⚓
The wine goblet shattered.
Raven's hand jerked backward as the crystal exploded against the polished mahogany table, sending droplets of dark red wine cascading across her fingers, the liquid cool and sticky against her skin. The rich scent of spilled vintage mixed with the sudden, sharp smell of pulverized stone.
The tavern convulsed. A bone-rattling shockwave tore through Orellia's foundations, raining dust and debris from the ancient beams. The world shook with a single, violent spasm.
"What in the seven hells—" Moreau began, her cultured voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Raven didn't wait to hear the rest.
She shoved the heavy merchant's table forward with both hands, a violent scrape of wood on wood. The briefcase of Cori went sliding across its polished surface in a spectacular cascade of paper bills—thirty-one million in neatly stacked currency scattering across the tavern floor like oversized confetti in the world's most expensive parade.
