Kellyn steps forward. “I do.”

I believe him, and I think he knows I do, but seeing Petrik’s hesitancy, Kellyn slides the massive longsword scabbard from off his back and tosses it to Petrik, sword and all.

Petrik fumbles with the weapon before dropping it.

“Why don’t you keep watch over that for me until I return? If you can manage to hoist it at all.” Then he takes the spear and dashes to the front of the pawnshop.

And we wait.

“If I can manage to hoist it,” Petrik says in a laughably mocking tone of Kellyn’s voice, but Temra and I manage straight faces. Petrik bends down, wraps both hands around the scabbard, and heaves.

He holds the weapon triumphantly in both hands, but after a minute, his arms start shaking. He tosses the sword aside and side-eyes Temra, as though hoping she didn’t notice.

Seeing that she did, he sighs before fixing his attention on the back of the shop.

“What are you doing?” Temra asks him.

“Like I said, I don’t trust him. I want to make sure he doesn’t try to run out the back with our money.”

I roll my eyes. “And leave his precious longsword behind? He wouldn’t.”

Temra says, “With that much money, he could buy a new one ten times over.”

“Yes, thank you, Temra, that comment is definitely helping things,” I snap.

“I’m just saying.”

“The mercenary was the only choice. Now let’s just wait before we start getting cynical.”

There’s some foot traffic on the main street behind us. The smell of fresh rainfall was present throughout the entire journey, but now that we’ve arrived in the capital, the city has covered it up, replacing it with body odors and horse manure.

Those in the city wear leathers with fur embellishments at their cuffs and collars. They appear to be quite the community of hunters, I observe, as I watch a cart of antlers go by. Many in the street have bows slung over their shoulders.

Though the rain lessened the more we traveled southeast, it hasn’t stopped. Even now our boots are covered in mud clear up to our knees. The baths we had in Thersa were a lifetime ago. We’re hungry, we’re wet, we’re cranky.

And we’re going to have to stay in a public house until we find a place of our own. I try not to grimace.

“Is that him?” Temra asks shortly after I hear a door slamming.

She’s not pointing toward the front of the shop, where Kellyn entered, but at the back, where a tall figure is walking away.

“That’s not him,” I say. Kellyn doesn’t look like that from behind. I would know. I spent so much time glaring at his back. He’s broader, holds himself straighter than whoever this fellow is.

“There’s not many guys that freakishly tall,” Petrik says. “Kellyn!”

The figure turns.

And there’s no mistaking that it’s the mercenary.

Kellyn winks at me, jingling a heavy purse of money in one hand, before he takes off like a pack of hungry beasts is behind him.