The boots of the militia carried through the floor above, the sound of armed men inside a building that had become theirs, moving into the positions they had been ordered to hold.
Beorn had told them not to come down. The noise proved they were still up there.
He sat in the empty chair.
Coss watched him without changing expression. Both hands rested on the table. His hands did not move. Men under real threat moved their hands.
"You've been busy"
The warmth in his voice was real, in its way. It was the warmth of who found the situation interesting. "Everything falling apart in what, a few hours? I'd have given you at least a day, to be fair to myself."
"Beginner's luck," Beorn said.
Coss smiled faintly. "Luck," he said, and the word carried something that was not sarcasm but had its edge.
