Chapter 15 Giving a Damn #2
Carved skeletal hands hold zenith in their sconces, the little dark crystals carrying collections of electricity, tiny versions of the great columns in the court that pulsed like trapped lightning.
I never realized they were the source of energy that kept the castle lit or our cold box frozen.
I can’t help but admire the gilt accented throughout the space either. It’s all surprisingly cozy.
Wynter slides the doors closed behind him once everyone settles on the expansive couch.
He drops into the space beside me, his knee brushing against mine.
I notice Cleona sits close to Amaya, unsure around our group.
The two of them have been spending more and more time together, but I think it’s her first time at one of these sessions, too.
Ember grins at me, her notebooks brimming with pretty adornments, everything color coded and organized. “So, midway exams are coming up the last day of Tenth Month. Last week we went over how Minor Arcana can affect each of our Major Arcanas. What else might be on the exams?”
“Professor Fenrys said not to stress over remembering every card in the deck as much as just the suites and their structures.” Felix runs a hand through his hair, his lips pulling tight in a grimace.
“But Professor Anstead seems like she wants us to know most of the cards’ interpretive meanings for readings. ”
“Ugh, I don’t want to think about it.” Amaya leans forward, grabbing Ember’s notebook and holding it out of reach. “Let’s do something fun.”
Wynter grins and I force my eyes off his full lips.
Morgan struts in, his gaze flickering between me and Wynter. He ignores the open spots and nudges his knees between ours until he’s made himself a space. He leans back, his arm resting behind me, and I lean closer to Felix.
“Rune, your elbow is in my spleen.” Felix squirms and I mutter a hasty apology, everyone shuffling to make space. I clench my jaw as Morgan insists on still sitting close to me, and on his other side Wynter leans in.
“You okay? You seem tense.” He pointedly glowers at Morgan.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth, mentally calculating if it would be poor manners to knock out Morgan under a friend’s roof. Probably not my best chance at getting invited back.
“I could use a drink,” Morgan suggests, giving Wynter a calculated grin. What is his problem? He announces to the room, “Let’s do draw-offs!”
There’s a resounding “Yes!” and Ember throws her hands up in defeat. Wynter rolls his eyes and gets up to grab drinks, Morgan and Amaya joining him.
“I should help.” Felix is suddenly on his feet.
“No—not you,” Kasper groans, standing less enthusiastically. He grumbles on his way out, “I don’t feel like cleaning up glass this session.”
“What’s draw-offs?” I ask Ember.
“A drinking game. Amaya taught us.”
“First, we take a shot, then all try to draw our Major Arcana,” Amaya explains. “Whoever does it quickest doesn’t have to take a shot next round. Whoever’s slowest has to drink a mug of spirits. Usually someone gets sick, but we’ve all gotten better at drawing.”
“Oh.” Dread rises in me. I’m definitely going to be getting sick. I clear my throat. “Maybe I’ll watch for a round.”
I never drank much back home. I used to capitalize on others’ inebriation to gather information. Still, if I leave now, it feels like defeat.
“Nonsense, she’ll play.” Morgan returns and sets a shot glass in front of me, sits, and loops an arm guardedly around my shoulders. I cringe.
When Wynter returns a moment later, setting far too many spirits on the coffee table, his silver eyes flicker between us, concern pinching his brow. Kasper returns with a bottle of something clear, tinged green, and lifts it up to a sound of groans.
“What? Wormwood’s good for your gut.” Kasper gives a devilish smile. “Maybe you slowpokes,” he points at Felix, Ember, and me, “will be a bit quicker to draw your cards if you don’t want to have to drink the green smog.”
He pours a very full cup and then sets the bottle down beside it.
“You don’t have to drink.” Ember leans in at my side.
I consider that, but I’ve never really let myself have much fun, and never been presented with the opportunity. This pact I’ve made with Draven will soon likely change what I’m allowed to do. So, for tonight, at least, I just want to feel free to have fun with the friends I’ve chosen.
“I’ll be fine, thanks though.”
TWO HOURS LATER and I’m definitely not fine.
I’m seeing stars and the phrase I’m too drunk seems to be the only thought I can really hold on to.
I’ve lost three rounds but at least the game helped me successfully draw the World far faster than before.
I’ve focused on pulling Strength after, using it to create a bit more resilience to the alcohol.
I swear Wynter lost the last two rounds on purpose, just to spare me.
Morgan moves closer and closer the more spirits I’ve downed, even trying to set me in his lap.
I hate the way he’s been pawing at me tonight.
“Why don’t we play a new game?” Morgan side-eyes me, lifting a glass. “What about Candor or Cup? You can tell the truth to a question or take a drink instead.”
Looks like I’m about to spill the truth or dinner.
“What did everyone do before coming here?” Felix asks, starting with something easy.
“I worked in a flower shop,” Ember says.
“I actually took a year off to travel,” Amaya shrugs.
“Me too!” Cleona smiles bright, the two sharing a grin.
“I was a guardian at one of Lord Azazel’s temples,” Wynter says. I didn’t take him for the holy type.
Before I can ask more, I notice Kasper drinks, the question passing over him. A lordling’s son who went running for the immortals. I guess he doesn’t want the others to know. It makes me wonder why someone with money and power leaves for the unknown.
“I was part of the Ten Spires Clan in Valhan. I moved to Westfall just a month before the Selection. Just my luck.” Morgan’s bold statement distracts me.
The Ten Spires is a collection of mercenaries, smugglers, petty thieves, and other undesirables.
There’s a stronghold in every territory, and I was familiar with most members in Westfall.
He could be harmless, or deadly, living among their ranks.
Suddenly his behavior and the fact this drinking game was his idea makes me very suspicious.
He wanted me to know this. What’s his endgame?
The rounds continue, easy enough at first. What Arcana would you choose if you could switch? What do you hope for your familiar to be once you reach third year? Would you rather have horns or wings after the Descent at the end of year?
But then Morgan turns to me, a glint breaking through the drunken haze in his eyes. “Do you find Prince Draven attractive?” Frustration wriggles in my gut.
“Who doesn’t?” Ember says blithely, giggling. I bite down a grin. Draven is objectively, undeniably, and unfortunately very attractive. But I don’t feel like telling anybody that, and with the fated matehood status lingering over us, and our vow, I’d need to be truthful and I’m not ready yet.
“I hope that’s not the question for all of us this round.” Kasper pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fine, let me rephrase.” Morgan sets down his drink and leans too close. “If you could sleep with anyone at the Forge, who would it be?”
Wynter saves me. “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol on the table for this question.” He stands up and I abruptly follow, as does half the room. “Rune, can I get you some water?”
Thank the gods. “Yes.”
On my feet I’m twice as sick. Ember looks as green as I feel, stumbling out of the room, and I help her to the bathroom, waiting outside it. Wynter sidles up to me as I guard the door, handing me a glass of water, and points to my boots. “Those are really well crafted.”
“Oh, thanks.” I don’t expect the emotion that comes with talking about the boots my mother made, the emerald velvet sidings soft, the gold glint of thread outlining the sun and moon picking up every trace of zenith-powered light, so I cut myself off.
My head is spinning. “I should head out. Will Ember be okay?”
“Cleona said she’d help her. Their Hearths are near each other. I’m happy to walk you back,” Wynter offers.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I lie, because I’m a gods damned liar who can’t stand to accept help.
I straighten up, suppressing a hiccup, and he runs a hand through his dark hair, following me cautiously to the threshold.
Some of the others wander past us, branching off into the night.
I’m happy I don’t see Morgan. Either he’s still here, or he’s already on his way back to his Hearth next door. Either way, I can avoid him.
“He and Kasper left.” Wynter lingers at my side, seemingly reading my thoughts.
“He was quite drunk.” I fold my arms, wishing the air was cooler. I’m flushed from drinking. If the world could stop spinning, that’d help.
“We’re all drunk. I’m suspecting he’s just a creep.” Wynter gnaws his lip as I stagger, my nodding taking me off-balance again. “Wraiths don’t drink much, do they?”
“Wraiths crash parties but don’t get invited.”
He laughs quietly, leaning casually against the door, the full moon’s light gracing the fine details of his face.
My brows furrow. “How are you not as drunk as the rest of us?”
“I have a high tolerance. Plus, I switched my bottle out for water over an hour ago.” He releases a small chuckle.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Wynter laughs at my flabbergasted expression, the sweet sound carrying off on the chilly breeze.
“Sorry I left the ball early.” I don’t know what makes me say it. He glances off, his hands in his pockets.
“It’s okay. Maybe we will catch that dance another time.” He swallows when I don’t commit, and the moon glances off his silver eyes as he shoots a look toward my Hearth. “You and Prince Draven seem … a strong match.”