At the rear of the procession, walking slightly apart from the group with her arms folded and her expression suggesting she had opinions about the last several hours, came Iris.
"The former slaves are settled in Miri Town, Quin," Seraphiel reported, brushing snow from her shoulder. "As always, I handled the elves, Felicity took the humans, Kitsara managed the beastkin."
"And Iris talked to the dwarves! You made the right choice, she saw eye-to-eye with them instantly!" Felicity chirped, overjoyed.
Quinlan glanced at Iris.
Iris's eyes narrowed.
He'd sent her to handle the dwarven slaves specifically because her blunt, abrasive personality seemed like it would land well with a people who considered politeness a waste of perfectly good syllables. Dwarves respected directness. Iris couldn't be anything else if she tried.
The glance they exchanged said everything. His expression said, 'I was right, wasn't I?' Her narrowed eyes said, 'Yes and I hate it.'
