“Should I attend to Brug first as usual, Tarlak?” the priestess asked. Tarlak glanced back to her, a smile flashing across his face.

“Do you have to ask, Delysia? Brug got himself-”

And then a whip wrapped around his neck. Haern drew his sabers, but Qurrah glared at him, prepared for his speed.

“With but a thought I can surround my whip with fire,” he told him. “Move, and I burn him alive.”

“I’d greatly prefer you stay still for now, Haern,” Tarlak said, the muscles in his neck taut.

Haern sheathed his swords. “Of course,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Let me know when you want them dead.”

“Qurrah, release him, he intends us no harm,” Aurelia said.

“He means to order us around,” Qurrah said. “I do not appreciate that. Besides, if you go, we go, and I happen to like this city.”

“Touching,” Brug grumbled, his knuckles white as they gripped his punch daggers. “But you’re a fool thinking you got yourself a bargaining chip. I’ll gut any who cause him harm.”

Delysia slowly approached, standing at Brug’s side with her arms crossed.

“I do not like stalemates,” Qurrah said, his eyes jumping from one to the other. “So I propose that you four pretend you never saw us, and no one will be the wiser.”

“Bad idea,” Tarlak replied, wincing slightly, half-expecting fire to engulf his neck. None did, so he continued. “We let you go, and someone finds out, or even worse, you go off and kill someone, our heads would find themselves a nice new spike for a home. Personally, my head likes my neck, so we need a solution that addresses that particular worry.”

“Don’t sound like there is one,” Harruq said, drawing his swords. “Because we’re not leaving.”

The cloaked man drifted around so fluidly that Qurrah did not realize he had moved until he was almost gone.