WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
”Sorry, I swear you just said I was right. I must have misheard.” It was strange - as Morgan thawed, so did Neron, and the smile he shot her way was just a little bit more genuine than at the beginning of the conversation. Having assumed this would just be a quick back and forth consisting of you never speak about what happened or I’ll kill you, he was a touch surprised as Morgan started to get comfortable, but didn’t mention it. (He didn’t dare).
”You would think that, but in Northaven my family were all spies. As the eldest, owning a tavern was probably the best way to get eyes and ears on the rest of the town,” Neron reasoned, shrugging his shoulders. ”It’s also one of the reasons I was considering Weaver as our new Spymaster, given what had happened to Peter.”
The sarcasm was almost welcome, taking them back into comfortable territory, and Neron tilted his head at her. ”I have fallen low, and yet you come and eat from my plates and drink from my cups, and sit next to my fire,” he pointed out. ”I quite like it there. The palace was too big. Though it did have some excellent places to hide.”
”You would think that, but in Northaven my family were all spies. As the eldest, owning a tavern was probably the best way to get eyes and ears on the rest of the town,” Neron reasoned, shrugging his shoulders. ”It’s also one of the reasons I was considering Weaver as our new Spymaster, given what had happened to Peter.”
The sarcasm was almost welcome, taking them back into comfortable territory, and Neron tilted his head at her. ”I have fallen low, and yet you come and eat from my plates and drink from my cups, and sit next to my fire,” he pointed out. ”I quite like it there. The palace was too big. Though it did have some excellent places to hide.”
