Abe looked like a completely different person without his finery. His fingers were bare, his clothes simple and plain. His royal blue eyes shone against his cream-colored poet shirt, which was tucked into navy blue trousers. Knives lined his leather belt, all of them a similar size and fashion as Jared’s.
I warily sat down on a chaise, watching as Jared and Abe looked over the ancient map I’d stolen from Aeris’s castle, as well as the roughly drawn map I’d made to interpret Jared’s tattoos.
Brandt was standing on the far side of what must have been Abe’s office, staring out the window. It was no longer raining, but a thick fog covered the entire village and the rolling fields of grass beyond.
“She’s right about the pass, right here,” Abe said softly, his finger tapping the map. “There used to be a village here, so there’s a trail.”
I turned away from the conversation, gazing up at the art lining the walls from the baseboards to the ceiling.
“The legend of Draven mentions….”