by M. L. Ryan
“I tried to make her reconsider, but she claimed his presence is as much for Tannis as you,” Alex admitted. “She believes you are bad influences on one another.”
“Is she still obsessing over the spoons? It’s not like anyone else saw us but her; she really needs to let that go.”
“I think she is more concerned about a repeat of the beer pong competition.”
“For crap’s sake,” I blurted, running a hand through as much of my hair as the tangled curls allowed. “Only two off-duty sentries knew what we were doing, and they were our teammates.”
“Yet Mother still found out about it, which means you were less discreet than you imagined. It is difficult to do anything around here in secret, and Uncle Fry’s palace in Jjestri will be no different. Tannis already has a tendency to push the envelope of propriety. It might be best if someone is around to ensure a modicum of decorum.”
I knew Alex was joking, but the last comment bit into me. “I may not always take stuff as seriously as a crown princess-to-be is supposed to, but I can tell when screwing around is out of line.”
“I know, carisa, but my mother hasn’t had as much experience with you as I, and she doesn’t like leaving anything to chance. Look on the bright side,” he continued. “While you are gone, I plan to do nothing else but work. Hopefully, by the time you return, I’ll have everything in order and we will be able to get on with our lives.”
I felt like a selfish bitch. Here he was, trying to navigate through the emotions involved with his brother’s death, while negotiating the realities of a role he never desired or expected, and I was worrying about my wardrobe and acting ladylike.
“I’m sorry, Alex. You’ve got enough on your mind without me heaping trivial problems on you. Don’t worry, I will comport myself in a manner of which the royal family will be proud,” I vowed, offering a mock salute. “No shenanigans from this gal.”
He grinned and lightly kissed my forehead. “That’s a lot to promise. Just try to keep the mischief to a minimum.”
6
The trip to Jjestri was blissfully uneventful. Seriously, human airplane travel was vastly inferior to the magical transit system of marqizoborta. No lines, restrictions on liquids in your carry-ons, X-ray machines or pat downs, or being trapped next to some chatty/less-than-hygienic/stinky cheese-snacking row mate. Only the slightly discombobulated feeling, much like forgetting the curb when stepping onto the street, a little nausea, and, viola! You’ve arrived. To add to all the convenience, it was completely free. The people of Courso never had the arduous task of ferreting out the cheapest fares or the choice between price and spending fifteen hours in a three-stop itinerary traversing less than six hundred miles. Humans definitely had a lot to learn.
A cadre of very official-looking guards greeted us as we exited the marqizobaz. Unlike the Royal Guard in Alenquai, who wore tailored, blue uniforms with metallic, pointy-topped helmets, these dudes wore red kilts and long socks. I found their attire ironic, as we were standing in what would be southern Sweden in the human dimension. Tannis explained the pleated skirts were ghrilyx, the official ceremonial outfit of the King’s Guard in Jjestri.
She gazed longingly at the soldiers and sighed. “I just adore a man in a ghrilyx.”
“Good thing Pixie left earlier with the girls. I can’t imagine what he would say about that.” Myrjix, the porters, Tannis’ attendant, Swiplij, and the protocol aid had left an hour before us to “make ready for our arrival.” I wondered if the separate arrangements stemmed more from long-held conventions that the help shouldn’t hang with management rather than a matter of logistics.
“I used to never understand why the Scots preferred wearing a skivvy-less skirt rather than pants. All that chafing when riding,” I added with a shudder. “But once I spent time in Dekankara with no indoor plumbing, I realized the ability to just squat and pee saved a lot of time.”
Tannis expression brightened. “You never mentioned the men wore ghrilyx in Dekankara.”
“They don’t, but I had to wear a dress. Even if they did, the specifics of third dimension garb would place at the bottom of the list of important details to share.” Frankly, in my opinion, most men’s legs were better off covered, and while athletically built, a mere glimpse of the guards’ exposed knees didn’t really rev my engine. Although, the elaborate, shield-like thing hanging on the front was kind of awesome. It might have been purely decorative, but I figured they’d work as a dandy boner disguiser should the need arise, so to speak.
“What do they do in the winter?” I wondered. It had to be damn cold to have naked knees.
“They wear thick leggings. That’s one of the reasons I never visit between November and March,” she explained, smiling slyly.
“The six hours of daylight would be the deal breaker for me,” I insisted.
Once escorted safely into the palace—yet another massive, marble-laden structure—the head butler showed us to our rooms. Mine was on the third floor, spacious and well decorated, with balconies off the bedroom and the sitting area, overlooking a small courtyard full of blooming lilac bushes. I might have appreciated the digs more had they not been teeming with activity. Standing in the center of the chaos, Pixie barked orders at Myrjix and one of the porters, instructing them on the care and placement of all the stuff he’d packed for me. I considered sneaking out, but Myrjix happened to look up just as I began my backward escape.
“Hai… Uh, hey, milady,” she said, peeking at the protocol aid to check if he’d noticed her near gaffe. He hadn’t; lining up cosmetics in straight rows on the bathroom vanity took all his focus. “We hoped to be finished before you arrived,” Myrjix continued. “Let me make a space for you to sit.”
She lifted a pile of clothing off a high-backed chair, upholstered in some shiny, aqua fabric, embroidered with gold trim. The motion drew Pixie from his fixation on perfectly spaced toiletries, and he scurried across the room.
“The storage space is highly inadequate, barely three hundred square feet, but we shall make do,” he announced, wringing his hands.
“It’s not even half-full,” I observed, pointing to the closet.
Pixie pinched the bridge of his nose, as if my comment made his head pound. “Fine couture requires room to breathe. We cannot cram your clothing together like sardines. Not to mention the entire wardrobe needs to be viewed in an expansive setting to fully appreciate each piece.”
I had no clue what the hell he was blathering about, but instead of saying so, I opted for a more soothing, “Okay, but I’m sure everything will be fine. Try to chill.” Frankly, I didn’t recall him ever seeming quite so flustered. Lord knew I’d tried.
Just then, two guards entered the room, carrying an oversized, wooden crate. They placed it to one side, and Pixie went to examine the delivery. As he questioned one of the men, the taller of the pair gave me the once-over. He said something I didn’t quite understand, but his rakish grin made it obvious he liked what he saw.
Pixie lunged toward him, shouting, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. The guard, in contrast, blanched, sputtered an apology, and backed quickly out of the suite.
“The audacity,” the PA seethed, pacing in front of the crate. “He thought you were a maid. A maid! I shall report his insolence to his superiors.” He halted mid-stride and turned his ire toward me. “This sort of mistake would never occur if you listened to me and dressed in a manner appropriate for your position.”
The black pants and tailored, white blouse seemed like a perfect travel outfit when I put it on, comfortable but not too casual. Now that I glanced around, however, I noticed some of the women darting around helping Myrjix unpack wore similar attire. “You didn’t complain about my wardrobe choice before,” I reminded him. “Obviously, even you didn’t know my clothes complied with the dress code of the palace staff.”
He narrowed his eyes, and in an attempt to avoid an escalation of hostilities, I changed the subject.
“I don’t remembe
r that being a part of my luggage,” I said, pointing to the crate. Please don’t let it be the collection of hats Pixie wanted to bring along.
“It is not,” he answered in a clipped tone. “I believe it is from the prince.”
Hot damn. No ridiculous bonnets one might see only at church or the Kentucky Derby—places I was unlikely to attend in any dimension—but a mystery package from Alex! An envelope affixed to the top of the crate bore my name and Alex’s seal seal. Must be how Pix knew who it was from, I reasoned as I freed the note.
His handwriting was messier than usual, likely scrawled in haste.
Carisa: It is an old custom in our family to bring a gift of alcohol to Uncle Fry when we visit. Had Tannis not reminded me, I’d have sent you to Jjestri empty-handed. I had enough time to contact Aiden; he collected an assortment of excellent spirits. Most of what is in the package is for my uncle, but I made sure there is one bottle just for you. Love, A.
I asked the porter to pry off the lid. Inside was a case of Bunnahabhain scotch and another of bourbon called Widow Jane. This was clearly the booze earmarked for Fry; to me, scotch and bourbon tasted like varnish smelled. Nestled between them, however, were two sun-shaped bottles of my favorite tequila, Rey Sol Añejo. I hoisted one away from the nasty whiskey, and the light from the window made the eyes of the smiling face formed into the glass shine with an amber glow. Compared to the human side, the Coursodon Dimension offered many positives: no pollution, less crime, no wars. However, they could learn a thing or two about distilling liquor. Perhaps the failure to produce anything better than swill was a consequence of the natives’ inability to get drunk, although the beer and wine wasn’t bad. Whatever the explanation, even a middling bottle of the hard stuff from home surpassed anything here.
Pixie glared at my prize and came over to peer into the crate. “No, no, no,” he exclaimed, the furrows in his brow growing to alarming depths. “It is inappropriate to give products that did not originate in Alenquai. This is a semi-official visit, after all.”
“Yes, but according to Alex, I mean Prince Aldegrexynthor, this is what the king likes.” I emphasized Alex’s formal name, hoping the PA would back down knowing his future sovereign was behind the gifts.
“That does not matter,” he countered, shaking his head. “Protocol clearly states…”
“Screw protocol.”
Pixie’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His face grew pale, and he blinked wildly.
Oh, great, now I’ve shocked the poor bastard. I hadn’t meant to swear, but I wasn’t sure which bothered him more, my potty mouth or bad-mouthing protocol. He was, after all, a protocol aid. Maybe in his mind, I’d said, “screw you.” Still, that didn’t mean I wanted to go so far as to apologize. And then, an idea sprang to mind.
“What I meant was—have you ever drunk human alcohol? It is really quite amazing. Every Courso I’ve met prefers it.”
“Of course not,” he sputtered. “There is nothing in your dimension that could surpass what we have here, and, besides, I do not particularly enjoy liquor.”
I noticed I had been wrong previously about his wrinkled brow. It was like the Grand Canyon up there now. If anyone ever needed to imbibe in some good, distilled hooch, it was my PA. Not that he was in danger of getting wasted—Courso physiology allowed the consumption of buckets of booze without inebriation—but it might take the edge off. I set the tequila on an end table, scrounging around for two extra glasses. I broke the seal around the top of the bottle, and popped the cork.
“Pixie,” I announced, pouring a finger’s worth into each tumbler. “You are in for a treat.”
He crossed his arms and turned his head away when I held one out to him. Stubborn bastard.
I glanced over his shoulder and noticed Myrjix, who was trying without success to suppress a smile. When she realized I was looking at her, she mouthed, “Give him a direct order.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that if I gave him a specific command, he might not be able to refuse. Regardless, the entire time I’d been in Courso, I’d been prickling against royal privilege. I was many things; a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. But conniving? That I could do.
“Look, I’m a little tense, and I need a drink,” I began, lifting my glass toward my lips. “Isn’t it highly inappropriate for a lady to do so alone?” I added a wide-eyed glance to emphasize the depths of my fake guilelessness. Over the top, sure, yet I noticed the deep trenches in his forehead had softened ever so slightly. I went in for the coup de grace.
“You would be doing me a great service to allow me to assuage my stress without compromising my reputation.”
He paused, seemingly pondering my request. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and reached for his drink.
“This can also be used as a teaching moment,” he said. “Toasting in Jjestri is a formal moment. Lift the glass in unison, drink, and keep eye contact until you both lower your glass.”
We locked eyes and downed the shots. Having experienced the supple smoothness of fine tequila before, I reveled in the familiar sensation as it slid down my throat. Pixie, however, stood rigidly, staring into the distance, lips slightly parted. At first, I thought he might be having some sort of mini-seizure, or a bad reaction to the booze, but eventually, he blinked, and his posture relaxed.
“Well?”
His mouth curved into a rapturous smile. “Oh my,” he purred.
“Didn’t I tell you?” I boasted, pouring Pixie a refill.
This one, he sipped. “I had no idea,” he conceded. “I understand completely why the prince sent this instead of a local product. The complexities of the flavors are astounding. It is like liquid sunshine.”
As I recorked the bottle, an expression of longing came across Pixie’s face. “Here,” I said, offering him the container. “It’s a gift.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.” His actions belied his protestations, however, and he reached out and grabbed the tequila, cradling it to his chest.
*****
“I think I may have created a monster,” I admitted when recounting the event later in the afternoon.
Tannis laughed. “Maybe he will be nicer now that he’s had a taste of the good stuff. What is that saying, ‘Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast’? Except in this case, it’s pricey alcohol.”
We sat at a small, outdoor café about a mile from the palace. Pixie insisted we could not go alone, but I argued if guards accompanied us, we might as well plaster a sign on our heads that read, “VIPs, please ogle.” The little guy wouldn’t budge, but Tannis and I convinced our security detail they could protect us just fine from a position somewhat more distant than surrounding us. The other patrons still gawked, but at least the waitress didn’t have to show identification each time she approached our table.
We finished eating and left the server a generous tip. I’d spent a hellish two weeks as a waitress, belittled and run ragged until I was canned for dumping a bowl of nacho cheese over the head of particularly galling patron who changed his order seven times before asking for another glance at the menu. The experience confirmed customer service was not my ideal career path, but it also gave me a lifelong respect for anyone who waited tables for a living.
Tannis and I began our walk back to the palace, followed at a respectful distance by the stone-faced, athletically built, uniformed men who just happened to be going the same way and never took their eyes off us. After a few blocks, we hit a cross street. At the corner, Pixie stepped out onto the sidewalk into our path. I got the impression he’d been waiting for us there, or maybe coming to check if I had created some inter-dimensional incident, the aftermath of which only a protocol aid could repair. At any rate, the guards immediately converged upon him, including some I hadn’t seen before who must have been lurking about the village.
Our chaperones realized their error almost immediately and released him, but that didn’t stop the flustered PA from screaming bloody murder.
“Dude, that’s not fair,” I
scolded, cutting off his squeals of rage. “Don’t get all pissed off when you appear out of nowhere and they do their job. You’re lucky they didn’t body slam you into the pavement.” Frankly, I thought they’d shown considerable restraint in not doing so, given his abrupt appearance.
He still didn’t look happy, but at least he stopped shrieking. As an added bonus, he seethed in silence the rest of the way back, and I had an extra half hour of not having to listen to him bitch about it. Once safely ensconced in the palace, the guards withdrew, and surprisingly, Pixie didn’t mention the incident. His only concern, it seemed, was that I had adequate time to dress for the ball to be held that evening. I’d thought the tequila might mellow him out, but apparently, not so much.
“It’s four hours from now,” I pointed out. “If it takes that long to get ready, I don’t want to go.”
“Everything must be perfect, and I have not yet advised you of all the ins and outs of a formal gathering in Jjestri, nor have I briefed you on the who’s who of the glitterati.”
I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but I was certain I didn’t really want to study up on anyone who sounded like they were covered in shiny confetti. “Can’t you just stand near me and give the pertinent information on an as-needed basis?”
“You mean, accompany you? To the ball?”
“Sure, that way I won’t forget anything and you won’t spend the entire night worrying I’ve screwed up.”
“That is just not done,” he advised. “I do not have an invitation.”
I briefly considered arguing that he would be my escort, thus not needing an invite, when I realized what a monumentally stupid idea it was. Aside from the convenience of Pixie’s low down on who I might meet, I’d have to deal with the barrage of criticism he was certain to point out at every turn.
Dropping into the sofa, I propped my feet on the coffee table. “I see your point. Okay, lay it on me, Jjestri Society for Dummies.”
