veins.
Lord Mire wouldn’t have gotten so excited about a jewelry box unless he could identify who it had once belonged to.
He knew there was something special about the box, making it all the more imperative that Fenric got it back.
Taking the Lord Mire job could come with a double payoff if it worked out. He could travel to Lord Mire’s village of Dunley, get back his mother’s treasure box, and take care of the finfolk.
“Fine. Give me the goods,” Fenric demanded as he snatched the paper from Calder’s fingertips and shoved it into his pocket again.
The fence nodded and quickly picked up a small box with a tiny lock from the floor by his feet, then dug through it.
Just as the poor lamplight of the tavern touched the glittering gems of the brooch and necklace, Fenric snatched them up and shoved them into his pockets before returning the knife to its sheath.
He longed to inspect them, but not here.
It wasn’t safe. For now, it was enough to have the jewelry in his possession again.
The old ache in his chest and the permanent pressure on his lungs eased to the point where he could finally breathe deeper.
There were still a few things on the list he wanted back, but the most important of them now lay in Lord Mire’s hands.
Only once he had his mother’s old jewelry box back would she be able to rest in peace.
“From now on, I would advise not taking on items from certain heroes.” Fenric’s tone was pleasant but his smile was as sharp as the blade he’d just hidden away. “I’d hate for you to run into another true owner who is far less understanding than me.”
Calder nodded several times before clutching his box of goods to his chest and practically running out of the bar, knocking over a chair in the process.
One problem was done. Now to deal with the second.
Fenric shoved to his feet and moved one table over to drop into the empty chair across from Lirion. The pink-haired man flashed him a sexy smirk, as if he’d just known Fenric would come to him, but his eyes were still full of old anger.
“Why are you stalking me?” Fenric asked. No reason to beat around the bush. The first time in Cartwright’s house was unfortunate but forgivable. This was now the third time he’d stumbled across the guy. It was looking decidedly less coincidental.
“Stalking you?” Lirion choked out, as if the word had gotten caught in his throat. “I want nothing to do with you after that fiasco in the brothel. Do you have any idea how much you have hindered my plans and set me back?”
“It’s not my fault I’m constantly tripping over you!
” Fenric shouted, but only because a scuffle had broken out near the bar.
Crockery shattered. Ale splashed across the floor.
And then there was the loud smack of flesh hitting flesh.
Fenric sighed. This was why he would never, ever be a tavern owner. People were dumbasses.
“Trip…” Lirion stopped and jerked his head toward the fight for a second before looking back at Fen. “Tripping over me? You’re—” His mouth twitched and his eyes briefly darted in the direction of the fight. “You’re the one who is obsessed with me.”
“Obsessed?!” Fenric hissed, sitting forward in his seat to the point he was nearly leaning across the table. “You kissed me!”
A loud roar echoed through the bar, and Fenric groaned, rolling his eyes at the heavens for blessing him with a stubborn, short-tempered barbarian.
Belstrom had clearly joined the fray. Some idiot must have pissed him off and the barbarian was determined to teach them all a lesson with his fists. This was why they couldn’t go anywhere.