Eight: A Kiss
Raizel took breakfast in the inn’s bar the next morning, feeling well-rested, content, and ready to face the rest of her journey. Perhaps she’d even hire a coach.
The barmaid leaned over the table while she was refilling Raizel’s mug. “There are opportunities around here, you know, for someone as clever as Esterzon Gorenz says you might be. And if you really destroyed that Black Missive he’s been going on about for years-”
Something about the barmaid, or maybe something about the pixie dust still brushed across Raizel’s eyelashes, was a little strange. She looked closer – closer at the clever decolletage, that looked lower-cut and more dangerous than it was – and realized she could see a spark of divinity hiding in the woman’s chest.
Until then, she hadn’t know she could see such things. Perhaps it was just the dust.
“I destroyed the Missive and the, ah, the multi-hued falcon, ma’am.”
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