18. A Lively Evening
18
A Lively Evening
Never could Rosalind have entered a place as crowded as the tavern was this evening had she still been enchanted. She and the rest of the party had to wrestle their way past a swarm of people just to enter the place, only to discover all the tables were filled. Lucky for them, just the sight of the Keeper approaching was enough to encourage a few children to move their game of knucklebones from the table to the floor.
Rosalind saw Sylvan mouth something to the group, but she couldn’t hear what he said over the noise. He disappeared into the crowd soon after. Voices rang out all around her, a hundred or more people all talking at the same time. One had to shout to be heard, which only made things louder. Then there was the generous amount of booze circulating the room, which no doubt amplified the boisterous atmosphere.
She squeezed herself into a tight space on the bench, nestled between Valentina on her left and a rather busty blonde on her right.
“My, my, the whole damn village is in here tonight, and somehow, I’m the lucky one sat next to Denault’s finest. Fancy that,” said the woman, bemused. She was sitting so close Rosalind could smell the alcohol on her breath as she spoke.
“That’s the bloody Chancellor there, that is!” shouted someone from further down the long table.
“No shit, Jack,” the blonde shot back. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Pardon my language, hun,” she said, looking back at Rosalind. “Bet you don’t hear that much back in Proper. Name’s Rosie. Rosie Garner.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Garner.”
The other woman leaned closer. “What’s that, hun?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Garner,” Rosalind repeated, louder this time.
“Just call me Rosie, dear.”
“Rosie. Y-yes, of course. I’m Rosalind. Rosalind Carver.”
“Well how about that,” Rosie said with a grin. She turned and shouted down the table, “Hey boys, say hello to this one. Her name’s Rosalind. A bit like Rosie, ay? Only more proper like.”
Rosalind didn’t bother to mention to her new acquaintance that she had also, in fact, been named in the borderlands.
Following Rosie’s informal introduction, the man she had referred to as Jack raised his mug. “To our new friend, Rosalind,” he bellowed, taking a swig.
“To Rosalind!” cheered others around him before knocking their mugs back.
Rosalind felt her cheeks burn at the loud and unexpected attention, glad the tavern was so dimly lit that no one else was likely to notice.
“Here,” Rosie said as she slid a mug toward her. “They’ll be waiting on you to reciprocate. A nice big gulp should do it.”
Rosalind eyed the opaque liquid warily. What was it? She snuck a quick glance at the men down the table and saw they were indeed waiting on her. Groaning inwardly, she knew what she had to do. It would be rude of her to decline.
Hesitantly, she reached out and wrapped her hands around the mug. Before she could convince herself out of it, she brought the drink to her mouth and took two large gulps, one extra for good measure. The scent reminded her of mulled wine. And while the alcohol burned as it touched her tongue, it quickly gave way to a smooth and sweet finish.
Another round of cheers erupted from the table as she set the mug down. Seconds later, she hiccuped. Then she hiccuped again. And again. She covered a hand over her mouth in an attempt to smother them. Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized she could not feel her hand on her lips. They were numb.
Rosie laughed. “That’ll go away in a minute, dear. It’s the magic,” she said with a wink.
Rosalind peered into the mug. Sure enough, a sheer gold sheen floated atop the liquid.
Valentina gave her a nudge. “Look at you, fitting in with the locals. Oh, what’s this?” She reached for the mug in front of Rosalind and took a sip. “This is good,” she said before taking another sip.
“Val,” Rosalind hissed, “take it easy. There’s magic in it.”
Valentina eyed the drink. “Magic, you say?” She gave it a sniff, then tilted her head back and downed it. This garnered a round of cheers from Jack and the others down the way.
When Sylvan returned to the group, he brought a few bottles of liquor, and Quinn and Leon were in tow. They came with trayfuls of food—sweet and savory meatloaf, twice-baked potatoes, carrots in a honey garlic sauce, and black rice. Rosalind was grateful for the meal; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she caught sight of it all. Looking around at everyone else’s plates, she wasn’t alone.
After they’d eaten and drunk their fill, they drank some more. Rosalind doubted she’d have been able to remain upright were it not for the liquors that glistened with gold. Though she didn’t know precisely how they worked, she could feel them working. With every sip, she was relieved of the ails of too much drink; the spinning in her head stilled and the turning in her belly quelled. The only thing the imbued liquor did not recover were her inhibitions, but she was glad of this. She enjoyed laughing as freely as she did to all the amusing stories that passed around the table.
As the evening wore on, they were joined by several familiar faces. Tory and his grandmother, Ms. Darren, sat across the way, and while the broad grin on his face made it readily apparent the young man was enjoying himself, the same couldn’t be said for the latter. The gray-haired woman wore the same stony expression she had when they’d arrived, and she hardly spoke. The only indication Rosalind had that she might not be miserable was the vigor with which she drank from her mug. When Ms. Darren glanced in her direction, Rosalind stiffened and hastily lowered her eyes to her own drink.
“Rumor is her face is stuck that way,” Rosie murmured in her ear.
For the briefest of moments, Rosalind wondered if she was serious. Then the blonde offered her a wry wink. Rosalind responded by smiling and lifting the mug to her lips.
A short while later, Quinn and her father Leon settled onto the bench across from Jonathan. Dinner had wound down and there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the tavernkeeper and his patrons regarding drinks. Whenever someone took a bottle from behind the bar, they tossed a coin into a little wooden box, freeing him and Quinn from refill duties.
Unlike Ms. Darren, Leon no longer wore the frown he had been sporting when the trio first arrived in Ashwind. Presently, he was red in the face, roaring with laughter at a story Jonathan had shared about a particularly riotous night in a public house at the capital, which ended with him and a classmate waking up in a water fountain at daybreak dressed in frilly gowns .
“Didn’t think high society folks could hold their liquor,” Leon exclaimed. “Now I know they can’t!”
Rosalind didn’t know how much time had passed when someone came by and slapped a hand on Sylvan’s back. They leaned in and muttered something in his ear. Whatever was being asked of him took a bit of convincing, but eventually, he acquiesced.
Sylvan threw back the rest of his drink and pushed himself off the bench. Then he disappeared into the crowd. Minutes later, the entire tavern erupted in cheers as a festive tune began to play.
“Chancellor,” Leon bellowed over the music. “What say you show my daughter how proper folk dance in high society?”
“Papa!” Quinn squealed.
Jonathan chuckled. His gaze rested on Rosalind’s for the briefest of moments before he said, “I would be delighted, Mr. Stewart. Though I wish to apologize to Miss Stewart in advance, for as familiar as I am with the steps, my feet have a tendency to stray.”
“He’s a terrible dancer is what he means,” Valentina explained.
Jonathan nodded in agreement before maneuvering himself to the other side of the table. Standing before Quinn, he inclined his head and held out his hand. “Miss Stewart, will you grant me the honor of your next dance?”
From where she sat, Rosalind had a full view of the far end of the tavern, which had been cleared of tables and benches and now served as a makeshift dance floor. She watched as Jonathan guided Quinn’s hands to their proper positions and instructed her through the motions of a simple waltz step. Their measured steps were at odds with the lively tune they danced to, but they paid it no mind. Quinn was beaming with delight, and Jonathan, too, seemed to be enjoying himself, the dimples on his cheeks on full display. Every once in a while, one or both of them would stumble, but they merely shared a laugh and carried on .
Rosalind smiled to herself. She was happy to see Jonathan so at ease; it seemed a relatively rare occurrence these days. Nearly all of his waking moments were dedicated to the cares and concerns of others. As Chancellor, he was accountable for the lives of more than thirty thousand Denaultians. That was an exceptional amount of responsibility to place on any man, let alone one of only six and twenty.
It was easy to forget his age when he took such care to portray himself as older and wiser. His refined appearance and attire lent him a few years as did the confidence with which he carried himself. But it was doubtless a wearisome thing to maintain and in quiet moments, she saw as much.
But such was not the case now. Gone was any semblance of his practiced and polished facade. His tousled hair moved freely and revealed hints of its natural waves. He wore no jacket or glistening adornments. His starched shirt lay loose against his torso, his sleeves rolled past his forearms, and the hem only partially tucked into his trousers. There were specs of mud on his boots.
To see him as relaxed and unburdened as he was in this moment warmed her heart. But along with it came an unexpected ache.
They had been in Ashwind only three days and already he had revealed more of himself to a room full of near strangers than she’d ever seen him do in Proper. He could never be so forthright where high society was concerned. Doing so would leave him too exposed to the likes of Lord DuPont and Lord Armory. Because of this, Jonathan would always have to maintain the charade. Wouldn’t that get lonely after a time? That thought hurt to imagine because it was the last thing she wanted for him.
“Ros, love,” Valentina said, leaning into her, “let’s dance, shall we?”
It took Rosalind a moment to register what she said, the fog of her gloomy thoughts slow to dissipate. But before she could answer, Valentina had yanked her out of her seat and pulled her toward the dance floor.
“I needed to get out of there,” Valentina explained as they waded through the crowd.
“I think one of Tory’s little friends was working up the courage to ask me to dance. Jonathan might be willing to dole out dance lessons, but I most certainly am not. Especially not with a boy whose eyes look to be level with my chest.” She grimaced.
The pair carved out a small space for dancing not far from where Sylvan sat atop a wine barrel playing the violin. He was accompanied by three others—a flutist, a guitarist, and a contrabassist. Together, the quartet was in the midst of another upbeat melody.
Though the liquor had undoubtedly helped to lower Rosalind’s inhibitions, it hadn’t obliterated them completely. She glanced around nervously. None of the dancing looked familiar.
“You think too much, Ros,” said Valentina before grabbing her hand and whirling her around. “Imagine we're in my room, at home in Brighthall.” She took both Rosalind’s hands, pushing and pulling her around in time with the music. “How would you dance then?”
Rosalind took another look around and noticed no one was dancing in precisely the same manner as another. Instead, everyone seemed to move on a whim, smiling and laughing as they went. Tentatively, Rosalind followed suit, taking a cue from Valentina and dancing as she might on a random evening back home in Brighthall. She was stiff at first, but gradually her nerves relaxed, and soon, she found herself dancing and laughing freely through song after song.
More than once, she noted how Valentina’s gaze would catch on something over her shoulder. Or rather, someone. When she looked back, she was unsurprised to see it was none other than a certain dark and stormy wielder.
The furtive glances were by no means one-sided. Once Rosalind caught on, she saw Sylvan too had a wandering gaze. She couldn’t fault him for staring. The way Valentina danced was effortless. Her lithe body twirled and swayed to the rhythm as if the music moved through her.
“I’m parched,” Valentina announced between breaths. “Let’s go have ourselves another drink.”
Rosalind didn’t argue and followed her through the crowd. Having been on the dance floor for some time, she was eager to rest her feet. They had just breached the throng of dancers when they came to an unexpected halt.
“Val! Am I glad to run into you,” Jonathan exclaimed with relief. “I seem to have gotten myself in a bit of a jam.” With his head, he gestured over his shoulder.
Valentina was nearly as tall as Jonathan, so seeing what he was referring to wasn’t difficult for her. Rosalind, on the other hand, had to strain her neck to get a good look.
Quinn and a handful of other young women stood near one of the tables. They were all glancing in Jonathan’s direction and whispering excitedly to one another.
“When I finished with Miss Stewart, she asked if I would dance with a couple of her friends. I didn’t realize there would be so many…”
Valentina snorted. “And what would you like me to do about it?”
“Help me, please. I’ve already danced with four of them. Not including Miss Stewart, mind you. I don’t know how much more I have left in me.”
Valentina considered him for a moment, then reached up and pinched his cheek. “Leave it to me, brother. But know this—you owe me. And you’ll owe Ros too.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, love. We need to hide Jonathan away for a little. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. So how about you take him back in there”—Valentina motioned to the crowd behind them—“for a bit of a whirl while I get to chatting.”
“Sounds good to me,” answered Jonathan, and before Rosalind could say anything on the matter, he’d taken hold of her hand and ventured into the crowd.
Right as Rosalind was about to be swallowed up by the mob of dancers, she glanced back at Valentina, who grinned and gave her a little wave. Was she imagining things or did her friend look a little too pleased with herself?
“I thought you hadn’t much dancing left in you,” she commented, once they’d settled into the eye of the crowd.
Jonathan drew nearer and lowered his head. “What’s that?”
Rosalind raised her heels off the ground and leaned in to meet his ear. “I thought you hadn’t much dancing left in you after all that waltzing,” she repeated louder.
Their faces close, his warm breath ghosted along her ear and neck as he answered, “With the right partner, I can dance all night.”
If Rosalind’s cheeks weren’t flushed before, they were now. Just then, someone bumped into her from behind, causing her to stumble forward into Jonathan. She was welcomed with the lingering citrus scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body against hers.
“Are you alright?” Jonathan asked as he helped to steady her, one hand on her arm, the other at her waist.
Rosalind nodded. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and braced herself for another knock. But she didn’t need to worry because Jonathan had observed it, too. He pulled her against him and held out an arm to shield her.
Not long after, the song that had been playing came to an end, and the jostling crowd subsided. There was a brief lull, and when the music started up again, a slower, gentler melody filled the air .
Glancing around, Rosalind noted how quickly those around them settled into pairs, gravitating toward one another like magnets. While no one pair’s steps precisely matched another’s, they all adopted a similar subdued sway about their dancing. Some conversed as they danced; others rested wordlessly against each other.
A delicate touch brought Rosalind back to herself. When she looked down, she found Jonathan had taken her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. Suddenly, she found it difficult to hear the music over the sound of her pounding heart.
With his free hand on her back, he lifted their clasped hands as if readying for a waltz. But there wasn’t room for that. As if in silent answer, he slid his hand to the small of her back and closed the distance between them. When she lifted her gaze, she met his and couldn’t look away. Together, they fell into the same unhurried steps as those around them.
There was no mistaking this for a dance between mere friends. The way he held her and the tenderness in his eyes assured her as much. But what it was exactly, she didn’t know. What she did know was she wanted to make the most of it. Rosalind hesitated only a moment before leaning in and resting her cheek against his chest. She shut her eyes at the feeling of Jonathan’s fingers idly playing with the strands of her hair and let herself bask in his warmth and the contentment that accompanied it.
They remained like that, adrift in a sea of strangers, until the music stilled and calls for a round of drinks for the musicians rang out.