by Lisa Shearin
Chapter 32
I leaned against a cask while Cuinn checked the door. The stone archway the door was set into had been cracked and my lava had mended it off-kilter. That door wasn’t opening anytime soon, and even if it did, there was a pile of rock outside. I’d seen it in my mind’s eye while I’d worked. Actually, while the Saghred and I had worked.
It hadn’t been ready to die yet. That was good, because neither had I.
“Things are probably under control upstairs by now,” I said between breaths. “They’re looking for us. It shouldn’t take them long. Mychael knows that wherever the explosion is, chances are that’s where I am.”
I looked around, seeing for the first time where we’d ended up. It wasn’t just a room with some wine; it was a wine cellar. A very nice wine cellar. I carefully removed the closest bottle from a shelf and brushed back a thin layer of dust. I read the label, and even more carefully, put the bottle back.
“I’d say we’re in the middle of Justinius Valerian’s private stock.”
Cuinn glanced around. “Unbelievable. Nothing’s broken.”
I would have happily sacrificed even the two-hundred-year-old bottle of Mhetil Caesolian red that I’d just carefully replaced in its wooden nest.
“Mychael will be down to unblock the door as soon as he can.” I told them.
“How will he find us?” Edythe asked.
“Did Mychael tell you I’m a seeker?”
“Yes.”
“When it comes to me, your son has a similar talent. He’s in the citadel. We’re in the citadel. It’ll be easy for him.” I tossed a meaningful glance at the rapier Edythe held with a light, professional grip. She’d had to put it down to keep me off the floor, but she’d picked it back up again. “Probably a much easier time than you had keeping that skill of yours a secret from everyone. By the way, that rapier looks familiar.”
“Mago Nuallan tossed it to me. A very nice young man.”
“That he is. Does Brant know he’s married to a swashbuckler?”
Edythe was standing utterly straight and perfectly still, the stance of a practiced and skilled swordswoman. She was half in the shadow of one of the racks of wine, but I saw it.
A very slow smile crept over her lips.
I reached behind me and pulled a bottle out of an open case at my feet.
Rum.
Oh yes.
I didn’t recognize the name or where it’d come from. It was also a fancier bottle than rum usually came in.
The three of us both deserved and needed this. I was sure Justinius would approve of Mychael’s bride, mother, and the elf who would be sealing the Khrynsani rift in his wine cellar partaking in a little refreshment while we waited to be rescued.
I looked around. There was a corkscrew, but no glasses that I could see.
“Do you want a drink?” I asked both of them.
“Want and need,” Edythe actually said.
I looked around some more. “No glasses.”
“No problem,” Cuinn said.
“And no seats.” I shrugged and slid down the delightfully solid wall to the floor, bottle in one hand, corkscrew in the other. When I landed, my skirts poofed around me, skirts that had stayed out of my way and not gotten me killed. Thank you, Alix. Yes, the floor was hard, but I was sitting down and no one would be trying to kill me—at least not for the next hour or two. Hopefully.
I smiled up at them both. “While we wait, why don’t we talk?”
Edythe slid down the wall to sit next to me, the rapier diagonally across her lap within easy reach, if needed. I admired her caution. The rift was closed, but it wasn’t sealed yet.
I waved Cuinn over. “Now’s not the time to be shy. Have a drink with the bride and mother of the groom. You’ve earned the rest of the night off.”
Without glasses, we drank the way friends did—take a sip, pass it down.
“The archmagus keeps a fine cellar,” Edythe said after she’d sipped.
Cuinn took more than a sip and his face contorted.
“Yeah, it’s really strong for rum,” I agreed. “If you’re not used to it, it can be a little much.”
He nodded, then shuddered, but when it was his turn again, he took another, even bigger swig. “That’s all I’m going to have until I get this rift sealed.” He went to the corner and got to work.
Edythe settled herself against the wall and began to talk. Hers was a story that’d been repeated all too often in the aristocracy, minor nobility, merchant class, basically wherever there was money and a family member careless or stupid enough to lose it.
The “careless and stupid” in Edythe’s case had been her younger brother. Her father had been a very successful merchant. Her brother had inherited the money and business. Her brother was a very bad and extremely unlucky gambler.
“Eadweard gambled the house and what was left of the money right out from underneath us. He said he couldn’t lose.” Edythe took another drink. “Well, he did. We all did.”
“I am so sorry.” And I was. It was also a sorry situation that’d caused it. Edythe was the oldest, but just because she was female, the property passed to her younger (and foolish) brother. It wasn’t elven law, but it was elven tradition. In my opinion, it was a tradition that needed to be kicked into the nearest cesspit. Sex or age should have nothing to do with inheritance; it should be concerned with who is the most qualified to manage it.
“Judging from the way you handled that blade,” I ventured, “you did something about it. What was it?”
Edythe’s lips twitched at the corners. “My father thought he was paying for dancing lessons for me. The dancing master he hired did teach dancing—but he also taught fencing.”
If we’d had glasses, I’d have clinked mine with hers. Since I only had a bottle, I raised it in salute. “A woman after my own heart.”
“I learned enough dancing to pass inspection, but most of my time was spent with blades.”
“A much more useful skill.”
“My brother had lost the family estate and most of the money. My two younger sisters and I were left with a small town house next to what used to be our family business.”
“The idiot lost that, too?” I winced and backtracked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call your brother an idiot.”
Edythe waved a hand dismissively. “I called him worse; and believe me, he was worse.”
“Was?”
“He couldn’t stop gambling, but he did try to start cheating to win back some of what he’d lost.” She took another drink and passed the rum back to me. “Unfortunately, he was an even worse cheat than a gambler—and even worse than that with a sword.”
“Let me guess, he was one of those who thought a true gentleman didn’t need to fight.”
“Essentially. I, on the other hand, could fight and ride. Our town house was next to a stable. The owner had been a dear friend of my father. He loaned me the fastest and most fearless horse he had.” Her eyes held an equal measure of pride and sadness. “I wore a mask and took to the highway. I did what I had to do to survive and provide for my sisters. When I’d taken enough money, I bought back our family business and ran it until my sisters were old enough to run it themselves. Unfortunately, the taxes that year were much more than we’d expected. So I took to the highway again, hopefully for the last time.”
“You met Brant.”
Edythe nodded. “And robbed him. He later told me it was rather thrilling.” She smiled, wistful and warm. “I may have stolen his money, but he stole my heart. He was minor nobility who did courier work for elven intelligence. Apparently I attacked him when he was carrying an especially important packet.” She let out a little laugh. “He said he’d stand, but he wasn’t about to deliver, at least not without a fight.”
“You won?”
“I think he let me. He gave me the money. Then he offered me the ring off his finger, and told me that if I wanted to see him again, to be at the Spring Ball that next month and wear the
ring.”
I was grinning like an idiot. “That is so romantic. You went to the ball?”
She nodded. “And wore the ring.”
“Why didn’t Mychael tell me this story? I love it!”
“Because he doesn’t know.”
“What?”
“My family background, my circumstances. Neither he nor Isibel know.”
“Why not?”
“Many of the people I robbed have estates around ours.”
“Oooh, that’s awkward.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, I can see why you wouldn’t want Mychael and Isibel playing with the neighbors’ children and telling them about how Mommy and Daddy met—and then having their mommies or daddies overhear.” I paused, baffled. “But they’re grown now, why keep it a secret? By the way, only my opinion, but your family is way too fond of keeping secrets from each other.”
“Raine, how do you tell your children that their mother turned to highway robbery to buy back the family business their uncle lost gambling?”
“In my family, that’s called a bedtime story. A good one. It would’ve been our favorite.”
Edythe gave me a little smile. “I do like your family—and you.”
“Really?” I suddenly felt warm all over. Then again, it was probably the rum. This stuff was seriously strong. “I’m so glad.”
“You are not a suitable wife for a noble landowner, and I thank God that you are not. My son is not suited to be a landowner, and with what is coming, I again thank God that he is not.”
“He may not be a landowner, but he is noble.” I didn’t mean aristocratic, and Edythe knew it. Mychael was noble in that he put the needs of others above his own and he fought for the greater good.
“Yes, he is,” she said quietly. “And you are the perfect wife for such a man.”
I couldn’t help it, and didn’t even try. I didn’t just smile, I beamed. “Thank you, Lady Eilie—”
Edythe held up an imperious finger. “Edythe. I insist.”
I nodded. “Edythe. Mychael said that when you insist, there’s no fighting it.”
“My son has grown to be a very wise man.”
“He would say that he’s merely a strategist who knows how to pick his battles against a superior opponent.” The bottle felt suspiciously light in my hand. I took a look. Empty. “That bottle went way too fast.”
I heard what sounded like a snore from Cuinn’s end of the wall. Edythe and I leaned forward and looked over. The elf mirror mage was curled happily against a cask, either sound asleep or marginally unconscious. The rift wasn’t glowing and the wall looked solid, the way a wall should look. Asleep or unconscious, whatever it was, Cuinn Aviniel deserved the rest.
*
When someone started pounding on the door, I thought I was going to die. But when they started shouting, I knew they were going to die, because I was going to kill whoever it was if they didn’t stop.
Though first I had to remember how to stand up.
It took entirely too long to get the door open, with entirely too much noise.
Cuinn slept through all of it.
“We only drank a little.” I was barely whispering. Heck, even moving my lips hurt. If I’d spoken any louder, I was fairly sure my head would explode.
Mychael was there, along with Brant, Justinius, Vegard, and Phaelan.
My eyes were squinting against the glow of a single lightglobe, but I couldn’t miss Justinius Valerian’s eyes going wide at the sight of the empty bottle I held in my hand. Edythe held the other empty. It was the first time I’d seen that particular expression on his face.
Awestruck.
“The rum in the case next to the cask?” he managed.
“Yes, and it was delicious.”
“Two bottles?”
I blearily glanced down. “It appears that way.” I tried to look at Edythe. “Is yours empty?”
Michael’s mother held up the bottle in front of her face. “To the last drop.” She sounded proud of herself and slightly pained.
Justinius was aghast. “And you’re still standing?”
“This shelf I’m leaning against is helping a lot,” I admitted.
Phaelan shouldered his way to the front. “What was it?”
“The label said rum,” Edythe told him.
“It was a really pretty bottle,” I added, handing him the empty.
Phaelan saw the label and gasped. Another first.
“This is legendary,” he managed. “It’s not supposed to actually exist.”
“It exists, all right,” Justinius told him. “And I have two cases.”
Edythe grinned. “Minus two bottles.” She draped an arm across my shoulders and I gratefully leaned away from the shelf, which seemed to be moving, and into her. Fortunately a large cask was holding her up, otherwise we’d have both been on the floor. I giggled at the thought.
“You’re only supposed to drink one sip at a time,” Justinius told us.
“That’s what we did,” I said. “Then we had another sip at another time. Unfortunately, those times were only a couple seconds apart.”
“It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”
Edythe gave my shoulders a proud squeeze. “Benares and Eiliesor women are built of tough stuff. We can take it.”
“Obviously.”
I vaguely saw someone who looked like Vegard—actually he looked like two Vegards. Both of them took one look at us and burst out laughing.
I winced and held the side of my head with the hand not attached to the arm that was holding on to Edythe.
My bodyguard, bless him, immediately recognized our sorry state and clapped his hand over his mouth. It didn’t stop him from laughing, but I was grateful for the muffling.
Note to self: Kick Vegard later when you can feel your legs.
Mychael appeared behind him.
There was only one of him. Things were looking up.
“Mother?”
“Darling!”
It was all Mychael could do not to laugh. “I was going to ask if you’re all right, but it’s apparent that you are.”
“I feel splendid,” she pronounced with a grand sweep of her arm that nearly sent us both to the floor. “Though I suspect in the morning I will pray most fervently for death.”
“Yes ma’am, you certainly will,” Vegard heartily agreed.
Edythe turned on her son. “How could you allow this lovely girl to think I wouldn’t adore her and her absolutely charming family?”
One of Phaelan’s eyebrows nearly arched up into his hairline. “Charming?”
Mychael gaped at her. “I never said—”
“You didn’t have to say; you assumed. And you assumed incorrectly.”
“He may have assumed incorrectly,” I said, “but it was because he didn’t have all the facts.”
“I’ve kept things from my children.” Edythe heaved a despondent sigh that only the truly drunk could carry off. “What kind of mother keeps secrets from her children?”
I thought for a foggy moment. “All of them?”
She put her hand to her forehead, suddenly unsteady on our feet. “Oh dear. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to take a nap.”
Like the true lady she was, Edythe Eiliesor gracefully sank to the floor.
Being unified in drunken sisterhood, I followed.
Chapter 33
The morning of my wedding dawned unnecessarily bright.
And the bride had a hangover.
I didn’t say it out loud for fear of excruciating pain and possible death. I didn’t think anyone had ever died of a hangover, but I wasn’t going to risk it because there was a first time for everything. If Edythe felt anywhere near as bad as I did, we were going to be quite a pair. That thought made me smile. It hurt, so I stopped.
Mychael and I had slept separately last night, and wouldn’t see each other until the ceremony later this morning. We’d had enough bad luck lately, so I didn’t want to temp
t Lady Luck further by letting the groom see the bride before the wedding. I’d always thought that was a stupid custom. Though bad luck for a normal bride would be rain on her wedding day, or tripping on her dress and tearing it. We had an invasion by an off-world army and our on-world archenemies hanging over our heads. Bad luck for me could be the worst possible luck for everyone.
The ceremony would be in the citadel’s chapel. I’d chosen it because of its relatively small size and beauty. The beauty was provided by its stained-glass windows. Windows that later this morning would be sparkling with head-splitting color as the sunlight streamed through.
Imala and Tam were probably still at the goblin embassy. I wondered if it was too late to send a messenger over to ask if she had an extra pair of what no nocturnal goblin would face a bright day without.
Sun spectacles. I needed a pair desperately. It could be my something borrowed. For a wedding present, Imala had already given me my something blue—five blued-steel goblin daggers that I’d had incorporated into my bouquet, the beautifully ornamented grips adding a special touch to the floral arrangement. I didn’t understand the point of carrying only a bunch of flowers.
There was a knock at the door, and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees in agony. I opened the door as soundlessly as possible. It was Phaelan. He was smiling.
The bastard.
“Cousin, you’re even worse off than I thought you’d be.”
“Shhh.”
He was still smiling. Even his teeth were too bright.
“Loud talking hurts, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He looked more closely, though he didn’t need to. I knew what I had; he didn’t need to remind me.
“That’s a beauty of a black eye.”
I smiled. At least I tried to. It probably looked more like a lip spasm. “You should see the other guy.”