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letters. One was for victory, the other defeat.”
Bold—this messenger was bold, and
arrogant, for someone at Darrow’s beck and
call. “What’s your name?”
“Nox Owen.” The messenger bowed at the
waist. “From Perranth.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Ren said, scanning the
man anew. “You’re a thief.”
“Former thief,” Nox amended, winking.
“Now rebel, and Lord Darrow’s most trusted
messenger.” Indeed, a skilled thief would
make for a smart messenger, able to slip in
and out of places unseen.
But Aedion didn’t care what the man did or
didn’t do. “I assume you’re not riding back
tonight.” A shake of the head. Aedion sighed.
“Does Darrow realize that these men are
exhausted and though we won the field, it was
not an easy victory by any means?”
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Nox said, dark