Victory slouched in the doorway. The man brought out blade after blade for Asaron to inspect. “I’m surprised you’re not finding something similar to your Schiavona.”
Asaron lifted a saber to check its balance. “Not enough room to swing that around where we’re going.”
To be fair, Victory had already made that determination and decided to settle with the short sword she’d acquired over finding a meatier bastard sword. She hummed low, under the dealer’s hearing level, indicating her opinion about each of the weapons. Finally, her sire ordered her to the man’s sparse living room. Apparently, he didn’t value her backseat sword expertise.
Not trusting the cleanliness of the furniture, Victory parked herself at the apartment’s window. The city’s skyline of historic palaces-turned-museums and m
