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‘It’s a long way from the Ford to Breeland. Might I ask what you . . . and your brother, is it . . . are doing on your travels?’ The man's steady grey gaze traveled from Tanni to her brother who was approaching the table.
‘Rhys Hafgen, good sir,’ said the young man, drawing near to where his sister was now sitting. On the small tray the innkeeper had given him he bore a pitcher of ale and a mug . . . for himself. And for Tanni, a small glass of deep, red wine. He topped off the other man’s mug, poured a brimming mugful for himself, and set the wine before his sister. ‘And did my sister manage to introduce herself, yet?’ he went on, seating himself across the table from the man.
‘Tanwen Hafgen,’ she chimed in, nodding at Hithadan. ‘Or Tanni, if you will.’ She took an appreciative sip of her wine, thanking Rhys for getting it for her. ‘Our family owns a large shop, at the Ford. We’re doing our Spring rounds to check in with our suppliers, and to ferret out any new sources of trade goods that we can. This is a busy time of year for us, and we thought by coming here to Stock, we might make a number of fortunate acquaintances . . . it being the big trade fair in these parts, or so we heard.’ Tanni settled her back comfortable against her chair and perused the man. ‘What about you, Master Hithadan . . . are you in the trade, too? Shall we count you as a . . . friendly rival?’ She gave him a disarming smile and sipped a little more of her wine.
Rhys flicked his gaze to Hithadan, wondering what the man might say in response.
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