It’s not a bad idea. And a familiar setting might give me the chance to marshal my thoughts, to pick up the pieces of myself that were left scattered in the wake of Esmeralda’s obstinance.

“I—Yes, all right.” I draw in a shaky breath. I cannot afford to fall apart at the first—and incredibly slight—obstacle we encounter. My brother deserves better than that. “Maybe some wine is precisely what I need.”

“Wine. Or something stronger?”

She offers me a half smile. An easy grin. She seems to have those in endless supply. I hold on to it, grateful for its attempt at normalcy.

“Lead the way, and we’ll find out.”

We don’t have far to go. Only to Santiago’s. If I were to cut all the thoughts out of my head, this would feel like any other night. But, of course, it isn’t.

The tavern looks the same as it always does. Patrons packed in around tables, playing cards flying from hand to hand, copious amounts of wine and chicha flowing like water. The rich scent of a stew bubbling in a massive iron pot in the hearth.

But what isn’t the same is the way people peer at me as I enter.

It takes a moment to understand why.

The look Santiago offers me is full of the last thing in this world I want: pity.

I pause so suddenly, Ana collides with my back.

“What—” But then she looks around. “Oh.”

Some people turn away, back to their cards and their drink. One man I half recognize—the drunk who stuck to the bar despite Ana and I wreaking all manner of havoc in this tavern during that fight—lifts his cup and nods at me.

Ana presses close to my side, her body—and mane of loose hair—blocking my view of half the room. She catches me eye, her expression soft and steady. There is sympathy there, but sympathy I can bear. Pity … that is another beast entirely.

“We can leave if you want.”

In that moment, I love her as much as I ever have.

“Thank you.” I reach for her hand and give it a quick squeeze. “But no. I can stay. I want to stay.”

She studies me for a moment, eyes raking over my countenance like a bloodhound scenting for a lie. But then, she nods. “All right.”

And that’s it.

We settle at our usual table, nestled in the corner with the best view of the entrance and the rest of the bar. Ana raises her hand, beckoning Santiago over.

He comes, tossing a rag over his shoulder. “What brings you here?”

“The same thing that always bring us here,” Ana says. “We need information. And ale. Definitely ale.”