Evelyn
I smelled the dinner before I saw it. Even before I stepped into the tent, the scent of roasted root vegetables, something vaguely resembling grilled meat, and stale, reheated bread filled my nose. Seeing the plethora of choices set before me confirmed my assumptions: This was the best fare the rogues could provide.
It wasn’t exactly the sort of food that would make up a palace feast, but for a rogue camp, it was the equivalent of rolling out a red carpet. A long, low table in Jesse’s tent had been cleared of maps and weapons. Now, it was set with mismatched silverware, heaping platters of food, and a chipped pitcher of wine.
He was already sitting when I walked in, a full goblet in hand.
“Evelyn,” Jesse greeted, not deigning to rise and bow. “Perfect timing. I was going to
