Weight of the World

Chapter Twelve

—Tregaar—

Raler had left her in the alleyway without so much as a goodbye or an explanation for why he was letting her go. She decided not to push her luck by asking, letting him disappear as quickly as he had found her, leaving her to make her way to the tavern known as The Sneaky Peat. As far as the Path was concerned, she had left the city a year ago, and so, no one was directly looking for her. So long as she didn't draw any attention to herself, the Pathfinders weren't likely to bother her.

When she made it to the tavern, she found Mint standing outside, staff strapped to her back, arms crossed over her chest, and an annoyed glint in her eyes. Mint Moss, self-named from the color of her hair, was a beast of a woman. Standing six and a half feet tall, she was nearly all muscle. Yet, even though she could rely on brute strength to see her out of most conflicts, Mint always preferred to use the staff at her back instead. Hurling fire and ice was far more satisfying, she said. Mint-colored eyes caught her approach, darting over to the door with a nod of her head. She shifted on her feet as Rhenna passed, rubbing rich brown hands over her eyes. Rhenna could hear the shouting as she walked up the few steps into the tavern.

She found Lambert standing near the bar, his golden-brown gaze locked in a dead stare with one of the locals Rhenna recognized. Grom was his name, a known troublemaker to say the least. Behind Grom was a slight woman who was cowering against the corner. Rhenna's eyes narrowed when she caught sight of the woman's split lip and bruised cheek.

"I ain't askin' ya again," Lambert warned, his tone low and angry. "Get outta my sight."

"This ain't your business," Grom crossed his arms over his chest, not intimidated by the sight of Lambert. A mistake. Grom was taller, had more muscle, and was known to be a brute. But despite Lambert's smaller build, her friend was a skilled and capable fighter. He was of average height, his muscles toned from years of training, though far from flashy. This wouldn't be the first time someone had underestimated him. Lambert could kill Grom in a myriad of ways, and her friend wasn't the kind to back down once he set his mind to something. And right now, it looked very much like he wanted to kill Grom then and there in the tavern.

"Is there a problem here?" Rhenna asked as she joined them. Lambert didn't turn to look at her, but Grom's eyes widened a bit. He thought himself stronger than Lambert, but it was a well-known fact that Rhenna Carlisle—an alias she had chosen for herself—was stronger than everyone in Low Reach. Grom wisely stepped back at her entrance. Lambert, however, didn't seem willing to let him go.

"You bet your ass there's a problem," Lambert snarled. "This son-of-a-bitch hit her for getting his drink wrong. Threatened to rape her in the alley if she did it again. I'm fucking tired of his shit."

"If you're gonna kill 'im at least don't do it in my bar," the owner, Pete, groaned behind the counter as he continued to serve drinks. "There's still a stain in the corner from Brent."

"H-hey now!" Grom held up his hands as he inched toward the door. "I don't want any trouble, alright? I was just messin' with her. We do that, right Erla?"

The woman named Erla huffed a humorless laugh, pressing some ice to her wound. "All the time, Grom."

"S-see? I meant no harm. I'm just gonna leave and..." Grom didn't finish his sentence. He turned and fled out the door, leaving a frustrated Lambert behind.

"Fuckin' dick," Lambert growled, his eyes darting up to her. "Shoulda let me kill him."

Rhenna shrugged. "I wasn't gonna stop you."