I found in Ben Alder’s tomb a container labeled as containing the will-aspected ions from the forty-second age. Worst of all, this wasn’t even news. How stupid can these fools be to not understand the implications? The damned particles were dated! Not in a timetable of even Ben Alder’s construction, but in one native to them!

  -From the Journal of Physicist Ra Fil’Aldeen

  “I don’t blame you for thinking that way,” Jor’Mari says, waving his chalice filled with a green, sour drink around for emphasis. “You won’t really get it until you have seen it at least two more times.”

  “I didn’t get much of it,” I say, waving around the bottle of wine he had given me in the carriage on the way over, copying his flamboyant movements. The bottle was still mostly full; I didn’t dare sip from it too often. The deliciously sweet liquid inside burned my throat horribly with every sip and made my head spin like I had been beaten with a mallet. In essence, it was damned good, and the five sips I had that night had me off my ass already. “The whole thing was in this strange language, impossible to understand.”

  Jor’Mari rolls his eyes at the comment.

  “You will have to forgive her,” Dovik cuts in, patting Jor’Mari’s shoulder. “She is but a savage, uneducated about the higher arts.”

  “Like you understood anything,” Jess says, coming straight to my defense.

  “Of course I did,” Dovik replies. “All of the best plays are in one elven dialect or another. They have a sense of drama baked right into their being. My mother’s library has entire books that are merely transcripts of various elven courts. The scandal and intrigue contained within rival any work of prose.”

  “I’m sure,” I say, turning back to Jor’Mari. “So, why should she have married Kala’whatshisname?”

  “Did you not see the attraction in their dance?” Jor’Mari exclaims. “The passion between the two says everything. He was the cool evenness to Asteralla’s fiery passion.”

  “He was the one in blue?” Jess asks.

  “Yes,” Dovik confirms, “the one with the pointy crown and the eyebrows.”

  “Those eyebrows.” I can’t help but snicker at the memory. “Practically falling off his face.”

  “The actors are a couple,” Jor’Mari says, putting on the air of whispering without actually lowering his voice. “You can tell when you watch the performance. When I see them dance together, well, it reinterprets the entire piece.”

  “But he couldn’t keep up with her,” I say. “That was the whole point wasn’t it, that no man could keep up with her?”

  “Do they need to?” Jor’Mari asks, shrugging. “She pushed them all away and in the end had to dance alone. Alone on the top of a mountain with only the cold stars for company. I enjoy tragedies, but comedic tales are by far my preference.”

  I am about to tell him that I thought she looked happy enough as she danced her solo atop the mountain, but my words are preempted by the jarring sound of a chair leg scraping against the ground. Jess slides forward, her knee colliding roughly with the brass rim of the table, her wine sloshing out of her cup and splashing all over her white gown.

  My hand tightens around the neck of the bottle I’m holding. The blood in my veins just about boils as I see the slight quiver in Jess’ lip as she looks down at her ruined dress. Someone is going to pay for that.

  “Mind not taking up the whole roof?” A high voice behind our table says, earning some laughter.

  Before I can turn around and find my target, Jor’Mari speaks up, his voice harsh. “Priscilla! You bump into my friend and spill wine all over her! I expect an apology before I find myself in a thoroughly ruined mood.”

  That is when I manage to look back. Three women, all sleek and beautiful elven women with the metallic shine to their hair that tells of their noble heritage. My eyes have difficulty focusing on any of them, the liquid clasped in my numb fingers likely to blame, but the three look as unsteady on their feet as I would be. Priscilla, the onyx-haired one at the front, stares blankly back at Jor’Mari for a moment before her eyes focus, growing wide.

  “Let’s go, Pris,” one of the other girls with her says, tugging on her elbow. “I think Roger is leaving without us.”

  Priscilla slaps her friend’s hand away, giving a slightly deferential nod to Jor’Mari. “Cousin, I didn’t realize it was you there. You’ve been gone for some time, and I didn’t know you were back home. These must be…friends of yours.” No matter how drunk I am, I would never miss the way she wrinkles her nose as her eyes pass over Dovik and me.

  “They are my friends,” Jor’Mari repeats. “They are staying at my father’s manor, which means they are also his guests.” As he speaks, his face darkens. “As a young woman of good breeding, I hardly need to instruct you on what the proper response should be when having wronged someone in polite company.”

  “Wronged, me?” Priscilla says, stumbling a step back as she raises her hand to her chest. Behind her, one of the other ladies is waving over four men loitering at the stairwell. Two shrug off her insistent waving, continuing to puff away on their cigars, but the two that shrug and start walking over are dangerous-looking men: armed, dangerous-looking men. “I would never, cousin. You know me better than that.”

  In response, Jor’Mari merely points at Jess who sits meekly in her chair. It is so odd, seeing Jess sit there looking down at her hands. It only makes my blood run hotter.

  Priscilla gasps, as if seeing Jess for the first time. She picks at the fabric of Jess’ dress for a moment. “I didn’t realize, dear. I am so sorry, please accept my apology. Say that you will. This is such a lovely dress. I am such a lush. Of course, I will have it replaced, all at my expense. Can you see yourself forgiving me? We don’t want any nights to be ruined”

  “It is just a dress,” Jess says, stopping the woman from continuing. “It is fine. We can put it behind us.”

  “Brilliant!” Priscilla beams, stepping away and snatching the arm of one of her companions up.

  “I will hold you to that,” Jor’Mari says, taking another sip from his glass. He nods up to one of the men who has moved over and stands protectively around the three. “Jallas, I am sure you will see these ladies home safely.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Of course, my lord.” The big man with two ornate hatchets on his left hip replied, bowing.

  Priscilla offers a final bow to Jor’Mari, getting her companions to do the same before turning to leave. The tension in the air starts to fade as the women sashay away as well as their drunken high-heels can carry them. Priscilla slaps away Jallas’ arm as he tries to lay it across her shoulder.

  They aren’t even four steps away before one of the painted ladies in the group leans into Priscilla, whispering loudly enough for even me to overhear, and my perception is not that good. “I’ve never seen you wilt like that, Pris,” the girl drunkenly whispers.

  “Bite your tongue,” Priscilla whispers back, her voice harsh and cold. “Irritate that man and he will snap your neck. He did it to his own little brother, you know. Killed him just because he was jealous.”

  The giggle following Priscilla’s whispered reply is what puts it over the edge for me. I feel a nasty sneer twist my face as I look across the table, seeing Jor’Mari struggling to keep a neutral expression. “So, who was that bitch?” I ask. I didn’t intend for the words to come out so loud, but the liquor is delightfully affecting me.

  My chair hits the ground in the same moment that Galea attempts to warn me of an attack. I am up, already staring at the woman as she stands barely an inch away from me, a look of utter rage on her face as she stares down at me. I hadn’t noticed just how tall the woman was before; most can’t look down on me these days. Her breath is soaked in alcohol as she puffs in my face.

  “I don’t care whose guest you are,” she snarls. “I will not have a fucking vulture speak about me like that.”

  I am vaguely aware of some men behind each of us protesting weakly, but my full attention is captured by the woman. The way her pearlescent onyx hair hangs in rings around her ears. The look of her orange eyes as she sneers at me like I am just a piece of trash, better ignored than given any sort of dignity. Worst of all, it’s that fucking look in those amber eyes, like the mere thought that I might say an unkind word about her is so unthinkable it is worth tearing the world down over.

  “You’re always such a stuck-up bitch,” I manage through my clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  The crack as my forehead collides with her nose is so utterly satisfying that I almost don’t regret it. I do regret headbutting the debutant in the face, however, as it feels like I smashed my skull into a stone pillar. I stumble back into the table, my vision completely white. The whine of the table legs scratching against the floor and Priscilla’s screech of pain bleed together in my brain. Blinking, the world swims back into focus. Dovik and Jor’Mari are standing in front of me now, one of the big men across from them holding Priscilla back as she strains against him. She holds her bleeding nose with one hand, trying to march toward me, unintelligible honking coming from her open mouth. The big man looks like he is straining pretty hard to hold her still.

  Ah, she must be one of those endowed. That would make sense as to how she got over to me so fast, and why headbutting her fragile face felt like getting kicked in the head by a mule. I rub my forehead, finding a stain of blood on my gloves when I pull my hand away. Despite the splitting headache, I don’t seem to be any more sober than a moment ago. This wine really is good stuff. A little late, I identify her with my eye.

  Priscilla Ca’Mari, Daughter of Baron Radast Ca’Mari

  “Cheers,” I say, holding up the bottle of wine toward Priscilla and taking a sip. For some reason, that only makes her angrier.

  “Get her out of here!” Jor’Mari commands.

  The other man moves at once to grab her arm, getting an elbow in the face that knocks him out cold. The other two men who had been loitering at the stairwell are sprinting over, the entire commotion thoroughly ruining the atmosphere.

  “I will be revenged!” Priscilla screeches, the first thing I have been able to understand her saying. “Some human whore can’t get away with assaulting me.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I call back, no idea where the words are coming from. Looking at the bottle still in my hand, I find the answer to that mystery. Jess is at my side now, trying to shush me in a hushed tone.

  It is about that time that I notice Priscilla’s eyes are a deep lavender color, not amber at all. In fact, she is starting to look very different from the onyx-haired elven woman I was comparing her to in my head just a moment ago. Maybe I have a problem.

  “You cannot stop me!” she says, pointing a bloody finger at Jor’Mari. The man flinches back. “Your pet has attacked my honor, and I will have blood for it.”

  “Don’t look at him!” I call, Jess trying to shut me up even as the words come out. “I’m the one that knocked out that pretty tooth of yours.”

  The anger flees Priscilla’s face for a moment as she somehow flushes even more stark white than she already is. Her hand comes up, prodding her mouth, finding all of her teeth still there. When she looks back at me, all I can do is laugh. “You think that’s funny.”

  “Yes.”

  “Remove her!” Jor’Mari commands again. With the aid of three of the big men, they finally start to drag her across the floor.

  “You think you are so funny tramp, hiding behind my cousin like a coward!” she calls, digging her expensive heels into the floor to stop her slide.

  “What did you call me!” I explode up from the table, finding Jess grabbing me before I can take more than two steps forward. I can’t say why that insult hit me so deeply, but my heart pounds in my ears. Dovik is there in front of me, shaking his head at me vehemently.

  “Did that get you, vulture? The truth hurts.”

  “Who’s the one bleeding?”

  “I challenge you, bitch!” she screams, already halfway across the floor. “I challenge you to combat right here and now!”

  Dovik lunges forward before I can say anything, his hand clamping down over my mouth. He screams as my teeth sink into the knuckle of his middle finger, ripping his hand away with a curse.

  “I accept!” I yell back.

  Those two words are like magic. Priscilla stops struggling, and the three men holding onto her slowly release her. Jor’Mari lays his face in his hands, shaking his head, and I find myself falling back onto the table, sitting there.

  “Fetch my saber and grimoire,” Priscilla commands one of the women with her. “I have a mutt to kill.”

  “No!” Jor’Mari yells, stepping forward. His body grows as he marches across the floor toward her, the woman shrinking away from him as he comes to tower over her. “This foolishness has gone too far. No one is going to fight, here.” He removes a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his robe and tosses it to her. “One hour, the northern training yard.”

  Priscilla snatches the cloth from the air, nodding before turning her baleful eyes on me. “You won’t run away, will you.”

  “A challenge made and accepted,” Jor’Mari says. “Now, go. I need to speak with her.”

  The woman looks between me and him for a long moment before nodding and turning away. One of the women with her comes rushing back over with a scabbarded sword only to get shouldered out of the way as Priscilla makes the stairs. The entourage disappears down the stairwell, leaving the people up on the roof at a loss for how to recover the mood of joviality.

  Jor’Mari turns back to me, his face a mask of anger for a moment before softening into a disbelieving smile. “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

  I shrug. “I don’t like her.” A slap on the back of my head flings strands of hair into my face. “Ow! What in three hells, Dovik!”

  “You bit me,” he says, holding up his hand. “I think you drew blood.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “I don’t like you when you drink,” he says. “Too aggressive.”

  “I did one thing.” Despite my very good point, the bottle slips out of my hand as Jor’Mari takes it away. I look up at him, copying his smirk. “Anything I should know before I kick your cousin’s ass?”

  “She is stronger than you,” he says.

  I rub my forehead. “I figured that one out.”

  “She is a formidable magical artist who has mastered the fundamentals of the Mari family’s magic. She has been raised from birth seeped in the combat of duels and has won three that I am aware of. She is the second daughter of the Baron Cla’Mari and has been endowed with quite a bit of power.”

  “Is that all?” I ask, reaching to take the wine back, only for Jor’Mari to take a step away, pulling it out of reach.

  “That’s it. So, it will be pretty embarrassing if you lose.”

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