Ren could hardly keep it straight. He’d asked Karsef to start keeping a notebook—and, thankfully, Sarno did too. King Turim attended a sort of gladiatorial games each week with King Aggo and Novilo occasionally attending as well. King Ulren, on the other hand, more or less lived in a brothel called Statha’s Girls. Ren would have been concerned if other Mage Kings had shared that routine in the same whorehouse. Meanwhile, Lotha remained a prisoner in King Turim’s cells.
At the moment, Ren was watching King Illigar. The man lounged on the balcony of a third-floor banquet, between a contingent of guards and a woman curled up against his obese side. The woman only wore a tiny skirt, but was flicking a knife across her knuckles with ease. Illigar was going to be tricky. He was good friends with King Novilo as well. Ren continued walking along the street without taking a second look up there. He had seen enough from the mansion where Illigar was partying.
An army of slaves walked through the streets around Ren. Everywhere he looked, he saw brands. Some were as weathered and worn as the shoulder blades of those bearing them. Others were raw and red and fresh. Ren had dealt in slaves before, but being here, utterly surrounded, he felt lost. He could have been one of these men, and his usual defence, to glance at a mercenary or a merchant or a guard nearby, didn’t work when they were all slaves too.
He went straight to the bar at the Verdant Drinkhouse when he got back. He was weary of stalking monarchs. His plans, such as leaving some loyal warriors in the aftermath of Ith’s fallen government to create a future ‘in’ for Lerran’s Family, were of little matter to him in a mood like this.
Ren didn’t notice until his drink was served that he sat next to Virn. The sour man had had a few, it seemed, judging by the row of empties in front of him. The barkeeper grabbed one to clean, and Ren jokingly said, “I’ll get him another.” The man rolled his eyes and refilled the cup.
“Thank you,” Virn said. His voice was surprisingly lucid—he handled his liquor well. “I’m bad at sitting around.”
“Me too,” Ren said. “Sat around for a few weeks waiting for you and Kazra. Met a girl. Might die here, but I met her at least.”
Virn sighed and took another drink. When he lowered his mug, he muttered, “That’s fortunate though. When I sit around too long, I start to miss the one I lost.”
Ren blinked. Lerran had told him many stories from the year Ren lost. During that time, Lerran had become friends with a renegade member of the Circle—a story that had been at the front of Ren’s thoughts these last few weeks. “This woman you miss… Was her name Paksis?” Ren asked it hesitantly. Virn could crush his skull with one hand, if he decided to.
The mysterious warrior glanced at Ren for a moment, then inclined his head.
“What happened to her?” Ren blurted, his nerves frayed.
“We shouldn’t talk like this. We’re both here, just for a job,” Virn said. He took long drink of his whiskey, nearly emptying it.
Ren leaned against the bar. No one else from their group was in the tavern right now. He risked further comment: “You’re right—I’m all in with the Conclave. I just want to know what the Circle is like.”
“We’re going to need something stronger, then,” Virn said, reluctantly. He reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of Highland Spirits from the alcohol shelf. The barkeep started, and raised an eyebrow at Ren. Ren nodded; he would pay for the bottle. Virn poured two cups, though Ren hadn’t asked for any, and then repeated the question.
“What happened to her? She was a lot stronger than me, that’s what. They couldn’t beat her into docile, damned-cowardly submission,” he said, “unlike me.” With that, Virn swallowed the contents of the cup all at once and made an “O” with his mouth. Then he went on. “So they killed her.”
Ren very nearly patted Virn on the shoulder. Instead, his hand returned, palm-down, to the bar. Virn poured another glass for himself. He didn’t look at Ren, just at the counter or the wall of bottles. Ren turned his own cup, as though considering a sip. “Would you ever fight back against the fiends who made you this way?”
Virn nodded and looked at Ren with red-rimmed eyes. “I was ready to die, but they put my family at the point of spears and told me if I did not submit, I would watch them die. If my family was safe,” he said, then took a deep breath, “or dead—I would kill every Circle mage I could find.”
Ren nodded, and finally did take that drink. The Highland Spirits were more bitter than anything he drank on the Grey Sea, but also had a very distinct, buttery flavour. He put the cup down and leaned a little closer to the distraught warrior. “Where are they now—your family, that is?”
“Near High Raena, if they’re even still there,” Virn said. His voice was finally starting to slur. “The Circle could have moved them.”
Ren nodded. Virn poured them both another round and they both drank.
When the cups hit the bar the next time, Virn said, “It’s alright. I’ve resigned to this fate.” When Ren looked past him, for a moment, he saw Kazra coming down the steps from the Verdant Drinkhouse’s second floor. He asked Virn for another drink, but didn’t press him with further questions.