‘Perhaps, but not yet,’ said Daphne, glancing at the baby in Jemma’s sling. ‘That’ll do for now.’
‘Right you are, ma’am.’
‘No gin?’ Daphne said as the serving boy returned to the bar. ‘Some party.’
‘Good,’ said Karalyn. ‘We’re Holdfasts, as you keep telling everyone. We shouldn’t be getting drunk in public.’
‘We’re in Kellach Brigdomin, Kara-bear. You dragged me here, and you’ll be taking full responsibility if I start to act like a local.’
They paused as more servers appeared, laden with trays.
‘Who’s getting the large?’ said a girl.
‘The boy here,’ said Daphne, gesturing at Corthie, whose mouth was hanging open at the abundance of food.
The servers laid the large dishes down onto the table, and placed several jugs of cold ale in the centre. Daphne picked one up and began to pour as Karalyn gazed at the food. Skewers of roasted beef sat in a thick gravy, with black pudding and sausages piled high. Around the rim of the plate sat torn chunks of crusty bread and thick oatcakes.
Daphne shook her head. ‘Not a vegetable in sight.’
Corthie let out a whelp of joy as he picked up a fork and attacked his lunch. His eyes widened as his mother leaned over in her chair and slid a tankard of ale in his direction. ‘For me?’
‘Why not?’ said Daphne. ‘It’s our first Winter’s Day in Domm.’ She raised her own drink. ‘And hopefully our last.’
Evening fell quickly on the shortest day in Kellach Brigdomin, and it felt to Karalyn as if they had only finished lunch by the time lamps were being lit. Their small pavilion grew busier at dinner time, with most tables occupied for the last big meal of the festival. After the enormous lunch, only Corthie was fit to tackle dinner, and he demolished his large bowl of stew ladled from the cauldrons by the kitchen. Karalyn managed a few mouthfuls, then pushed her own bowl back, while Daphne and Jemma waved away the serving girls and boys.
‘Not having any, ladies?’ said Brady, approaching their table.
‘I couldn’t possibly,’ said Daphne. ‘That lunch would have kept a Holdings army in the field for days.’
Brady glanced at Corthie. ‘The lad seems to be enjoying himself.’
‘Yes, I thought I’d give him some ale to mark the occasion, but I think it might be time for home.’
Karalyn looked up from her mug. ‘Really? I thought you wanted to get drunk, mother?’
‘I do. I was talking about Corthie, Jemma and Cole.’
‘Why do I have to go?’ said Jemma.
‘To look after the baby. I’ll make it up to you. I promise I’ll babysit lots, and so will Karalyn, so that you can have some free days and evenings to relax and enjoy yourself.’
The young Holdings woman frowned.
‘Please?’ said Daphne.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘It is getting a bit noisy in here.’
‘Thank you, Jemma,’ said Daphne. She turned to Brady. ‘Could you please have someone escort them back to our apartment?’
‘Aye, sure. No bother.’
‘One more thing; the servers here claim to have no gin. In Severton?’
‘It’s all for export.’
Daphne raised an eyebrow.
Brady laughed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘My thanks.’
Corthie finished the ale in his tankard and belched. He stood, swaying from side to side.
‘Straight to bed for you as soon as you get home,’ his mother said. She pointed to her cheek. ‘Kiss.’
Corthie leant over and planted a kiss on the side of her face, then staggered off behind Jemma as Brady escorted them through the pavilion. Daphne laughed.
‘Really, mother?’ said Karalyn. ‘Was it wise to let him drink?’
‘It’s perfectly safe. Stop worrying.’
‘Why do I have to be the grown-up?’
‘That’s your problem right there. You never relax. You’re always thinking about what could go wrong.’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘Kara-bear, everything that could go wrong has. Your father is dead, we’ve been chased from our homes, and we’re living on charity at the remotest corner of the world. Forgive me if I want to get drunk; I think I need it.’
Karalyn said nothing. The spare seats at their table were soon filled, and she nodded a silent greeting to a group of Kellach that sat down next to them.
Brady re-appeared, and presented a jug to Daphne with a flourish. ‘Straight from the barrel, ma’am. Do you want anything to mix with it? Cucumber? Crushed cranberries?’
‘Neat is fine.’
He turned to Karalyn.
‘I’ll take some whisky now, I think,’ she said.
‘Good choice, lass,’ said Brady. He turned and plucked a bottle from a serving boy behind him. ‘Our finest for the daughter of Chief Killop,’ he said, bowing. ‘Compliments of my father.’
‘Send him my thanks.’
‘Mine too,’ said Daphne, sipping the gin.
Brady bowed again and left them. Daphne reached into her bag and extracted a weedstick, and Karalyn watched as she lit it.
‘What?’ her mother said.
‘Nothing.’
‘Your father used to look at me like that. He hated me smoking this.’
‘What is it?’
‘A mixture of keen and dreamweed,’ Daphne said. ‘Want some?’
‘No.’
Karalyn opened the bottle of whisky and poured herself a small measure. There was a ceramic water jug on the table and she splashed in a few drops and took a sip. She grimaced as the liquid scalded her throat, and her mother laughed.
‘You were wrong before,’ said Karalyn.
‘Really? And when was that?’
‘When you said that everything that could go wrong has. Your four children are still alive, or had you forgotten?’
‘Of course not,’ Daphne said, ‘I think about it every moment of every day. At least I can see you and Corthie, and know you are safe, but Keir and Kelsey? Ever since they fled to Rainsby my heart has been full of worry. I begged the Empress to summon them back, but she ignored my pleas, and now Keir is off, charging around the Plateau with that Thorn girl, leaving his baby son fatherless.’
‘Jemma doesn’t seem to miss him.’
Daphne frowned.
‘Do you wish he’d kept it in his trousers?’ Karalyn went on.
Daphne raised an eyebrow. ‘I can hardly say that now that Cole is here. And I suppose I was half-expecting something like that to happen; after all, Keir was always so popular with the girls.’
Karalyn snorted. ‘Only because he would read their minds and find out stuff he could use to seduce them.’
‘What?’ said Daphne, sipping her gin. ‘Don’t talk rubbish. He did not.’
‘Aye? Why don’t you ask Jemma?’
Daphne glanced away in silence for a moment. ‘I don’t think I will. Perhaps there are some things a mother should never discover about her children.’ She sighed, then looked around. ‘I wonder where the toilet would be.’
‘It’s right behind ye, hen,’ said an old man sitting along from them. ‘That’s why this is the best pavilion; it’s five yards from the pisser.’
Daphne smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘Want me to come and help you?’ said Karalyn.
‘No need; I have two able-bodied “chair-guys” to carry me about.’ She gestured to the burly pair standing by the side of the pavilion. ‘Boys, assistance, please.’
Karalyn watched as they re-attached the poles to her mother’s chair and lifted her towards the entrance to the pavilion.
‘That yer mother, hen?’ said the old man. ‘Is she royalty or something?’
‘Aye, something like that.’
She lit a cigarette and picked up her ale, leaving her whisky barely touched. If her mother was going to get roaring drunk, it would be best if she tried to remain at least semi-sober. She sat back in her chair, feeling drowsy, the food and a
le combining to relax her. She lifted the ale to her lips then paused, her ears pricking up. A noise was filtering through the hubbub of the pavilion; the sound of a mage power being used. She put down her mug. There was a fire mage, somewhere in the festival field.
She sent her vision out of the pavilion, searching for the source of the noise. It was faint, but unmistakeable. She glanced around the large field, then noticed a small wooden shack near the centre, in the shadow of high tents on either side. She descended through the rain to the shack, and went in through an opening. Inside, sitting in the lamplight, were a dozen workers. Around them was an assortment of tools, and spare building parts. They were relaxing with their feet up, and Karalyn recognised a few from her tour of the site prior to its opening. She waited for the noise, and sensed it again, clear and sharp. It was coming from a man. He was reclining on a bench, his head resting on a rolled up blanket. Under the bench, his fingers were moving, and he was controlling the tiny flames coming from one of the lamps on a workbench. She gazed at him. He had caught her eye during her tour, and she remembered thinking how good-looking he was. He had black hair, cut short, and was beardless, and his dark eyes seemed to pull her in. Almost as a reflex, she went into his mind; then stopped herself. What was she doing? Hadn’t she just been criticising Keir for doing the same? She didn’t work for the Empress any more; it wasn’t her job to go prying into everyone’s thoughts. She realised that she hadn’t used her powers since the World’s End tavern, when she had gone into Kelpie’s mind before they had left, and she felt a twinge of pride that she had been able to resist.
She withdrew from his head, and pulled her vision back to her body.
‘What were you up to?’ her mother said. ‘Checking that we weren’t under attack?’
‘No. I was looking at a boy.’
Her mother laughed. ‘You and a boy? There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.’
‘I was only looking.’
Yes, and if I know you, that’s all you’ll be doing.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Daphne took a large swig of gin and lit another weedstick. ‘I wasn’t meaning to be rude, but I’ve never once seen you interested in anyone else romantically.’
‘Maybe that’s because I was in exile in the desert for most of my teenage years.’
‘But you’re nearly twenty, Kara-bear; it is not about time you…’
Her mother’s voice was drowned out by music; pipes, horns and drums all rising up through the pavilion. The crowd turned, and sat watching as singers mounted a platform and began to serenade them; a chorus of voices harmonising over the rhythm of the instruments.
Karalyn smiled. At least she didn’t have to listen to her mother any more. Daphne frowned and gulped back the gin.
The night flew by in a blur of music and ale for Karalyn. She sipped a couple more whiskies and relaxed, listening to the mixture of haunting melodies and rowdy singalongs that were entertaining the crowd. When it was over, the musicians and singers quietened as Brady stood on the platform.
‘Folks,’ he called out, ‘it’ll be midnight in a moment, and Winter’s Day will be done.’
The drunken crowd booed and cheered at the same time.
‘Enjoy yer day sleeping tomorrow,’ Brady went on, ‘then it’s back to work for all of us. Some here though, have been working for hours, to keep ye all fed and watered. As is traditional, when the midnight horn blows, the serving folk’ll be off duty. Ye can all stay as long as ye want, but ye’ll have to help yerselves!’
The horn sounded at that moment, and a few serving boys and girls ripped their aprons off as drinks were thrust into their hands; and another cheer went up. Karalyn turned to her mother. Her jug of gin was almost finished, and her eyes were bleary.
‘You alright, mother?’
Daphne glanced up at her, a half-smoked weedstick balanced in the fingers of her good hand. ‘How do we kill them?’
‘Who?’
Her mother swayed in her seat. ‘The mages that murdered your father, and tried to kill us.’
Karalyn said nothing.
‘There has to be a way,’ Daphne went on, her words slurred. ‘There has to be.’ Her head slowly began to drop, until her cheek was resting against the table. Her eyes closed.
‘Shit,’ said Karalyn. She turned to the pair that had been carrying her mother around all day. ‘Hey.’
‘Aye?’ said one.
‘Did you two get off at midnight like the others?’
He shook his head. ‘Naw, we’re on duty until we take her ladyship home.’
‘Well, you’re in luck,’ she said, gesturing at the still form of her mother.
The pair walked over and glanced at Daphne. One reached out with a finger and prodded her shoulder.
‘Right enough.’
‘Take her back to the apartment,’ Karalyn said. ‘I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.’
‘No bother.’
They attached the poles to the chair, and Karalyn eased Daphne’s head and shoulders away from the table. She positioned her onto the chair, then slipped a hand into her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. The two workers nodded to her, then carried her mother through the pavilion, avoiding the dancing and staggering locals. Karalyn lit a cigarette and picked up her bottle of whisky. It was almost full, but her head was spinning from the ale.
She glanced around the pavilion, smoking. What was she doing? She should go home. No, she thought. That was what her mother would expect her to do; to be responsible and go home like a dutiful daughter. And then she would mock her for it, asking why her daughter was unable to relax; unable to have a good time. Was she? She had spent so long working, and worrying, had she forgotten how to let her guard down?
She stood, slipping the bottle onto a large pocket of her winter coat. She would go home. After all, she didn’t know anybody, and hated meaningless small talk. She dodged the flailing patrons inside the pavilion, and walked to the entrance. The rain had stopped but the ground was thick with mud. The field was quieter than before, but many were still milling around, mugs or bottles in their hands. She began walking for the bridge that led to town, taking a main route between the lines of tents and open fires, her boots squelching in the mud.
A sound reverberated around her; the sound from before. She halted. The fire mage. She smiled. It was his secret, she guessed, that was why he had been hiding it before, keeping his fingers out of sight, and not moving the lamp’s flame enough to cause any alarm. She might be the only person who knew there was a fire mage present. She heard the sound again, and followed it, taking a left by a tent towards a line of outside tables, where a large group was sitting. A fire was burning in a brazier, and sitting alone close by was the man with black hair, the fire mage. His eyes were on the flames, a strange smile on his lips. He was keeping his hands low again, so no one could see that he was sending his power out to the fire.
‘Wake up, you dozy sod,’ said a man with blond hair, placing a full tankard of ale in front of him.
‘Thanks, Cain,’ the man said. He glanced up as two women sat down next to him and Cain. The four of them seemed close, Karalyn thought, and were sitting at the end of a table a little apart from the other workers.
She walked up to them. ‘Hello.’
The four looked up at her, their eyes wide.
‘Aye?’ said one of the women.
‘Everyone I know’s gone home,’ she said. ‘I’m just looking for someone to talk to and get drunk with.’
The other woman narrowed her eyes. ‘Why us? There are plenty of other tables.’
‘Aye,’ said Karalyn, ‘but there’s space at this one, and it’s next to the fire.’ She shrugged. ‘If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave…’
‘No, no,’ said the other woman. ‘Sit, please. Cain, go get our guest an ale.’
Karalyn placed the bottle of whisky on the table. ‘You can help me drink this as well.’
Cain’s eyes li
t up. ‘One ale, coming right up.’ He got to his feet and rushed away to the nearest bar.
‘I’m Carrie,’ said the woman who had invited her to sit. ‘That’s Leisha, and that’s Lennox.’
Karalyn sat on the bench, taking the place next to Lennox where Cain had been. ‘I’m Karalyn.’
‘We know,’ said Leisha. ‘We were told that if we saw you or your family, we were to leave you alone.’
‘Aye,’ said Karalyn. ‘We’ve been getting asked so many questions, we just wanted a day off.’
‘You’re the daughter of the old Chief, aren’t you?’ said Lennox, eyeing her. ‘We saw his statue in town.’
‘Aye.’
‘Sorry about him dying,’ said Carrie.
‘Thanks.’
Leisha shook her head. ‘Can ye not see she doesn’t want to talk about it?’
‘Tell me about yourselves instead,’ Karalyn said. ‘It’d be nice to hear someone else’s story instead of talking about mine again.’
The three friends glanced at each other.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ said Karalyn.
Cain arrived back at the table, putting a full mug down next to her. ‘What did I miss?’
Leisha took a swig of ale. ‘She was asking about us.’
‘Oh,’ he said, sitting. He picked up the whisky. ‘Do you mind if I…?’
Karalyn nodded. ‘Aye, go right ahead.’
She glanced at the four of them. It would be so easy to steal into one of their minds and find out what they were keeping from her, but maybe, she thought, maybe it would mean something if they told her of their own accord.
Lennox put down his mug. ‘We’re deserters from the Army of Pyre.’
She caught his eyes. Even without going into his mind, she could tell how much the admission had cost him.
‘Say something,’ said Carrie.
‘Aye,’ said Leisha. ‘Are we going to have to leave town again?’
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Karalyn said, ‘not if you don’t want me to.’
‘Does it not bother you?’ said Lennox.
‘I know a bit about the Army of Pyre; the training they put you through, and the horrible childhoods they made you endure. It wasn’t your fault that you were in the wrong part of Rahain when the Emperor fell and Ghorley took over. Tell me though, do you disavow them?’
The Magelands Epic: Soulwitch Rises (Book 7) Page 28