Jevan’s lips twitched in a smirk at Illyad’s contemplative glance at him putting his feat on the table. Without removing his feet, he poured two fingers' width more of brandy into his squat glass.
	“Concern?” He leaned back in his chair. “Merely an observation.” He swished the dark brown liquid around, but did not drink it.
	At his brother’s motive for his “visit,” Jevan tapped a finger against his chin in mock contemplation. “Luc. Luc,” he drew out the name the second time, a sly gleam in his dark blue eyes. “Can’t say the name rings a bell. He a friend of yours? Owe him money or something?”