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A blush stained Drue’s cheeks at those words and Talemir’s chest swelled at the sight. Gods, she was beautiful. She didn’t even realise it.

‘Mead it is.’ Drue placed the bottles down and rolled out a half-barrel from somewhere behind her.

‘We’re going to drink all that?’ Talemir raised a brow.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Drue rolled out another. ‘This too.’

Talemir laughed deeply, watching as she hauled one up onto the bench and located two tankards, wiping them with the hem of her shirt before positioning the first below the wooden spigot.

Mead flowed freely at the turn of the tap and Talemir’s mouth watered at the familiar smell. When both tankards were nearly overflowing with foaming mead, Drue pushed one over the bar to Talemir.

He raised his towards hers. ‘To strong pond weed and resourceful rangers.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ She smiled and clinked her tankard against his.

Talemir drank deeply, a deep hum of appreciation sounding from the back of his throat as the cool mead washed over his tongue. It was a welcome relief, a distraction from all that had occurred these past few days. The truth about the steel source was still fresh in his mind: that it hadn’t been tampered with, and that the wraiths were getting stronger all on their own. Drue’s former lover, Coltan, had lied. And the Guild Master hadn’t cross-examined anything before he’d given the order to Talemir. One question bothered Talemir more than all the rest… What if he’d charged into Ciraun as intended and killed her upon that order alone? The concept terrified him.

‘Where’d you go just now?’ Drue asked, smacking the foam from her lips with a satisfied sigh.

Talemir blinked at her, a lie poised on his tongue. But he found he didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t want any dishonesty between them. He drained the rest of his tankard. ‘I drifted into the past for a minute there…’

‘Oh.’

‘But let’s make sure that doesn’t happen to either of us for the next little while. What do you say?’

‘I say, how do you propose we do that?’

Talemir scanned the tavern, searching for inspiration. He found it hanging from the wall in the form of a dartboard. Gods, it had been an age since he’d played.

‘Darts,’ he told her, nodding to the circular target by a handful of portraits.

‘What are the stakes?’ Drue asked, refilling their drinks before jumping up and swinging her legs over the bar. She sat there, dangling her feet over the side, waiting expectantly.

Talemir considered this, scratching the stubble on his chin. ‘At the end of each round, the winner can demand a prize from the loser.’

Drue raised a sceptical brow. ‘Oh? And what sort of prizes are we demanding of one another, Warsword?’

Talemir chuckled. ‘It can be anything. A truth, a dare, a question. An item of clothing…’

‘Is that so?’

‘Only if you’re willing,’ he replied, with a note of challenge.

‘I’m willing to see you lose.’ Drue jumped down and dislodged the darts from the board.

Talemir folded his arms over his chest, joy sparking within. ‘You can certainly try.’

‘How many rounds?’

‘Three.’

‘Five,’ Drue countered.

‘As you wish. Shall we play the common midrealms game? The closer you get to the centre target, the more points you acquire?’

‘Works for me. Three throws at a time?’

Nodding, Talemir accepted the trio of darts she handed him before he motioned to the board. ‘Ladies first.’