Special thanks to 16DarkMidnight80 for going over this chapter!
-K-
As it turned out, and which did not surprise me at all, Brynjolf was known to be part of the Thieves' Guild… though the sentiment Talen-Jei—Keerava's intended—expressed was that every court needed a jester, and every Thieves Guild needed a snake oil salesman to round out the mix (as it were).
Clearly he's never been down to the Ragged Flagon or seen Bryn's working face.
"I mean it, Talen-Jei, these people are really serious. If I can't talk Keerava around they're gonna send that big bruiser they've got hulking down there to talk to her!" I hissed. "It's why I'm doing this—I don't want to see her hurt. He won't care! Seriously, have you seen this fella? He's huge! Fists the size of dinner plates and these awful sideburns," I held my hands to either side of my face to demonstrate the scope of the Ragged Flagon's bouncer's particularly notable sideburns. "He could pop my head off my neck like a grape off a stem!" I added with a convincing squeak in my voice. That, at least, probably wasn't exaggerating. Not that I'd had any problems with Dirge; nor had I given him any real reason to have any problems with me.
Talen-Jei shifted, looking over at Keerava. I tried not to notice the softened expression the Argonian wore when watching her. "With the rumors going around about how poorly the Guild's been doing, she's become bold," he agreed. "Too bold."
"Then help me out, here," I begged, opening my eyes widely, earnestly.
Talan-Jei studied me closely. I won't pretend we knew one another very well, but I'd spent a few nights in the Bee and Barb, and both he and Keerava were cheerful folk, so I fit right in. "If it's you or them…" he sighed, looking as though he was caught between a rock and a hard place. His eyes drifted to linger on Keerava. "Listen, Keerava has some family at a farm just inside of Morrowind. If you mention you know about it, she might just listen to you. Just… keep their bruiser off. I couldn't bear the thought—" he shook his head, unable to give voice to the horror represented by the alternative.
"Do I look like I want that thug to come in here and cause trouble?" I asked, feigning hurt.
Talan-Jei studied me thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I don't approve of your involvement with that ilk… but I'm grateful it is you."
I waited until business had begun to die down for the evening before approaching Keerava. "Hey, Keerava?" I asked, sitting down at one of the barstools.
"Ah, there you are. Had a good day?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.
I found myself smiling right back at her. "Not really. I've, uh, kinda fallen in with some people."
"That doesn't sound good," she stopped buffing the bar with a towel to frown at me. "A nice girl like you shouldn't have trouble steering clear of trouble—if you take my meaning."
"That's the thing. Do you believe that you can sometimes do a bad thing for good reasons?"
"Exactly what kind of trouble are you in?" Keerava asked, her tongue flicking the way Argonians sometimes do when feeling suspicious and skeptical.
"I'm not in trouble. You are. I found out about it and… I just don't want to see you get hurt." I prodded the counter morosely for emphasis.
"Hmph. I smell Brynjolf," Keerava grimaced.
Or the Ragged Flagon. Smells like that do linger.
"You'd do well to stay away from him."
"That's just it, Keerava—"
"I'm not going to be bullied by a down-on-its-luck relic of a guild, and you can tell that shyster I said so," she gestured firmly with her washcloth. She paused then shook her head. "Or maybe not. Wouldn't want you stuck paying for my lip if you're already in it with them. I'm sure you're just trying to help, even if you've got a funny way of going about it."
"Keerava!"
"No."
"But… they know about that farm in Morrowind. If it was just about pressuring you I'd let them do it. You're too tough to roll over for them and it'd be your business. But… I thought that since… you know… it wasn't just you…" I bit my lip as I trailed off, watching Keerava's scales turn putty-colored. "I couldn't let that big bruiser of theirs come see you. He might skip the seeing you part!" I gave her my biggest golden kitty-eyes, what Mother used to call 'alligator tears' welling up at will.
I know it seems over the top, but I've done this before and it works beautifully every time.
"Damn them," Keerava grunted, then disappeared, leaving the washrag where it was. She returned a moment later with a bag of coin. "Take it." She set it down heavily, but not as though saying 'and be damned to me!' "And get out of there while you still can. That's no place for a nice girl like you."
"I'm only obligated to this one thing," I agreed. Which is true, technically.
"It always starts as one thing, sweetie. If I were you, I'd take that and get out of Riften altogether." With that, she took her washcloth and disappeared into the back room. I slipped off my stool, caught Talen-Jei's eye and nodded once, mouthing 'thank you.'
He nodded back, though he didn't look happy.
-K-
"Honey," Haelga snapped irritably from behind the counter, "You've already been told, you're in the wrong place!"
"I'm not here to see you, you old hag," I shot back, "I'm here for Svana. She's a friend. Maybe you're not familiar with the word."
Haelga's expression went murderous at the 'old hag' comment. In truth, she really is beautiful and I felt like a skinny boyish-figured scrap of humanity next to her. The fact that she wore her blonde hair—similar in color to my own—long and rippling, curling down her pretty shoulders made me just a teensy bit jealous.
Mother and I both wore our hair short so there was no risk of it getting in our eyes when we were working up high—one never knows when a pin or clip will break or slip and losing one's eyesight can be fatal.
Still… and even without knowing how much of her looks were artifice, I envied Haelga's face and figure. Mother and the twins were built like her. I won't lie: I used to be just a little jealous of the twins. There was almost no point being in a crowd if they were there, too: all the men would be looking at them.
I shuddered at the thought of so much attention all at once before shoving it somewhere towards the back of my mind. I never worked out whether I did or did not want a lot of people looking at me when I wasn't performing. Maybe because I never got to experience it often enough to decide.
Svana was in a corner sweeping angrily, her cheeks blotchy red with a bad temper which didn't suit her. Svana is one of the nice girls in life, and only in a shady place like this from lack of options.
"Svana!" I hissed. "I need to talk to you!"
"Kitty! Later," she hissed back.
"It's about Haelga."
"What about… her?" The phrase 'the slut' was in the offing. It had to be. I kind of had the impression that Haelga was a bit loose; I certainly knew that Svana was not, being one of the 'good girls' in life, and that she hated where she was at this point… even if she was grateful for the roof overhead and food on her plate. Hence why the insults she bites back are always bitten back: she's grateful for room and board, at the very least.
"I need to get a point across. Maybe… shame her into paying out what she owes? Her usual tricks won't satisfy my bosses and I thought, seeing how tough things were for you—"
Svana's grin grew manic. "I've got a couple ideas… I can't pull them off, though," she answered in a whisper, looking at the head of her broom rather than at me, as if to hide the grin.
"Meet me at the Bee and Barb as soon as you can get away. We'll talk," I said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it in the friendliest manner I could contrive.
"I'd love to see her nailed," Svana growled, then chuckled. "Just not in the usual way."
See why I like her? I love being around people with a sense of humor!
-K-
"She's slept with three men this week alone! Different ones! What kind of woman does that?" Svana wailed over the dinner we took in my room.
I would have said 'a practicing Sanguinite,' but apparently a worshipper of Dibella in a town that's pretty loose to begin with. When your town is known as being the home of the Thieves Guild, it's probably not the most reputable city. Otherwise, the thieves wouldn't be able to guild up—they'd be in competition with each other.
Or, rather, that was my impression of the various forms of larceny.
I looked down at the note Svana had swiped. Daedric boots and a trout?
A trout? Really?
A trout. I don't even want to know.
"It doesn't help that those bastards paw me every chance they get—and the things they say!" she shuddered expressively. Then she stopped, her cup empty, and realized where she was and what we were discussing. "Why do you even care? What's your angle in all this?"
"Angle? Given our subject of conversation? Seriously?" I giggled.
Svana pursed her lips, then began to laugh too, the sound breaking from her like water behind a bursting dam.
Once we had the giggles out of our system—which took some time, since Svana has so little to laugh about that laughter tends to make up for lost opportunities—I answered her as truthfully as I could. "I care, because we're friends. And I try to keep my friends' interests close to my heart." I put my hand over said organ, the way they do in Elsweyer and Hammerfell to indicate sincerity. "Also… I maybe have, er, got in it… with some sketchy people. And I remember you trying to keep me out of trouble that day I wandered in. I'm grateful for that, you know?"
"You know, he hasn't stopped cradling that knee since," Svana observed with a sigh.
"Then maybe I missed his knee. Good to know. It was kind of a panicked moment and my aim was off." Normally, I can nail that kind of kick, no problem. Shamar the Strong Man made sure of it before I was nine. He made a little practice dummy for me and everything.
We shared another bout of laughter over this, and I refilled her cup.
"If I have to deal with that old hag, why shouldn't you benefit? You're not a whore and they shouldn't act as if they thought you were." Personally, as feisty as she is, I don't know why she hasn't drop-kicked people until they get the message… or maybe she's afraid of repercussions from Haelga. I imagine that plan would be bad for Haelga's business.
Bad for a lot of people's business. Businesses.
"So, how do we go about making her life uncomfortable? You said you had a few ideas."
"She would kill me if she ever found out," Svana said. "And you weren't discreet." Still, I could tell she was into the plan hook, line, and sinker. Revenge is a great motivator… and it doesn't have to be bloody or horrific revenge, either. Sometimes the petty, embarrassing stuff is just as effective. Less guilt in the long run for someone in Svana's position.
"Depending on what we do, I may be able to push her into not bothering about you," I mused.
She must really have wanted to put Haelga in a spot, because she took this as a promise. "You see, I happen to know after she… you know…" she blushed brightly and squirmed, "…does that… she gives her partner a token of her affection called a Mark of Dibella."
I didn't ask how she knew. It wouldn't be right, particularly with the way she blushed and stammered over the topic.
"If you could confront her with three of the Marks, she'd be so embarrassed… oh, I don't know what she'd do!" Svana chuckled at this, images of a chastened, shocked, appalled, or otherwise humiliated Haelga dancing through her mind.
I leaned in close, conspiratorially. "I happen to be very good with my hands. Do you have some names for me?"
Svana's grin was wicked as she leaned forward on the table, bringing out heads close together. "By some strange coincidence I do."
-K-
Haelga's rosy complexion turned the same color day old porridge. Her wavy hair seemed to lose its wave and her jaw trembled. From a corner, tactfully out of sight, Svana watched with hungry eyes. "I…"
She'd said this—croaked it, actually—twice now, and seemed ready to say it again.
"…I…"
It was funny watching her squirm. Her hand rested over her bosom as if with modesty, the other dug fingernails into the counter behind which she stood.
"I… if people find out I'm practicing my Dibellan arts in Riften… they'll run me out on a rail," she whispered.
Well, if more people found out about it. Like wife-type people.
"That could be a problem," I agreed in mock sympathy. Of course, tarts like her keep—to some degree—the creeps away from the nice girls, so I'd really rather she stay where she is.
"What-what do you want?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the three tokens of purple glass, the same color as the jewel in her amulet that designated her a devotee primarily of Dibella. It's one thing to be a devotee, but this isn't Markarth and she's not a priestess. Personally, I wondered if there isn't something… well. Something compulsive in her behavior. You know, like that one villager who has to count all the fence posts every time they pass them. Only different.
"Firstly, you owe someone some money. Cough up," I answered simply.
Halega glanced at the Marks, then glared at me as if she wanted to scratch my eyes out. She brought the gold, however, and flopped it on the counter with a 'take it and be damned to me' attitude. "Secondly?" came the bitterly sarcastic inquiry.
"This is independent of the Guild. Svana is my friend—and a good one. If you don't start watching out for her interests a little better, I'll sneak in while you're not looking: Lady Dibella over there ends up in the well, and your prettiest underthings end up in some fella's pocket. Or several fellas' pockets. Or the alms box at the Benevolence."
Svana had mentioned how devoted Haelga was to the statue, which was easily the most expensive thing in the Bunkhouse. Oblivion's Teeth, it probably cost more than the Bunkhouse itself.
Haelga groaned in the back of her throat, her eyes widening. Apparently, one or the other was a threat she wasn't going to test.
I put the glass chips on the counter, but left them covered by my hand. "Conspicuously, do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yes, I do," Haelga said with all the dignity she could muster, swiping the chips from under my hand. "Now, if you'll please just go."
"Pleasure doing business with you. Oh, by the way," I leaned over, confident that she wouldn't take any revenges on Svana since I had an axe over her pretty neck. "That thing with the trout? That's just weird."
If looks could kill I'd be moldering in my grave. I have made an enemy today, whoohoo!
And I don't really care.
-K-
Bersi Honey-Hand was easy—although in light of my previous deadbeat I didn't like to use that particular phrase. It may take a little time to get my mind out of the gutter and stop seeing double entendres and that sort of thing everywhere I look. Dealing with Halega made me feel dirty, which had an effect on my sense of humor.
As for Bersi… it wasn't hard to spot the pride of place and then ransom it back. A hundred septims for the ugly dwarven pot? Easy. It didn't make me any friends and I would probably never be able to show my face in the Pawned Prawn (what a name! I'd love to hear the story that has to be there!) ever again, but I didn't intend to.
The Pawned Prawn was simply the most prosperous merchant venture, having its own actual building to reside in. Riften is built on crime and commerce… and commerce that's practically criminal.
I arrived back at the Ragged Flagon the morning after being dispatched to play go-between.
"Give it up, Bryn," Vekel, the barkeep, was saying. "Those days are over."
"I'm telling you," Brynjolf argued complacently, leaning back in his chair and—since no one but the regulars were there, though only a scant few of them—kicking his feet up onto the table.
"Oi!" Vekel almost roared, looking ready to throw his wash towel (or the tankard in his other hand) at Brynjolf's head.
"This one's different." At risk of the towel (or tankard) connecting with his head, Brynjolf took his feet back off the table and meandered over to the bar.
"Hmph. We've all heard that line before, Bryn," the hairy bouncer sneered. "Quit kidding yourself already."
"It's just time to face the truth, old friend," Vekel cut in, shaking his head as he continued polishing the bar.
Brynjolf, slouched at the bar, began twirling a dagger expertly between his fingers. From the way the bouncer watched it, it was clearly a threat.
"You, Vex, Mercer—you're part of a dying breed. Things are changing."
"Aye. For the worse," Brynjolf grumbled his reluctant agreement.
"Good morning!" I trilled, bounding into the Ragged Flagon and skidding to a stop. "Watch this, I've been working on it all night." I produced the three bags of coin and began to juggle them. I'm not a juggler, so it did not take me long to drop one of them… then the rest.
The expressions of concern, horror, and outrage during the time I might have dropped them into the cistern were hilarious.
"Beh. I guess I should keep practicing. Payoffs from deadbeats, delivered on time and on target!" I declared, setting the bags on the counter at Brynjolf's elbow before hiking myself onto the one of the stools. "Hey Vekel? Can I have another one of those tasty things you poured out yesterday?"
He gave me a look that said 'coin first—we don't run up tabs.' I produced the same number of coins I had the day before and handed them over. A tankard was fetched, filled, and flopped down before me.
"Thank you."
"No problems I take it?" Brynjolf asked, weighing each bag with an experienced hand, discreetly checking to make sure I hadn't taken a cut.
"Nope. Easy as a cartwheel," I answered, toasting the barkeep and smiling at my first taste of the liquor. "Mmm. And making Halega squirm was hilarious." I had to giggle at the memory of that raunchy woman looking all embarrassed—like a flower-crowned girl—as Svana tried not to laugh too loudly.
"No busted knuckles?" he asked.
I held up both my hands, revealing a distinct lack of evidence of scrapping. "Ta-dah!"
"Color me impressed, then," Brynjolf responded, securing the three bags at his hip… on his left hip, which put it away from my sticky fingers, in case I got any clever ideas. I didn't miss that, and grinned when he winked at me, having realized that I hadn't missed it. "Nice and clean. I like that. Dumping bodies and keeping the guards quiet can be expensive."
"I know! You should have heard those bums at the front gate." Pitching my voice in a low, trollish grunt, "'Urg, your gotta pay the visitors' tax. It's a tax, hurg-gurg-gurg. For visitors. Pay up. Grr.'"
"What'd you do?" Brynjolf asked, his mouth crooked as he gave a speaking look to the bouncer, then to the barkeep.
They both ignored it.
"Same thing I did with you: I threatened to scream," I answered cheerfully. "Nothing special in mind either, just a nice, loud, undulating scream right up from my very toes. Either I'd shatter their eardrums and run into the city while they were rolling around on the ground in pain, or I'd be loud enough for someone to want to find out what the racket was about. The guys caved like a mishandled soufflé. It was hilarious." I took another sip of my drink, remembering to pace myself. Whatever this is, it's strong.
But it's so good!
Ah, the woes of being a lightweight.
-K-
The Guildmaster was out—Bryn refused to say where—so I couldn't be introduced formally. However, there were other guild members in the Cistern—the hidden space beyond the Ragged Flagon where the guild actually lived—and getting to know them would be enough of a start.
There were three thieves at home when Bryn walked me in and, essentially, dropped me off.
That was fine: I didn't need someone to hold my hand.
"Morning!" I announced, striding over to peer at whatever they were doing—playing cards and (probably) cheating at it.
"…morning…" came the somewhat suspicious greeting from one of them.
"I'm Kitty. Good to know you," I stuck out a hand to the one who had spoken. He looked at it, then at me. Rather than let my smile dim, I screwed it on even tighter. Some people are just shy.
"Ignore Cynic over there," the Nord at the table declared, reaching over to shake my hand. "Vipir, at your service, and the quiet one over there is Rune." He, at least, shook my hand very warmly… and a bustier girl than me would have jiggled. That was probably the point. Ah, Vipir… effort wasted, I'm afraid.
Rune, an Imperial with a very pale complexion and fair eyes, lifted a hand in greeting, though he didn't cease regarding me dubiously.
"Bryn was saying he had a pick—didn't say you were cute, though," Vipir noted, shuffling the cards dexterously. As soon as he started the other two men watched him like a couple of hawks.
I chuckled at this. "I am. What's your game and can the new girl get in on it? I'm good for it." I settled between Rune and Vipir, watching the cards shuffle under Vipir's careful manipulations.
One of Rune's hands shot out, grabbing Vipir by the wrist. Neatly, Rune pulled out the card Vipir had been working free of his cuff.
"Good eyes!" I cheered.
Cynic—what a name!—glared first at Vipir, then at me. Rune's brow scrunched up as he took the cards from a disappointed-looking Vipir. "So, what's your game?" Cynic asked dubiously.
"Anything I can win," I answered.
"No, your game, here," he indicated the Guildhall—if I could call it that.
The 'Guildhall' (a euphemism—it's such a dump!) was hidden behind the Ragged Flagon through a secret door. I'll admit, my heart leapt at the whole 'secret door' thing. Part of the Ratway, the sewers under Riften, it was damp, seedy, and pretty grimy. You don't walk around in bare feet around here… and yet, I suppose it has a certain ambiance suitable for a guild of thieves.
Who doesn't want a guildhall with ambiance?
"Oh! Sorry. Thought you meant the cards. You're one short, by the way. It's in his pocket," I indicated with a finger to Rune who, smirking, handed me the deck… and the card in his pocket. His smirk was a pleasant one, as if he was a nice guy on the whole, larceny aside.
Supposing I was meant to shuffle (and try to get cards into or out of it), I began to do so, making a very poor showing and watching grins appear on faces. "Bit of this, bit of that. Kind of trying to find my niche, you know."
The deck had marks on it, neat little symbols and icons in different styles. I immediately began turning them this way and that so that no one hand would have all the same markings visible.
"Where're you from?" Rune asked.
"All over. I'm a circus brat—or was—so we never really stayed anywhere too long. You know how it is—they love to watch you perform but they've got one hand on their daggers if anything goes missing." I grinned as I set the cards down. "Which things sometimes did. Can't imagine why. Had to be the locals. It sure wasn't me." I winked and the two younger men laughed.
"You talk too much," Cynic noted as I picked the deck up again after Vipir cut it and began to deal.
"I know. It's part of my charm."
Cynic snorted.
"Well, it is. I can see why your mother named you Cynic. Good grief."
He winced. "Cynric. It's Cyn-ric." He glared at Vipir who was trying not to laugh out loud.
"Oh. Sorry," I did blush at that and glared at Vipir. "Nice trick to play on someone."
"Didn't think you'd actually buy into it," Vipir answered carelessly.
I grinned at him, liking his humor.
-K-
As it turned out, Vipir (whose in-lieu-of-a-last-name was 'the Fleet,' and which earned some bawdy comments from his friends) was easily the friendliest of my new guild-mates. He was friendly, flirty, but didn't seem to expect too much to come of either trait. That meant we were fast friends after that first card game. Especially after I pulled a royal flush out of nowhere (it was actually out of my tunic, but no one needed to know that) and took them all to the washtub.
Rune was reserved and thought a lot. The most cautious card player I ever met, bar none.
Cynric was called Cynic for a reason. I'd never met such a misanthrope… though, to be fair, it might have been because the grumpier he got, the more cheerful I got. It was a war of wills, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm not entirely sure who won. Maybe it was the audience. That's how these things usually go.
There were two others that first week: a wood-elf who seemed to have nothing going for him other than being pretty (and he was good-looking for a wood-elf) and being the best shot with a bow in the group, and a woman called Sapphire who seemed to think it her mission in life to alienate everyone and everything around her.
If I'd thought Cynric was a misanthrope, I corrected myself. Sapphire went beyond 'who spit in your breakfast?'
The woman was, to put it bluntly, a pure and awful bitch—though she was very pretty. No one knew why, she was and always had been, apparently. People around here simply got used to it, which seemed to be the way she liked it.
"Hey! Kitty-lass!"
I jumped up from my bed, shoving my book under my pillow. It was one the twins gave me before I left and the contents were—at least at this point—questionable for a nice girl to be reading. I think they were having a laugh at me in that giggly 'we really do love you, pretty-Kitty' way they had.
Bryn stood just inside the doorway of the guildhall's residence area. "Time to meet the boss," he said, crooking a finger for me to come follow him.
Vipir, who'd been sharpening a knife and talking at Rune, hummed the Executioner's March under his breath as I walked past.
I thwacked him on the shoulder. He pretended to sprawl, as if knocked flat by ungentle handling.
That sort of summed up half of our relationship.
Bryn led me out of the guildhall's living area and into a larger room with much less in it—also round with a domed ceiling—with an office-looking space near the back wall. Bookshelves, desk and everything. Over this leaned a short man, his hair liberally streaked grey and a feral 'why are you bothering me?' glare when Bryn and I arrived at the desk.
My sense of people to avoid? It skipped tingling and went straight to screaming warnings at me. This guy would murder you if he caught you alone in some wild place. Just stealing your stuff wouldn't be enough—he'd want surety.
"Here she is," Bryn had to fish me out from my refuge behind him. The guy with the glare was scary and earned himself a place at the top of my 'people to avoid in Riften' list. "Our new recruit. Kitty, this is Guildmaster Frey. He's in charge."
"I thought you were in charge," I hissed uncomfortably as Mercer of the Hard Face looked me over.
"Of personnel," Bryn answered blandly. "She's the one I told you about," he added when Mercer didn't look at all impressed, encouraged, or… well, anything really.
"Hn. This had better not be another waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf," Mercer grunted, giving me a disinterested once-over with cold, pale eyes.
You know, maybe everyone else was right. Maybe I should get out of here before I get in too far…
"She's the one who handled the payouts," he answered, unperturbed by the Guildmaster's bad mood. Bryn was already very high in my estimations; his calm in the face of Guildmaster Grumpus' bad attitude put him even higher. "Three hundred septims, silent, neat, and no skimming. I checked."
"Hmph." Mercer glared at me, prompting me to move back towards Bryn. I didn't feel safe around Mercer, like if I turned my back he'd put a knife in it just because he could. "I want to make one thing perfectly clear," he snarled at me. I backed up some more… or tried to. I actually backed into Bryn who was in the way (and who put a steadying hand on my shoulder). "If you play by the rules you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share—no debates, no discussions, no excuses. You do what we say, when we say, how we say it. Got it?"
Coming from him, I don't like the sound of that at all…
One of my hands caught on the back of Bryn's bandolier, the pitted leather comforting under my hand. I don't like this guy. I don't like being anywhere near him…
"You are about to start embarrassing me," Bryn breathed.
I swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it." I immediately took another step to the side and back, so Bryn's elbow (he'd crossed his arms over his chest) was between Mercer and me. "Your show. Crystal clear."
"I'm glad we're all clear on that," Mercer growled. "Well, you're here and Brynjolf says you're capable. Let's test that theory, shall we? She can take over for Vex," he finished dismissively.
"Wait a moment." It was Bryn's turn to stiffen. "You mean Goldenglow?"
"No, I mean Mistveil Keep," Mercer responded acidly. "Yes, Goldenglow. You said she was good. I want to see."
Who spit in his breakfast?
I wasn't sure I heard what I thought I heard come out of Bryn's mouth under his breath, but if I did I have got to add it to my list of nasty things to say.
Mercer either truly didn't hear or pretended not to have heard. Probably the latter.
Bryn took me by the arm and wrangled me out of the room. I rather thought he was simply eager to get me out of sight more than harboring any annoyance with me.
"I'm sorry," I said as soon as there was a door between Mercer and us. "I didn't mean to embarrass you and I didn't mean to annoy him." I kicked the floor with my toe, then stopped. It was an old habit and one I thought I'd broken myself of.
"I got that. Usually you don't shut up." He looked at me then, with a smirk, ruffled my hair with one hand as if to say everything was fine on that score.
I yelped, smoothing my now-crackly with static hair down as I stepped out of arm's reach. "He scares me, Bryn. A lot. I don't like him." I crossed my arms and gave the door a worried look.
"Now, now," Bryn prompted patiently. "He's the Guildmaster and has a lot on his mind. He's tough because he has to be. Trust me. Now, go talk to Tonilia—if it's time for your first job, it's time for you to get suited up." When, when I turned to obey, his hand fell on my shoulder and his breath appeared by my ear. "Special order, as you're so skinny." He patted my hip, where I usually did when admitting to having no ass, in a cheeky but not crude manner. It smacked of tweaking ponytails. "Be sure to thank her."
"I'm shaped in the right places," I answered with dignity, not really believing it.
"Of course you are." He gave me a push to get me going in the right direction.
I turned and pulled a face at him before jogging off.
"And don't show that face anywhere else!" he barked with mock levity. "People'll think we're running a nursery, here!"
He got the last word in. Dammit.