She nodded her thanks. "I've heard someone matching her description could be found here in Berelath. My plan was to stay here for two weeks. in case the slavers show. The Green Heart is a way station between worlds, after all. But if they're here in Berelath, like I suspect, then surely they're headed to Alcarinque. It is a busy city, it seems likely she'd turn up there for the auctions."
Her lips thinned into a grim line. "Did you come by this information from Rasid? What else can you tell me?" Invoice numbers, names of slavers, anything like that would be useful. She leaned on the edge of her seat.
Noticing the offered flask, she took it at last. Unscrewing the cap, she knocked back a quick pull and made a face. Damn dwarves. If nothing else, they made fine brew. It was no more or less potent than the hell fire, but she felt like she was swallowing a beard when she drank Varric's whisky. Zoroka, knowing Vashir watched her, gave the rim of the flask a long and sensual lick before screwing the cap back on and handing it back.
For five decades she had tortured him like this. She saw no reason to stop now.
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