Raven

Dangerous Liaisons || 3

THE Raven Prince was the oldest tavern on the row.

A quaint two-story building of old oak wood, it always looked so lonely despite its prime position in the centre of the East Nest. It stood between two modernized taverns of stone and brick, but the cottage-like building held its regular customers in a firm grip despite its outdated architecture.

Perhaps it wasn't the most popular drinking hole on the street, but The Raven Prince always somehow managed to stay afloat after many years.

The tavern's iron sign before the entrance rocked and creaked as Theo pushed open the door, a black raven taking flight with its feathers falling around it welded into the manipulated metal.

The all too familiar stench of ale, spirits and efapara spiced honey quail hit Theo's senses first. Tree logs held the ceiling aloft, keeping the second floor from collapsing down on the guests below. Warm, amber light ricocheted off one wall to the other from the number of lanterns hanging from the tree posts scattered around the room.

The place was empty, as it should be as the first hour of morning almost hit the town. The only other soul in the tavern was the barman, his back facing the room as he cleaned glasses with a delicate but thorough touch.

Theo slid into a bar stool at the vacant bar. The barman turned at the scratching of wood on floorboards.

"What'd you like?" he asked in a gruff tone.

Theo shot the barman a stony, neutral look, one that answered the question clearly.

"Comin' right up," he sighed as he snatched a goblet and sauntered over to the ale keg.

Once full, the barman placed the full cup before Theo.

"I'm assuming your fun at the Palace proved fruitful," the barman posed, returning to his glass-cleaning.

Theo reached behind himself where the satchel was tied to his belt, undoing it with a single hand. He dropped the silk bag on the bar, the sound of clattering chips inside it loud around the empty tavern.

The barman smiled before a whistle piped from his pursed lips. "Very fruitful."

Theo took a swig of his ale. "Expect a messenger to drop by with the share papers in due time, too."

He smiled wider. "Very fruitful."

Theo cocked his head slightly. "Yes, well, I doubt I'll be allowed through the Palace's doors anytime soon."

The barman snorted. "Aye, I can understand why that'd happen considering you swindled the owner."

"Bo-Hal D'Farah can't play Fata Morgana, Caynan. It's a proven fact that hasn't settled in for him yet."

"Yes, well." Caynan blinked slowly before retrieving a bottle of what looked like whisky or scotch from under the bar, pouring the amber liquid into a glass with ice. "It's a good thing you screwed him out of his money now."

Theo placed his drink on the bar and rested his elbows on the wood. He plucked up the silk satchel and examined it carefully—it's weight, the chips rattling inside, the kinds of things he could buy with such an amount.

"You know, Caynan," Theo began, raising the chips, "we can finally invest in hiring a second bar person for the tavern with this gold since, you know, evenings have been a bit busy lately."

Caynan's green eyes rolled up to meet Theo's. "Or perhaps that coin is better spent repaving the fireplace that is one use away from burning this place to the ground."

"Fear not, old friend," assured Theo with a cheeky smirk. "There will only be one barman of The Raven Prince."

Theo finished his drink and moved to stand, the legs of the stool scraping across the wooden flooring. "Is Osmund in?"