CHAPTER 50 Wren
CHAPTER 50
Wren
‘Liquor is a poison’
– Someone wise
T HE M ORTAR AND Pestle sat on the fringes of the eastern grounds: an oddly shaped building that stood out like a sore thumb, smoke drifting in plumes from its crooked chimney into the cool night air. Surprising no one, Kipp threw the doors open like he owned the place and strode inside, greeted by a dozen shouts or offers of drinks before the doors had even swung closed behind him.
Given the current tensions at Drevenor, the tavern was louder than Wren expected, and fuller – as though every alchemist, scribe and scholar had decided that tonight was the night to forget the pressures of the academy and the darkness looming at its edges, and drink to excess. The lively chatter of students and professors engaged in animated discussions filled the air, along with the faint notes of a piano coming from the far corner.
It seemed strange, disrespectful even, that they were all here when Blythe Rookford’s body had only just been put to a pyre. But Wren had seen first hand how life went on in the wake of death. There was no stopping the rolling wheels of time, or the need to move on. With a pang of remorse for the dead alchemist, Wren steeled herself and continued to take in her surroundings.
A mixture of tall and low tables were dotted around the tavern, all of them occupied, though Wren knew Kipp had a way of making things work in his favour. The heady aroma of bubbling stew and foaming ale mingled with the comforting scent of the fire burning in the hearth. It cast a warm glow on the bar, which appeared to be crafted from repurposed laboratory benches.
‘Nice, huh?’ Kipp called over the noise.
Wren’s boots kept sticking to the floor, but she nodded. ‘It’s no Laughing Fox, but it’ll do.’
‘You just earned yourself a pint!’
As it turned out, Kipp didn’t even need to approach the bartender; one of the tavern girls had seen him and was already bringing over a tray full of foaming tankards.
‘This way, Mister Snowden,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘Saved you a table.’
‘Have I mentioned that the service here is impeccable?’ Kipp said, grinning broadly.
Wren exchanged a look of disbelief with Cal. They should have been well acquainted with the Son of the Fox’s notoriety by now, but it seemed to know no bounds.
As they moved through the tavern, Wren saw various patrons, clad in academic robes and adorned with curious trinkets, clinking glasses over tomes from the archives and design sketches that took up entire tables.
When they sat down, she had to laugh at the eclectic food menu that featured concoctions inspired by alchemical experiments, offering patrons a taste of the arcane. ‘If you were in some of our classes, you wouldn’t be so keen on mushroom pie,’ she told Cal.
He pushed the menu back in disgust and drank deeply from his tankard instead.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Kipp said, clapping him heartily on the back before pulling out a chair for Dessa with a flourish.
Shaking his head, Zavier took the seat to Dessa’s right.
Kipp addressed Cal next. ‘Callahan, tell us, when are you taking on your prestigious guarding duty?’ He made a vague motion to Wren. ‘Not that our friend here isn’t an equally prestigious assignment.’
Wren took a deep drink of her ale, savouring the crisp taste on her tongue and enjoying how it eased the tension she carried in her shoulders.
‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Cal was saying. ‘But I start next week. The professor is due to arrive from abroad and start then.’
‘What was his name again?’ Kipp asked. ‘Perhaps one of Her Queenliness’ teammates has heard of him.’
Cal gave an irritated sigh. ‘Professor Vulpine.’
Wren looked to Dessa and Zavier. ‘Any idea who he is? Or what subject he’s taking?’
Dessa shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Hopefully something that doesn’t put our lives in peril for a change,’ Zavier said, rubbing his thumb over two puncture marks where a snake had bitten him a few days earlier.
‘Enough talk of work, anyway,’ Kipp said, signalling the bartender for another round. ‘We came here to have fun, did we not?’
‘Do you do anything else?’ Cal muttered into his drink.
‘Not if I can help it, Flaming Arrow. Life is short, and you’ve gotta die from something.’
Dessa appeared positively smitten with Kipp. Zavier, on the other hand, just seemed vaguely amused. Wren had to admit, there was a certain charm about the strategist; there always had been, even when he’d been dubbed no more than a ‘useless’ shieldbearer at Thezmarr. Kristopher Snowden had only been biding his time, it seemed.
‘I have a game,’ he said with a wink. ‘It’s called I have never .’
Cal groaned. ‘Not this again, Kipp—’
‘You love it.’
‘I don’t know how to play,’ Dessa said.
Nor did Wren, though she knew Kipp well enough by now to anticipate the explanation he was already launching into.
‘It’s simple – we each take turns going around the group with a statement. For example: I have never got a tattoo of a laughing fox on my arse.’
A laugh bubbled out of Wren as Cal’s face went bright red.
Kipp’s eyes sparkled. ‘And since our renowned Flaming Arrow has indeed got a tattoo of a laughing fox on his behind, he has to drink. As would anyone in the group who has actually done the thing stated.’
Dessa was staring open-mouthed at Cal. ‘You don’t actually...? Surely there would be rumours? After all, your—’
‘I keep my clothes on,’ Cal muttered before downing his drink and half of Kipp’s.
Dessa and Wren burst out laughing. Even Zavier gave a bark of amusement, while Kipp clapped his hands.
‘Excellent. Dessa, you start.’
Dessa looked around at them thoughtfully. ‘I have never been to Thezmarr.’
Wren, Cal and Kipp all took a drink.
‘A little boring, Dessa, but a solid strategic opener. You’ll get better.’ Kipp took another swig. ‘I have never vomited in my closet thinking it was the bathroom basin.’
Cal let out a noise of protest before he reluctantly raised his tankard again. ‘You can’t just target me—’
‘I can and I will, Callahan. That’s the beauty of the game.’
‘Fine. I have never had a sex-related injury,’ Cal shot back.
Kipp laughed and drank his fill. ‘Don’t remind me.’
Wren refrained from asking Kipp exactly how he’d injured himself – she wasn’t sure she wanted the mental image. To her utter disbelief, Zavier took a drink as well.
‘Never have I tried smoking brugmansia pollen hoping to see a mountain drake in my visions,’ Wren offered.
Kipp elbowed her. ‘I can’t believe you’d use that against me.’
She simply grinned and watched him finish his drink.
As they played, each statement becoming more ridiculous and targeted than the last, the tavern around them grew more rowdy. The drinks flowed freely, the music grew louder, and Wren felt lighter than she had in a long time.
Which was the only reason that when Dessa declared, ‘Never have I kissed a Warsword,’ Wren drank deeply, while Cal and Kipp whistled.
‘I knew it,’ Zavier said with a smirk.
Kipp, whose words were slurred, slung an arm around Cal. ‘Didn’t you try to kiss Thea once?’
This was news to Wren. She gaped at her friend.
Cal swayed in his seat. ‘She wasn’t a Warsword then. And I didn’t try to kiss her. I only suggested...’ He shook his head. ‘So Wren’s the only one to kiss one by the looks—’
Kipp clasped Cal’s face in his hands and planted a wet kiss smack bang on his lips, before chugging his ale and calling for another.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust, Cal gave his friend a look of disbelief. ‘What the fuck was that?’
‘What?’ Kipp grinned. ‘I was thirsty.’
Cal spat on the ground and then drank again. ‘You fucking prick.’
Wren nearly fell off her seat, she was laughing so hard. That, and she also had no idea how many pints she’d had. But gods, it felt good to laugh – to be in such ridiculous company and forget, if only for a few hours.
But all good things came to an end, eventually. And end they did as a large shadow cast across their table, and the Bear Slayer lifted his fellow Warsword up by his collar.
‘You call this taking your duty seriously?’ he growled, fire flashing in those deep-sea eyes. ‘You couldn’t even tie your damn laces, let alone protect a future queen.’
Torj’s gaze slid to Wren, but she was just drunk enough that she lifted her chin in defiance. ‘I suppose you’re going to throw me over your shoulder and drag me back to the academy?’
Dropping Cal, Torj lowered himself into a chair. ‘Not this time, Embervale. I need a fucking drink.’