“It’s stale,” Corlwyn said with a grimace, sipping his cup of small beer.
“Aye,” Violette answered, leaning her head on her hand. “There’s nothing left in this city for us.” She lazily sloshed a cup of wine mixed with herbs her gypsy mother had taught as a cure for a night of thievery and drink.
“I meant my… but gods, you’re right,” Corlwyn said. “We’ve drunk this town to the lees. We could pilfer Portho’s storehouses again.”Read more