Chapter 7 – The Price of Information  

Delwyn already didn't like Gareth Crowne.

Maybe it was the way he lounged so carelessly, boots propped on the table like he owned the place. Or maybe it was the way he smirked like a man who always knew more than you.

Either way, she already wanted to punch him in the face.

Gareth flicked a coin between his fingers, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be obnoxious. Then, he sighed, stretching like a man who had all the time in the world.

"Well," he drawled, eyes flicking lazily between Delwyn and Vaelor, "if it isn't the dead woman walking."

Delwyn stilled.

Her fingers twitched toward her sword. Not fast enough to draw attention—just a reflex. A silent check that it was still there.

She hadn't told him her name. Vaelor hadn't, either.

"Funny," she said slowly, keeping her voice even. "I don't remember introducing myself."

Gareth smirked. "You didn't have to."

Delwyn's jaw clenched.

She wasn't surprised that word of her escape had spread. The king wanted everyone to know she was a traitor, a fugitive, a prize worth hunting.

But for Gareth to recognise her on sight? That meant the rumours were spreading faster than expected.

Vaelor, as usual, looked unbothered. He pulled out a chair across from Gareth and sat, casual and calm, like they were discussing the weather.

"We need information," he said.

Gareth feigned surprise. "Really? Here I thought you came all this way just to enjoy my company."

Vaelor exhaled sharply. "What's the king saying about her escape?"

Gareth tapped the coin against the wood. "Oh, Galborn's pissed. The Black Hounds are sweeping through every village and back alley within a hundred miles of the capital. They want her head on a spike—quickly, loudly, and preferably in front of a crowd."

He spun the coin once more, watching it flip before catching it neatly. "But you already knew that."

Delwyn leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "What don't we know?"

Gareth's smirk widened. "Now, see, that's the interesting part."

He paused, letting the silence sit.

Vaelor's patience thinned. "Gareth—"

"You know how this works," Gareth interrupted smoothly. "You want more? You pay."

Delwyn snorted. "What, you expect coin? Take a good look at us, Crowne. Do we look like we're carrying a fortune?"

"Then I guess we have a problem," Gareth mused. "Because I don't work for free."

Vaelor exhaled through his nose, already expecting this. "What do you want?"

Gareth grinned.

"There's a man in town. Name's Tavrin Korr. Smuggler, sells information, but lately, he's been selling to the wrong people." He flicked the coin again. "I don't like competition."

Delwyn leaned back. "You want us to kill him."

Gareth clicked his tongue. "Now, now. That sounds so uncivilised. I don't care how you handle it—just make sure he doesn't leave Black Hollow."

Delwyn exchanged a look with Vaelor.

"Do this for me," Gareth continued, voice smooth, "and I'll tell you everything you want to know. Where the Black Hounds are looking. Who's working with them. And what Galborn is really afraid of."

That got her attention.

She looked at Vaelor again. He was stone-faced, unreadable as always, but she knew he was considering it.

Finally, he glanced back at Gareth. "Where is he?"

Gareth smiled.

"Last I heard?" He leaned back, smug as ever. "The Hollowed Stag has… another guest."

Delwyn blinked. "You mean he's here?"

Gareth shrugged. "What can I say? Convenient, isn't it?"

Delwyn looked toward the far side of the tavern, scanning the dimly lit tables. Anyone could be Tavrin Korr.

A job. A risk. And in exchange?

The answers she needed.

She cracked her knuckles, exhaling slowly. "Well. No time like the present."