KEELIRIN

KeeLirin did not eat. He rested his elbows on the table, watching the Brightlord dine. "I wished to offer you the chance to eat in peace," Roshone said eventually, "before we talked of serious matters. But you don't seem inclined to partake of my generosity." "No." "Very well," Roshone said, taking a piece of flatbread from the basket and wrapping it around his skewer, pulling off several vegetable chunks at once and eating them with the bread. "Then tell me. How long do you think you can defy me? Your family is destitute." "We do just fine," Kal cut in. Lirin glanced at him, but did not chastise him for speaking. "My son is correct. We can live. And if that doesn't work, we can leave. I will not bend to your will, Roshone." "If you left," Roshone said, holding up a finger, "I would contact your new citylord and tell him of the spheres stolen from me." "I would win an inquest over that. Besides, as a surgeon, I am immune to most demands