Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “That is selfish.” Then she sighed. “But you’re right. We do need him.”

  Olaf swayed with Bridget, holding her as if worried he might break her. Meanwhile, she was glaring at no one in particular. Olaf stole glances at her face, brow beaded with sweat. Augum had to look away lest he start to feel as self-conscious.

  Leera backed off to look at something. “Gods fry me with lightning, Jez is dancing with The Grizzly.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “If those two get together …”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, seriously, the Lord High Commander dating our mentor? I’d vomit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Leera looked seriously at him. “What’s with the grunts?”

  “What? Oh, no reason.”

  She gave him a skeptical look before nuzzling close again. Augum enjoyed feeling her body against his, the gentle fireside cedar fragrance of her, and tried not to think about spending time in the dark together. Miss you, he thought, but did not say it aloud.

  Songs came and went and the crowd got rowdier and rowdier. The girls danced with most of the boys, and Alyssa even took pity on Brandon, taking him out for the festive “A Farmer’s Daughter and the Heir.”

  With everyone panting after a lively number, the minstrel played the notoriously boring but patriotic “Marching Proud as Fire,” and while the tavern droned on as one, Augum thought it time to enact the boys’ plan. He pinched, snapped his fingers at, and back-slapped the boys, saying, “Grab the girls, we’re going downstairs for our turn.”

  As was tradition, everyone around their age was included, even Cry, Chaska, Devon and Brandon. Same with the girls, who were instructed to bring Priya and other girls from Arinthia.

  The tavern basement had already been set up to welcome them. Paper lanterns provided a warm glow and Tiberran wool blankets and plush pillows covered the floor. It was all Jez’s doing. Augum took a mental note to thank her later. Casks lined the walls, but there was a parchment sign that loudly stated, Paws Off! Enchanted. This means YOU. Definitely Jez’s doing.

  Isaac burst through the door at the top of the stairs, hands raised as a small cask floated before him, Jengo helping him telekinetically carry it.

  “Quickly, shut the door before they notice,” Isaac called, and Olaf, being the last one in, closed the door behind them. Isaac and Jengo then waddled down with the cask as the girls giggled or tsked in disapproval. They placed the cask by a lantern and covered it with straw.

  “I cast Chameleon and nicked it while the barkeep had his back turned,” Isaac said, brushing off his hands. “Fools didn’t bother enchanting the back storeroom.”

  “That’s blatant theft,” Cry muttered.

  “Only if you tattle. Now lighten up, would you? It’s Haylee’s special day. Jengo, if you please …”

  Jengo withdrew a stack of wooden cups from his robe.

  “Jengo Okeke, you were not a part of this heist, were you?” Priya, his beloved, asked. She was an Ordinary Tiberran with dark brown skin and a gentle face bejeweled with traditional piercings. For the occasion she wore a fine silken cerulean garment that wrapped over her shoulder and around her waist. She and Jengo were betrothed to be married but had not set a date yet.

  Jengo flashed an impish smile as he filled and floated a cup to each person. “Sometimes one has to think of the greater good, my love. Healer’s orders. One drink per soul. For the purposes of good health, of course.”

  Devon, who was sitting beside him and trying to do up a stubborn button on his oversized tunic, looked up at Jengo and frowned. “Wait, isn’t that your second?”

  Jengo stiffened as Priya placed her hands on her hips. “Fine, Jengo, you’re a man, after all.” And she turned away so fast her long hair whipped him in the face.

  Jengo looked longingly after her, only to resume handing out the cups, muttering, “Thanks for that, Devon.”

  Even Bridget took a cup, albeit grudgingly. She tried not to look at Brandon or Olaf, who both in turn sheepishly tried not to look at her.

  Augum dutifully took his cup of ale and steadied his shaking hand, anxious about performing his Master of Ceremonies duties. But he’d been watching and learning when the boys had taken their turns during other girls’ ceremonies. And it was a strict rule that the Master of Ceremonies could not be the boyfriend or girlfriend of the one turning sixteen.

  Augum nervously bid everyone to take their seats in a large circle. The girls sat on one side while the boys sat on the other. Then he strolled over to Haylee and extended a hand and began the ancient but informal tradition. “Ladies of kind souls and men of gentle hearts, the Lady of Honor of this, the third day of the twelfth month of the year 3342 … Haylee Esmeralda-Ray Tennyson.”

  Everyone clapped as Augum led a blushing Haylee to the center of the circle, streamers in tow, cup sloshing in hand.

  “Nice dress, Tennyson,” Alyssa catcalled.

  “Whew, what is that awful stench?” Leera chided.

  “Somebody reeks like stinkroot juice!” Caireen threw in.

  As the circle howled with laughter, Haylee reddened further, cheeks squinched with feigned bashfulness. But Augum knew she was loving it, and thankfully so—there was nothing more awkward than having a subject loathe the ceremony, such as had happened when Cry Slimwealth had turned sixteen. Sasha Luganov, an Abrandian with a harsh accent, had been chosen as his Master of Ceremonies, and the two did not get along at all. Cry couldn’t stop making sarcastic remarks and Sasha kept making terrible one-liner jests that fell flat. It had been a cringe fest of epic proportions.

  Augum channeled Jez’s wit and The Grizzly’s fearlessness, took a breath, and raised his cup as he turned in place to address the assembled throng. “A womanhood ceremony, much like a manhood ceremony, is about celebrating getting to one’s sixteenth year. Warlocks of old, back in the day when the academy was a crueler place, were lucky to make it to their sixteenth year. Yet even in this day and age, we all know people who have tragically perished before getting to celebrate such a special day.” Faces scrolled past Augum’s brain. “To those, I raise my cup.” He solemnly raised his cup with everyone and they all took a small sip.

  “Haylee has survived the war and become a great person and friend. That isn’t to say she isn’t without—” Augum cleared his throat dramatically. “—quirks, let us say.”

  The boys elbowed Chaska, a beefy milk-skinned man with a sheepish countenance, as chortles rang out. Haylee subconsciously adjusted her bad leg, hidden under the puffy bridal gown, and tried not to smile.

  “For example she sometimes whips her servants raw—”

  “That is so not true,” Haylee protested, a hand on her hip. “That is not true, everyone—” but she and the snorting crowd were silenced by Augum’s raised finger. Tall tales, with perhaps a grain of truth thrown in for authenticity, were, after all, a traditional part of the ceremony.

  “Her own servant has personally complained to me that Haylee sleepwalks at night mumbling at her large—and completely imaginary—retinue of servants to rub her poor toes, clip her nails and wash her undergarments—”

  Mortified, Haylee pressed her hands to her face as everyone roared with laughter.

  “All right, those last two might not exactly be true, but still, she has been known to whine about the upholstery, driving the boys in her life to flee for mercy.”

  Haylee rolled her eyes for everyone to see, shaking her head in denial and repeatedly mouthing, “Not true. So not true.”

  “Because there can never be enough gilding.”

  The crowd’s undulating laughter strengthened.

  “And we all know the bad leg is just a front to gather sympathy.” That one earned scandalized oohs and shouts of, “We knew it!” all while Haylee pretended to kick him with said bad leg.

  Augum pinched his nose. “And she does, indeed, absolutely reek of stinkroot.” He made a cheap show of defending himself as Haylee tried to playfully muss his hair, all
to the sounds of laughter and whistles. Then she took a sip of ale and mouthed, “I hate you,” which she said with a smile.

  Augum held up his cup. “An odor some have been heard to remark is an improvement—” More howls of laughter as Haylee covered her eyes, though she was beaming, as red-faced as a summer rose. “—or perhaps some new and very expensive experimental perfume.”

  Augum waited for the crowd to settle down before going on. “But she has proven she can take a jest in good stride. And much more importantly, she has proven herself to be a good and loyal friend. And no matter what happens from this day on, our Haylee has made it to her sixteenth year. Thus, on behalf of the men—”

  “You mean boys—!” Leera said, rousing a round of laughter from the girls’ side.

  “On behalf of the men,” Augum repeated, raising a playful finger in warning at his girlfriend, “we would like to welcome Haylee to the fraternity of adulthood, and we wish her the bounties only a long and rich life can offer.” Augum raised his wooden cup toward Haylee, who raised hers back, lips pressed firmly in merriment. “A toast to Haylee Esmeralda-Ray Tennyson, who on this, the third day of the twelfth month of the year 3342 … becomes a woman.”

  “Hear hear!” the crowd roared, whistling and raising their cups and taking a ceremonial swig before clapping heartily and whistling some more. Then they all got up and, one by one after Augum, gave Haylee a hug, passing on heartfelt congratulations.

  Leera flashed Augum a proud look as she waited in line to hug Haylee, mouthing, “Well done.” He winked, proud of himself as well. But it wasn’t over. Now that the men had officially acknowledged Haylee as a woman, it was their turn to provide entertainment, beginning with Augum.

  “All right, vagrants, take your seats,” he said, telekinetically yanking on Isaac’s robe, who dawdled by the cask, where Caireen sat.

  “Yeah yeah, boss.” Isaac downed his ale and quickly refilled his cup before scuttling back to his place with the boys.

  Augum continued. “I know you’re all eager to get up to all sorts of uncouth debauchery—”

  “Speak for yourself, fiend,” Leera called, winking right back at him.

  Augum endured the laughs with poise. Stepped right into that one, I did.

  Alyssa prodded at Leera, snapping, “You keep that up, missy, and you best get used to sleeping alone.”

  The crowd intoned a scandalized “ooh” as Leera sat with her arms folded, face cherry red, taking her own licks with some grace.

  “I know you’re—ahem—eager to get to the games portion of the night,” Augum went on, graciously not pressing his advantage against his girlfriend, “but I wanted to say one more thing.” Courage, man, courage. He glanced at his own feet before nodding to himself. It needed to be said.

  “Our kingdom is facing a threat from within and without.” He saw the image of a man standing before an infinitely tall window, behind which raged a silent blizzard. That image represented a quarter million lives. “And I know it feels like the enemy has been here forever, yet it’s only been a few days. Nonetheless, one day, the time will come for us to either stand together … or fall.” He raised his cup once more. “For our Solia.”

  “For our Solia,” the others all solemnly echoed.

  Augum smiled. “Now you won’t hear a peep more about it from me tonight. And with that said, let’s get to the first game of the night. It’s Abrandian and called Krokta ba Trotka, otherwise known as … Truth or Dare.”

  Truth … or Dare

  “If Aug and I were alone right now?” Leera pondered Isaac’s pointed question as the circle waited with bated breath. This was the second time she was up, and predictably, the questions revolved around her relationship with Augum.

  “And don’t forget you weaseled out and chose truth again,” Isaac reminded her.

  Leera glanced at Augum, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’d slam him up against the wall and make out with him until the sun came up.”

  The circle descended into whistling, cheering and embarrassed snickering.

  “Your turn, Lee,” Augum said even before the catcalling died down, for he was anxious to redirect the group’s focus.

  “This game is utterly juvenile,” Cry said, sitting two places down from Augum.

  “You ever considered the fact we are juveniles, Fry Himself?” Brandon sniped. He was on his third cup of ale, and swaying slightly.

  “Settle down, settle down,” Augum said, playing the leadership role the boys had elected him to play.

  Leera pondered him a moment before raising a brow at Olaf. “Mr. Hroljassen.”

  Olaf shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside Augum. “I choose … truth!”

  “Fair enough. Olaf, Olaf, Olaf …” Leera repeated, stalling for time.

  “Today, Jones,” Augum prodded with a lopsided smile.

  Leera tapped her half-empty cup of ale. “Mr. Hroljassen, is there somebody in this room … you’ve taken a special fancy to? And if so, who is it?”

  “That’s two questions, so I only have to answer the first, and the answer is an unequivocal yes.” He made a diligent effort not to look at Bridget. Brandon looked between them and downed his whole cup of ale. Then he floated it over to Isaac, who dutifully refilled it, as he did for any cup that came his way.

  “Mr. Hroljassen,” Augum said, not taking his eyes off Brandon. “I believe it’s your turn.”

  Olaf’s gaze swept the circle, pretending to take his time, but Augum knew who he would pick. Olaf drummed his round stomach before pointing with both hands. “Slap me fats, I choose Lady Bridget Burns.”

  Bridget straightened so fast she spilled her entire cup of ale, which she had hardly touched.

  “Way to go, Burns,” Alyssa muttered, scooting aside from the spill.

  “I’ll grab a cloth,” Laudine said.

  “Thanks,” Bridget replied, wincing apologetically.

  “Truth or Dare, Lady Burns?” Olaf pressed.

  “Truth.”

  “So predictable,” Cry muttered. “Hardly anybody chooses dare.”

  Augum flipped his hand questioningly at Cry, mouthing, “What’s with you?”

  Cry expelled a bored breath through flapping lips and returned to the Academy Herald piece he had been writing all night.

  Olaf swallowed. “Bridget, do you think there are redeemable traits in people who might, uh, look a little odd?”

  Brandon scrutinized Olaf before zoning in on Bridget.

  He knows, Augum thought. This could either get ugly, pathetic, or just sad. And he wasn’t the only one who had noticed; everyone who had been at Olaf’s was watching the three of them closely, making Brandon even more suspicious.

  “I think everyone hides a beauty inside them,” Bridget replied.

  There were some soft “awws” as Olaf tried not to show how happy he was. Augum then nodded at Bridget to choose someone. She scanned the circle and, to everyone’s surprise, said, “Brandon.”

  Brandon, staring morosely into his half-empty cup, jerked his head up. “Huh? Yes?”

  “Truth or Dare.” But Bridget’s voice was cold, and the circle fell as silent as a chapel.

  Brandon straightened, steeling himself. “Truth.”

  “Do you realize that what got broken between us can never be repaired?”

  Brandon’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his head. Whatever hope that he and Bridget would get back together lay shattered on the ground between them. Not a sound was uttered. Not a body moved or breathed in the stillness. After a time Brandon raised his head, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I now do. And you’re right, I don’t … I don’t deserve you for what I’ve done. But let me make it up to you—to all of you—for my betrayal as a friend. You know I’m a Path Disciple. We all know how fake that is, but I can get access where you can’t. I can overhear things. So let me be a spy on your behalf. Let me … let me once more be a Brother in the Sacred Brotherhood. Give me a chance to win back your trust, and I promise you I won’t
let you down. And to Augum, Leera, and especially Bridget … I want to publicly apologize for my cowardice and betrayal.”

  Heads turned to Bridget, who stared thoughtfully at Brandon. Then she gave a single nod. “Apology accepted.”

  Isaac raised a hand. “Brothers of the Sacred Brotherhood of the Arcane Arts. All in favor of reinstating Brandon as a member with full privilege and prestige?”

  Boys around the circle, including Augum, raised their hands. “Aye.”

  “Motion passed.”

  The circle of people magnanimously clapped and shared smiles. Brandon even flashed Olaf a heartfelt smile, perhaps knowing Olaf deserved a fair try with Bridget.

  “Mr. Summers,” Augum declared when the clapping petered out. “I do believe it’s your turn to choose a victim.”

  * * *

  Several amiable games later, Augum and Leera sat side by side atop a row of massive oak casks, faces hurting from all the smiling and laughing. Augum had already snuck her tender kisses, which she had returned. She rested against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. For a long moment, he enjoyed the gentle susurrus of his friends. Laudine was quietly strumming a lute while reciting poetry that had already put more than one student to sleep. Isaac was in deep conversation with Caireen, angling ever closer for their first kiss. Alyssa sat with Brandon, the pair chatting in low voices. Chaska and Haylee were sniping at each other about who knew what. Priya held Jengo in her arms, gently stroking his head while listening to Laudine. Cry sat nearby drawing a caricature of Laudine and minding an empty cup of ale, eyes so droopy he already looked asleep. And the remainder were strewn about on the Tiberran carpets, chatting peacefully, most of their cups empty.

  Bridget repeatedly curled her cinnamon locks behind her ears, head tilted in interest as she chatted with Olaf, who constantly made her laugh. And he had this way of slapping his belly to accent his points, which only seemed to endear him more to her. Sometimes Brandon would look over at them, nod to himself, and return to his conversation. Whatever happened between them appeared to be over; together they had broken the spell. Had either one resisted, the torment would have continued.