by Ivy Asher
“What are you doing here?” she demands, looking from me to Zeph and back again.
“Wait,” Zeph calls out. “You can see her?”
Pigeon shoves forward, succumbing to the need to finish the challenge laid at Loa’s feet.
I explode into talons, feathers and fur, and find us once again in the tree covered room in Kestrel City. Pigeon’s large frame dwarfs the huge bed we were sleeping on, and she searches the space for Loa, a growl resonating from our chest. Bewilderment takes root in us as we scan the room and find nothing.
The iron doors slam open, and two large guards rush into the room, weapons drawn. They spot Pigeon on the bed and promptly start looking around for the threat. They look just as confused as we feel when they also turn up nothing. Pigeon turns the growl off, and suddenly all of her attention is focused on a large basket just outside our door.
I have no way of communicating that Pigeon and I just had a nightmare, so I wait for Pigeon to hand me back the reins and hope the guards put the pieces together themselves. After a minute or so, they relax.
“Sorry to burst in like that, milady, but we’ve been assigned to watch over you while the Syta and Altern are away,” the stocky platinum blond male guard explains. “My name is Sice, and this is Dri.” He motions to the tall female guard who’s still palming two swords and looking around as though she doesn’t quite trust that the coast is clear.
Pigeon turns to him, and I knock on her consciousness and ask for our body back so I can do things like ask him what he means. Pigeon ignores me, instead proving herself as useless as ever by turning back to the basket outside of our room. The male guard follows her focus and gives a little smile.
“These things were left for you, milady,” he announces, walking over to the huge basket and picking it up. Dri grabs another basket and pulls what looks like parchment from the back of her armored vest.
They both set everything on the low tree trunk table that’s at the center of all the gnarled wood and stone chairs in the right-hand corner of the room. Then they bow and leave, closing the doors behind them. Pigeon wastes no time soaring off the bed to shove the cover off the basket she’s been staring longingly at. I cringe when I discover that it’s filled with weird ferret-beaver looking things with long scary tusks.
Pigeon doesn’t have the same qualms about them. She shoves her beak into the pile of dead animals and then throws her head back so she can scarf them down. I do my best to go to a happy place while she devours this rodent appetizer. After a couple of minutes, a thrum of happiness vibrates through me as Pigeon checks the basket for any unconsumed morsels. When she doesn’t find anything, she happily recedes, and we shrink back into my form.
I release a belch that a frat boy would be impressed by and rub at my chest.
“Those things better not give us heartburn, Pidge,” I scold. “Or the plague,” I add, pushing the now empty basket as far away from me as I can with the tips of my nails.
I eye the other basket—not sure I even want to know what’s in it—and check in on Pigeon, who appears to be settling in for a nice nap. Air fills my lungs as I inhale deeply, and I relax when I don’t pick up any concerning scents. I push the covering off and smile when I find a pile of duda fruit and a huge stack of these sweet rolls that I always stole by the handful in the Eyrie.
My arms shoot up to the sky in victory, and I shove a roll into my mouth. Thank fuck the Avowed enjoy some of the same foods the Hidden do. I stuff my cheeks like a chipmunk on the cusp of hibernation and reach for the parchment.
Treasured Flower,
I hope you’ll forgive my absence when you wake, but it could not be avoided. In circumstances other than war, I would be by your side. But alas, war calls, and just like you answered me, I must answer it. I won’t keep you waiting long. We will finalize everything just as it should be when I return. Until then, know I am thinking of you and doing everything in my power to shorten this unfortunate separation.
Treno
I read the note a couple of times, unease settling deep in my bones.
War.
That one word alone knocks me off my axis and invites worry and uncertainty to roost in my chest. My dream interaction with Zeph slams to the forefront of my mind. The blaring alarms and Loa running in to announce that the Avowed are advancing.
Was that real?
I play back every detail in my mind, not sure how to look at any of it. I can’t decipher between what could be a lucky guess based on details my subconscious picked up somewhere, or maybe I’m a fucking psychic now. The stone and tree chair is cool and hard against my back as I sit down and break open a duda fruit on the corner of the table. I slurp its delicious juice and decide to pay closer attention to all of my dreams. Maybe there’s something going on there that I haven’t been paying attention to.
“What do you mean, you can’t find it?” I demand, irritated by Purt’s curt bullshit.
I look around to see if there’s another less pissy Archivist who might be more willing to help, but surprisingly, I spot no one. I’ve spent several weeks now on futile census scanning. Treno is still gone, and I haven’t had any more interesting dreams that needed to be analyzed. Basically, I’m going a little stir crazy. I even looked for Ryn the other day, but apparently he’s off with the others, not that he would have been any help with anything anyway.
“Exactly what I said,” Purt states irritably, pulling me from my thoughts.
Sice clears his throat in an obvious warning. Purt glances over at the guard and receives a look that has him dropping some of his attitude.
“The writings you requested have not been located at this time. The archivists there are looking for them, but it’s not unheard of for books to get filed incorrectly or for a royal to ask to look at something without it being recorded. When it’s located, it will be brought over for you,” he finishes.
I eye him for a moment and then release a resigned huff and nod.
Purt hurries away, sending a worried look over his shoulder at Sice. I can’t help the small chuckle that sneaks out at that. Sice and Dri are like two badass shadows. They don’t say much, and half the time I forget they’re there, but they have made dealing with Purt—and any other jerks over the past couple of weeks—so much more enjoyable.
I look down at my table and all the surrounding black covered records, and my heart just isn’t into doing any more research today. I close the census in front of me, placing a leather bookmark where I left off, and lean back in my chair. Another letter from Treno arrived this morning, but it didn’t say much other than sorry and that he’ll be back as soon as he can. So pretty much the same shit that every other note has said.
I reach in my pocket and pull out one of the sweets that accompanied Treno’s note this morning. I unwrap the waxy paper from around it and shove it in my mouth. It’s like Werther’s Originals, coffee, and a rich brownie had a baby together. It’s probably the only thing keeping me sane today, and it’s officially my new favorite thing to put in my mouth. I pull out two more candies from my stash and silently hand them over to Sice and Dri.
“Is this Sazo?” Dri asks me with pure awe in her tone.
I look over at the usually stoic guard and watch her look down at her palm like it houses a treasure.
“Um, I don’t know,” I admit, unsure how a piece of candy could evoke such an intense response.
Sice brings the wax-wrapped morsel up to his nose and breathes deeply. He gives a sigh that makes me smile because he practically goes cross-eyed with delight.
“By the moon, it is,” he confirms, and the same reverence that tinged Dri’s features now moves through his as well.
“What am I missing here?” I ask, feeling like an ass because I’ve been snacking on these goodies all morning like they were no big deal.
“Sazo is a delicacy,” Sice offers, like their worshipping looks alone don’t give that part of the mystery away.
Dri gives an amused snort and shakes her head a
t her partner’s inadequate explanation. “Sazo takes years to cure and settle into its ripe flavor. The plants used to make it can take centuries to mature and fruit, and there aren’t many of them left. Many farms were wiped out during the first uprising and flight. The combination of all of that makes this delicacy one of the priciest, and hardest to source, commodities.
“Well, shit,” I say as I watch Sice unwrap his candy and place it reverently in his mouth.
He groans deeply, and I suddenly find myself thinking that he probably makes that noise when he comes too. Heat fills my cheeks, and I look away. Sice and Dri have been my silent homies the past couple of weeks, and the last thing I want to think about is Sice having orgasms or what he looks like when he fucks.
Damnit! Now I’m thinking about that too. I shake my head to try and clear it of the unwanted visual. If I found him attractive, it would be one thing, but I don’t, and now I have all kinds of imaginary visuals that I would like to bleach from my brain.
I look over at Dri and notice that she places the Sazo in a pouch at her side.
“Going to savor that later?” I ask, grateful that she’s not going to open a window into what she looks like when she’s experiencing pleasure too.
“I’m going to save it for my sister’s eyas. I’ve had the pleasure of eating Sazo when I was young; they should experience it too,” she explains, a small reminiscent smile sneaking across her face.
“How many eyas does she have?” I ask, recalling the term Ryn once used to introduce me to Sutton.
“She has three,” Dri answers.
“Oh, well then, have some more, you can’t split just one piece with three kiddos.”
I reach into the barely there dress that I’m wearing because my pants needed to be washed. The only good thing about the two strips of vertical fabric, which cover my boobs and attach to a flowy skirt, is that the seamstress sewed pockets into it like I asked. I pull out a handful of candy and hand it over to Dri and then grab another handful and give it to Sice. They both sputter and try to argue with me.
I don’t have the heart to tell them that I ate twice that much this morning, not knowing this stuff was worth more than gold.
“Take it!” I insist, narrowing my eyes and pulling my hands away when Dri tries to put the treats back in my palms. “I’m serious,” I argue. “Treno gave me too many, and I had no idea it was this precious. Take it and share it. Besides, I always think things taste better and are more fun when you can share them with people you care about. I know I just met you two, but I know you have friends and family. Just think of their faces when you pull this out of your pockets and hand it over.”
That argument seems to do the trick, and Sice and Dri tuck their delicacies away and stop putting up a fuss.
“You’re very kind,” Dri starts, and I wave it off.
“It’s the least I can do. Your presence alone makes Purt and some of the other archivists less dickish,” I tell them, eyeing my stack of books again.
“So what do you guys do around here for fun?” I ask, looking for a solid excuse not to open up another record and pour over it for the rest of the day.
I am bored out of my fucking mind at this point. After weeks of sporadic notes from Treno, his almost daily gifts, and the long days filled with research and not much else, I feel stagnant and stuck, two things that are starting to give me an eye twitch.
“Come on, following my boring ass around all day can’t be all there is to do? What’s Avowed night life look like around here?” I press.
Dri gives Sice a hesitant look, and he clears his throat.
“Milady…”
I groan at the title. I’ve been trying to get them to cut that shit out since the day I first met them.
“For the thousandth time, you don’t need to be so formal,” I whine. “I know I look all milady and shit here,” I admit, picking up a strand of ghost white hair and running it just under my lavender eyes. “But I’m not.”
I turn to Dri.
“Don’t hold out on me. There has to be better things to do around here than read genealogy volumes. Don’t you guys have bars or something?” I ask.
“I don’t know if the Altern would approve,” she starts.
“Okay, but first of all, he’s not here. And second of all, the Altern doesn’t own me. I am my own woman, hear me roar,” I tell her, but she just looks at me funny.
“I’ll give you the rest of my Sazo,” I offer in a singsong tone.
“Done,” Sice announces, and I have to keep myself from bouncing up and down and clapping like a five-year-old that’s had too much sugar.
“Yaaaay!” I announce excitedly.
Dri just rolls her eyes, and Sice looks like he’s not sure what to make of any of this.
I just nod my head and waggle my eyebrows at them both.
“Let’s get white girl wasted!”
9
“To the before, the now, and the yet to come,” Sice toasts merrily, his stein thunking against Dri’s and then mine.
We all throw our heads back and take deep pulls of the tart liquid. I scrunch up my face, coming to terms with the fact that whatever this is doesn’t get better the more you drink it. I wipe a frothy mustache from my top lip and stare at the contents of the cup, wondering how I can get out of drinking anymore of what I suspect to be fermented milk. I try not to think of what kind of animal this could have come from and instead stare longingly at the bar.
I’d bet my left nipple that there was meade somewhere behind the old wood counter. But I’m not supposed to know the things they drink in this world, and so I’ve kept my mouth shut. I swirl the thick off-white liquid in my stein and tell myself that I could probably convince them that we drink meade in my world and that’s why I know about it. That thought helps to perk me up. That could work actually, my requesting a drink I loved back home wouldn’t give anything away.
A sly smile sneaks across my face, and I look over at the bar area again. I watch as another patron orders something and then slides a coin to the barkeep. My excitement drops, forming a rock in the middle of my stomach, or maybe that’s just my body rejecting the nastiness in my stein. I don’t have any money. No money...no yummy meade. Sice chugs down the rest of his drink and then belches his approval. Dri rolls her eyes and then throws her head back and does the same thing. The belch she exercises blows Sice’s out of the water. I bark out a laugh, not able to contain it, when Sice looks stunned by the volume of her burp.
They both turn to me, and I try not to cringe. I drop my eyes down to the drink in my hand and then back up to make sure I’m reading their expressions correctly. Yep, they’re definitely waiting for me to go.
Fuck.
Pigeon sends a thread of amusement, and I internally roll my eyes.
“I am plenty aware that I got myself into this mess, thank you very much, you unhelpful chicken wing,” I snark, and Pigeon’s chuffing purr fills my mind.
I slowly bring the large metal cup to my lips and quickly give myself an internal pep talk. You got this, Falon, it’s just a little milk...that’s gone well past its expiration date...and probably came from a yak or something. Hold your breath and go for it. This is what I get for wanting to bond and make friends. Okay...ready set go. Crap. Go now. Their stares are filling with judgment. Don’t piss off your new besties. Go. How ’bout now? Or now…
I slam the stein down onto the tabletop.
“I can’t do it. Please don’t make me. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m trying to be a cool kid and look tough and shit, but if you make me drink anymore of that yak jizz, I’m going to puke!”
I throw my hands up and lean back in my chair, my surrender clear.
Sice’s eyes narrow slightly, and I bristle, ready to be ejected from our newfound friendship. Dri’s snickering pulls my attention away, and then the next thing I know, the two of them are guffawing and slapping each other’s backs while wiping at laugh tears that are now streaming down their faces.
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“You should see your face right now, milady,” Dri sputters out before another fit of laughter renders her unable to communicate past chortles and squeaks.
I watch the two of them completely lose it, and I’m baffled. What the hell is so funny? I have no fucking clue, and yet their guffaws are contagious even though I’m almost positive I’m the brunt of the joke. Sice pulls out several coins and hands them to Dri as he wipes at his eyes and shakes his head.
“You were right,” he cackles, “she at least tried.”
I watch the exchange, even more confused.
“He bet you wouldn’t even take one sip,” she explains as she deposits her winnings into the pouch with her Sazo. I look from her to the drinks to a still laughing Sice, as everything clicks into place.
“It was a prank?” I ask relieved.
I’m not even pissed, I’m just so happy I’ll never have to torture my tongue with that shit again.
“My taste buds will never recover,” I whine and then laugh as I grab fabric from the skirt of my dress and proceed to wipe my tongue with it.
That kicks off another round of laughter, and this time I have laugh tears right alongside them.
I might be a little drunk.
“I should tell the both of you that I’m not one for holding a grudge...I cook them their favorite foods, sing songs of retribution to them, and read my grudges bedtime stories. You two have no idea the wrath you just unleashed down upon you.”
I release an epic evil laugh, but its effect is ruined by the loudest, grossest tasting burp I’ve ever experienced in my life. I slam my hands over my mouth, too late to stop it from billowing out, and Sice’s eyes widen with shock. Dri and several other patrons shoot out of their chairs and start clapping for me. My face heats up with pure, undiluted embarrassment, which only serves to spur them on as they start cheering and clapping even harder.
