I ask for Veric's sword.
He looks at me as if I'd asked for the throne, the crown, and formal permission to spit on his family crest.
"No."
"It'll save time."
"That's exactly why I shouldn't hand it over."
I just keep my hand out. Veric holds my gaze for a few seconds, but there's a limit to how much pride a person can spend arguing with someone who has no intention of backing down. In the end, he pulls the sword from its sheath and gives it to me hilt-first, with the expression of a man already regretting it before he knows why.
"If you damage that, I'm charging you with interest."
"It's a sword. It'll survive."
"It's an expensive sword."
"Then it finally gets to justify the price."
