Chapter 34: Shadows and Information

The interior of the local inn was dim, smelling faintly of stale ale, roasted meats, and damp wool. The morning patrons were sparse, murmuring quietly among themselves over wooden mugs. Zevryn stepped through the heavy oak door, pulling down his hood slightly before making his way directly toward the counter where the innkeeper stood wiping down a mug.

The innkeeper looked up, his weathered face breaking into a knowing, cautious smirk as Zevryn approached.

"Quiet morning, isn't it?" the innkeeper murmured, leaning in close across the polished wood. "Especially up near Aurelius Square. Word is, a certain councilman had a most... unfortunate accident last night. The official investigation says his own greed and incomplete texts bit back. Turned him into a monster before he tore himself apart."

The innkeeper's eyes flicked meaningfully toward Zevryn, carrying the unspoken weight of someone who knew exactly who pulled the invisible strings, even if the city guards were none the wiser. "You can rest easy. The council is calling it a tragic backfire. All is safe; nobody suspects a shadow touched him."

Zevryn took a slow, deliberate sip of the water the innkeeper slid toward him, his expression entirely unreadable. "Oh, poor mage," Zevryn said, his voice flat and devoid of sympathy. "He should not have studied those vile arts."

The innkeeper chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Indeed not."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Zevryn shifted his weight, changing the topic with a casual smoothness. "By the way... is it alright that I took the liberty of teaching my servant a few basic stances?"

The innkeeper paused, offering a warm, knowing smile. "It's your safehouse, and she's under your roof. Continue if you still want to teach her. Nobody here cares to look too closely at how you manage your domestic affairs."

Zevryn nodded once, then lowered his voice into a sharp, quiet register. "I need to talk to you privately."

On cue, the innkeeper gave a subtle, almost imperceptible flick of his fingers toward the corner tables. The lounging patrons and petty informants who had been lingering nearby instantly gathered their belongings and cleared out through the side door, leaving the common room entirely empty save for the two of them.

Zevryn reached into his tunic, produced a neatly folded slip of parchment, and slid it across the wooden counter.

"I want you to find names," Zevryn said quietly. "Three dark elves. These marks on the paper are the distinct sigils their kindred use. They may not be in this city anymore; they could have slipped away to other maritime settlements or neighboring provinces, but any professional information broker or tracker will recognize their signatures."

The innkeeper glanced down at the paper, his eyes scanning the names before he carefully folded it away into his vest pocket.

"And your fee?" Zevryn asked, his pale eyes fixed on the man.

The innkeeper offered a thin, professional smile. "No fixed price today. I'll state the fee when I find them."

The innkeeper leaned forward, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied the drow's cold, unblinking gaze. "Just to be clear before I put my best scouts on the roads... are these targets friends, or enemies?"

Zevryn's lips parted into a razor-thin, emotionless line.

"Prey."