The next thing he knew he was sitting in a darkened corner of a gathering room, there was a fire within reach, and Meera was fumbling with the purse at his belt.
“I should be enjoying this,” he wheezed.
“First a gambler and now a lecher,” she said sternly. “What else have I yet to discover about you that’s worse?”
“Don’t ask.” He closed his eyes because the chamber was spinning so wildly, he thought he might lose what breakfast he’d forced himself to ingest that morning.
He suspected he might have slept, for the next thing he knew, Meera was shaking him awake. He pried his eyes open, then accepted something that someone might have termed ale if they’d never tasted the same before. He drank, though, because feeling nauseated from bad ale was better than feeling half dead from what he’d
