He was looking right at her with a proud father’s gleam, and, as usual, she was determined to see his puffed up expectations deflated where she was concerned.
“You know something, Aldrivanos?” said Prauver. “I like this plan. I like it a lot. More moving parts than anything we’ve done yet, but we’ve finally got the people to pull it off. The right people. People with a surplus of wits and dark and curlies both.”
Felisa deflected, “You should direct that glowing praise to Tigwyll.” Without diverting her gaze from the auction grounds, she tilted her head toward the man beside her. “It’s his plan.”
One would expect Tigwyll to make some noise in agreement, but the elven academic turned lead strategist for a rag-tag mercenary company had a perfectionist streak a mile wide. He merely grunted. “We can talk about how savvy it was if and when it works.”
Prauver chuckled. “Fair enough.” Felisa was hoping that would be the end of it, but she felt the leader’s eyes on her again. “Still, it was your call to go big with this. It was a good one.”
Like hells she would. “It wasn’t my call. It was a mutual decision.”
“A mutual decision inspired by your proposal. You’ll take the credit for that if I have to shove it down your throat.”