"Of all the fleabag places in all the riverside cities," Jolthar muttered to himself as he slouched in the shadows of barely holding structure, "he had to pick the one that smells like pickled fish and broken dreams."
He'd been tracking Roblan through Hamrasa's winding streets for the better part of the day, following whispers and batting his eyelashes at various serving girls who seemed all too eager to point him toward the baron's son.
Not that Jolthar could blame them – even he had to admit that Roblan's reputation for devastating good looks hadn't been exaggerated.
When he finally spotted his quarry in the tavern's darkest corner, Jolthar nearly rolled his eyes at the melodrama of it all. He was able to be recognised by the pictures shown by his mother.
There sat Roblan around his late twenties, looking like a hero from some tragic romance ballad despite his attempts at disguise. The hood of his cloak couldn't hide the perfect line of his jaw or the way his golden hair caught what little light reached his hiding spot.
Even trying to be invisible, the man was drawing lingering looks from every woman in the establishment.
"You're really bad at hiding for someone whose life depends on it," Jolthar announced, dropping into the seat across from Roblan.
He took a deliberate sip from his ale, watching with amusement as the other man nearly jumped out of his skin. "I mean, seriously? The mysterious hooded figure routine? You might as well have hung a sign around your neck saying, 'Hello, I'm being hunted by rose women; please find me here.'"
Roblan's hand had gone to a concealed weapon, but Jolthar just waved it away. "Oh, put that down before you hurt yourself, pretty boy. I'm here from your mother. Though after hearing some interesting rumours around town, I'm starting to think she didn't tell us quite everything about your... situation."
The baroness's son slowly relaxed, though his eyes kept darting to the tavern's doors and windows. He understood that his mother had gotten his letter, but he couldn't help but worry seeing the young Jolthar.
"How old are you?" He asked with a really curious doubt. Because Jolthar was just a teen who looked barely old enough to be out on his own, let alone coming to rescue.
Jolthar smirked, revealing a mischievous glint in his eyes as he replied, "Old enough to handle whatever your situation may be."
"Do you even know about the people who are after me?"
Up close, Jolthar could see why he'd earned such a reputation. The man looked like he'd been carved from marble by an artist with a particularly romantic vision – high cheekbones, soulful eyes, the kind of features that probably made poetry write itself.
Currently, those perfect features are creased with worry.
"We need to leave," Roblan whispered urgently. "The Blue Rose has people everywhere. If you found me—"
"Oh, they'll definitely find you too," Jolthar agreed cheerfully, taking another sip of his ale. "In fact, I'm counting on it. That's why I made sure to ask about you rather loudly in three different taverns on my way here. I'd give it..." he glanced at the gradually darkening sky through the grimy window.
"maybe another hour before their representatives arrive?"
Roblan's face went from worried to horrified. "You... you want them to come find us? Are you insane?"
"Probably!" Jolthar replied with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"But see, here's the thing – I'd rather deal with this mess here and now than drag it back to the barony. Less collateral damage that way, you understand?
Speaking of messes..." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Why don't you tell me exactly why the Blue Rose wants you dead? And please, make it good. I've bet myself a silver piece that it's something spectacularly stupid."
For a moment, Roblan looked like he might bolt, but then his shoulders slumped. "It... it wasn't supposed to end up ," he began, and Jolthar had to admit the man even managed to make dejection look attractive.
"It started with Belon—the daughter. We met when she came to negotiate ore prices at the barony."
"Yes, yes, love at first sight, burning passion, forbidden romance, I'm sure it was all very exciting," Jolthar waved impatiently. "Skip to the part where it all went wrong."
Roblan took a deep breath. "Things were wonderful at first. She brought me to stay at the main house of the Blue Rose. I'd never seen anything like it – such luxury, such power. And Belon... she was everything I'd ever dreamed of."
"I'm sensing a 'but' coming," Jolthar commented dryly. "A very large 'but' that probably makes me want to smack you."
"If you talk to me like that, then we are going to have a problem," Roblan said, feeling irritated.
"Sensitive now, are we? You sure sound arrogant for someone who ran away with a lover, leaving behind their mother and sister," Jolthar spoke right in his face.
Roblan averted his gaze, feeling a surge of guilt and shame wash over him. He knew he had made a mistake, but the allure of Belon and the Blue Rose had been too strong to resist. Now, faced with Jolthar's piercing words, he couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right choice after all.
"So, stop bothering with me and continue with your fairy tale," Jolthar said nonchalantly. He wasn't giving him respect, not for the one who ran away from a family that cares for you.
"Her mother, Raayani..." Roblan's voice grew quieter. "She invited us both to drink with her one evening. The wine was... strong. Exotic. One thing led to another, and..."
Jolthar closed his eyes, praying to whatever gods might be listening for patience. "Please don't tell me you slept with the mother of the woman you were courting.
Please. I don't have enough ale in front of me for that level of stupidity." Content orıginally comes from novel(ꜰ)ire.net