by Aaron Crash
So she’d had it before—that surprised Ymir. “I want to start a business making xocalati and selling it to students. I want to use the kitchen to cook. Ideally, I’d like to use Old Ironbound cream and beet sprinkles as well, which would mean you would get more of a profit, depending on the percentage points we agree on. Of course, we’ll do a contract, so we both can agree on terms.”
“You trying to run The Paradise Tree out of business?” Tori asked.
“The Undergem Guild would say that healthy competition is good for everyone. We’re going to put a bit of love magic in our xocalati.” Ymir studied her face, trying to read her expression. Would she jump on board? Or would she shy away? “I’m assuming you’ve tried it.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I grew up in the Ruby Stonehold, eating xocalati hargens on my birthday.” A hargen was a monstrous bear in the Theran mountains. “It was too expensive to mass produce, or my ooby would’ve tried. I was surprised to see that shop go up, but there it is. I was going to save up to buy myself treats. If I cooked for you, I wouldn’t have to.”
“You’re saying yes?”
“You get a reliable source of xoca beans, and then come and talk to me.” She smacked her lips, laughing merrily. “Bless my stone bits, that was a fine snack. You can pay me in xocalati!”
“No,” Ymir said. “You’ll get paid in shecks, enough to buy your tuition, so you won’t need to work in the kitchen.” It was a bold thing to say since they didn’t exactly know if this business venture would really pay out.
She raised her eyebrows. “You would’ve made quite the lover, Ymir, but as a friend, you aren’t too cracked. Don’t know if you’re shale, or if you’re granite, but time will tell. You get the xoca, and I’ll ponder a scheme where we can cook up batches of wonderful.”
“And make a great many shecks,” he added.
“I grew up with money, Ymir. It can buy some things. It can’t buy others. And happiness? Bless my stone bits, but that’s a gem of a different color—a color you can’t purchase with a few coins. I work in the kitchens because I like working in the kitchens.”
The door was thrown open and a big woman trundled out. The giant who ran the kitchen was as tall as Ymir, with forearms as big as her thighs. Her rough face had more facial hair than he expected. Her sweaty brown hair, streaked with white, was pulled back and clung to her big skull. Did she have a square jaw? Was her pale skin just a tad bit green? A name came to him: Francy Ballspferd.
She gave him a grimace. She lowered donkey-brown eyes at the cheerful dwab. “Tori, we need that water. Are you catching raindrops out here?”
“No, ma’am. Just coming.” Tori threw Ymir a last smile. “Good luck, Mr. Man. You’ll need it.” Balancing the bucket on her head, she maneuvered around Francy and disappeared inside.
The big woman nodded at him.
He nodded back before she slammed the door.
Ymir leaned back against the building, watching the rain splash off the rooftops of the Flow housing. He went over their conversation. He had some answers, he had some worries, and he had still more questions.
If the Inconvenience was sex for the Morbuskor, what were Inconvenience Partners?
And if Nellybelle Tucker knew that Jenny had taken Ymir into her bed, and in doing so had betrayed her family, would Jenny’s murderous aunt send assassins?
His life had gotten complicated. He wanted to continue with his business venture, yet Tori was right. All the shecks in the world wouldn’t matter if he lost Jennybelle to assassins. There had to be a spell or artifact to detect such plots.
Back to the books. He’d find something even if he had to read every book in the Librarium.
After dinner, he was back at his second-floor table. The noise in the citadel grew as scholars left the feasting hall to chat in the wide-open space below him. Gatha was at her desk, growling at anyone who came near.
The she-orc had helped him find The Keez Forta Index, which was an exhaustive list of books, spells, and artifacts. It was dry reading, and he turned pages, searching for something that could help them. Some of the books were becoming familiar to him: The Mystery of the Worm, The Informatix Scroll, The Theranuvial Codex. Some of the same objects came up as well: the Calcifax Staff, the Calfinite Blade, the Cypher Wand, and something called the Fractal Clock.
The words began to blur, all the names started to look familiar, and then he noticed something—in the back section, where the more powerful Flow artifacts were listed, there was an entry smudged out. There were words there, but someone had carefully scratched them out. Flow artifacts could divine the future. This might be important.
Ymir felt the familiar chilly fingers trace up his spine and lift the hairs on the back of his neck. He floated off the seat, but instead of dispelling the out-of-control Moons magic, he focused on his Flow magic. If he could slip into a vision, he might get an answer to what he needed.
He whispered, “Jelu jelarum.” He settled back down, the floating magic turning into divination magic. In the vision, he saw himself with a piece of coal from Jennybelle’s fireplace. He put a blank piece of parchment down, and then, sliding the coal over the book, he could find the word that had been crossed out.
He couldn’t quite see all the words, but he did see that the item could be found in the Scrolls of Octovato. Octo was “eight” in the ancient Theranus. There were eight rings of Akkridor.
He had a current bibliography of all the books in the Librarium. Every few years, the Librarium updated their listings. He found where the Scrolls of Octovato were stored. He frowned. They were in the Scrollery, the dungeon under the Librarium Citadel. They’d be in the shelves reserved for authors whose names begin with O. To get the scrolls, he would need special permission, and that meant the Princept might learn he was once again walking into forbidden territory. He couldn’t have that.
Alternatively, he could find a librarian to help him. They could sneak the scrolls out long enough for him to make a copy.
He’d only gotten close to one of the librarians, and that was the she-orc who hated him. Or was it some kind of strange she-orc love? Either way, her strong emotions had cooled. She was still and unplayful.
By the time Ymir was finished, Gatha wasn’t at her normal station. He had to return his books to a mousy little blond woman, from the Sorrow Coast Kingdom, who had a drippy red nose whenever he saw her. Ymir had forgotten her name because she was forgetful. He thought of her as Drippy. She was very friendly with the Princept, so he couldn’t ask her for help getting the forbidden text from the Scrollery.
He had some food squirreled away in his cell in the sea alley. He’d eat there, review the few notes he’d inscribed into his grimoire via the sand parchment, and go to bed early. The next day, classes began again, and he’d be busy cleaning, attending lectures, and studying. He’d make finding coal and parchment his number one priority. He wanted the name of that artifact that could be found in the Scrolls of Octovato.
He thought of stopping by Jennybelle’s apartment, but it was too dangerous now that the students had returned. Jenny was probably with Nelly right then, gossiping, talking, and trying to act normal. Those women played games of masks, poison, and lies. Soon, however, Jenny wouldn’t have to.
Jenny. Something was making her scream in her sleep. He wondered what it was.
Ymir threw his hood over his head and walked through the world of rain, down the Sea Stair, and through the market. The taverns had filled, and the laughter drew him in. No, he’d get a joint of beef and a big tankard of ale, and maybe he’d throw some cards. A low stakes game of Seven Devils would relax him.
Before he went into the Unicorn’s Uht, he noticed a line of scholars congesting traffic on the stair. They were all waiting their turn to go into The Paradise Tree.
Lights inside flashed, from Ziziva probably, selling candies with a flourish. He hoped the Fayee girl and Nan enjoyed their profits while they could. He was going to take a bite out of them. The very i
dea made him happy.
He ate, he drank, he played river deck games with his old friend Charlotte the Harlot and some of her upperclassmen friends. They kept the bets mainly to copper shecks, though the limit was five silvers. No one wanted to win or lose that much, or perhaps their cards weren’t kind to them. Nevertheless, Ymir enjoyed his evening.
He stayed out too late and went to bed well after one.
He was delighted to find Lillee under his bear blanket, asleep, with her essess on her left arm. He’d let her sleep. Maybe in the morning he’d slip the cuff off her. It was always such a wonder to watch her sexuality come alive once the piece of jewelry was gone.
The elf girl woke up enough to kiss him and whisper, “Jennybelle can get us xoca beans.” She then fell asleep.
That was unfair. Ymir laid awake, happy, curious, and excited about the business he was about to launch. It wasn’t just the money involved. It felt more important than that. It felt like an adventure, and he knew Tori would help them. Somehow, he knew.
Probably Flow magic.
“Fucking magic,” he growled to himself.
Lillee slept on.
Chapter Eight
LILLEE FELT YMIR COME to bed late that last night of the Solstice holiday break. When she woke, he was already gone, having left early for work study. She was disappointed. She’d wanted to slip off her essess to be with him, but she’d felt so tired, and she loved how warm and cozy she felt under his bear blanket in the damp cell.
She was so glad she didn’t have to get up early to work. That had been the deal he’d made with the Princept. Gurla had switched some workers around because Darisbeau and Odd Corry only agreed to cover their work until Solstice break. That left Lillee to slowly wake up, alone, and to return to her cell, bringing Ymir’s bear blanket with her. She was still working on the drawings of the Morbuskor couple, the half-elf, and the woman with the piles of dark curls on her head and her angelically cute face.
The elf girl gathered up her things in her room and stuck them in her school satchel. She had the Knowing mirror, which had her new schedule on it. She had her grimoire, her sand parchment, and the pen and inkwell. All went into the bag, along with her drawing pencils, her sketchbook, and some erasers. She could work more on her pictures in the feasting hall. Getting there early, she could get her favorite seat.
After breakfast and kaif, the day would get busy. Her first class of the day was the Flow lectures with Professor Issa Leel. That Ohlyrran woman was sickened by the sight of Lillee. The elf girl hated how the professor’s eyes always migrated up her face to look at the mark of the Sullied on her left temple. Already, she was so conscious of the stylized “S” marking her as being weak, wanton, and out of control.
The memories of her final days at home threatened to destroy her. They were as bad as that fiery spring night when she’d lost both Jayla Jereenn and the Cult of Chaos and Desire.
The elf girl pushed the memories out of her mind. Ymir’s grandmother might have some piece of wisdom for her, but there were times when Lillee didn’t want to be wise. She simply wanted to escape, and she found it in her writing, her drawing, and her singing. There she could find peace, and let the seven devils devour all of Raxid, every continent, for all she cared.
Lillee took a wooden tray and went to the counter to get some eggs, potatoes, and orange slices, which she loved. The Ohlyrran Forests, east of the Sunrise Mountains, were full of orchards, heavy with apples and pears. Oranges were rarer. The seasonal fruit grew down on the Viridis Peninsula, still ruled by her father in Greenhome, but the merchants there had been wooed by the Undergem Guild in Panseloca, on the Barrier River, the easternmost city of the Holy Theranus Empire. The oranges most often went west, not north, and so that made them special.
There, on her stepladder, was Ymir’s friend, the Morbuskor maid, Toriah Welldeep. The dwab had always been cool to Lillee, and Lillee expected the usual treatment.
Toriah, or Tori to her friends, Lillee supposed, smiled with the most beautiful, eye-crinkling smile the elf girl had ever seen. It was like an inner sunlight lit up the little woman. “It’s Lillee, right? Ymir and I talked yesterday, about you and Jenny, this, that, and the other thing. What can I get you?”
Lillee didn’t know how to respond right away. This was so unexpected. “Is it Toriah? Or Tori. I think. When I worked for Gurla, someone referred to you as Tori. I don’t want to call you the wrong name. Our names are important.”
“Tori, I think, is fine. Your hair is beautiful today, like spun platinum, and braided. Did you braid it yourself?” The little woman’s eyes twinkled.
“I did.” Lillee felt so self-conscious. She only did two quick braids, which she bound with a ribbon behind her head. She wore her cape and tunic and her sandals. And of course, the essess.
The little woman was so cheery, so happy, and so pretty. And Lillee couldn’t help but admire the cleavage. Tori had bigger breasts than even Jennybelle, and Jenny was very well endowed. Lillee felt like a vineyard pole compared to her.
The essess kept her lust at bay, yet Lillee knew if she took it off, the fantasies would come. How would it feel to kiss this woman, so much shorter and so much wider than she was? What would those legs feel like in her hands, or those strong arms?
The thoughts were easy to dismiss, thanks to the forearm cuff.
“But you, Tori, have the most wonderful red hair. It’s like fire. It’s like the sunset. You’re so striking.” Lillee glanced behind her. No one was coming, and so they had some time to chat.
The cheery girl laughed. “And they say dwarves and elves hate each other. No, I’ll tell you, the Morbuskor hate the Gruul far more. Yep, it’s funny, but the old gods decided to make us opposites of each other in almost every way. Elves are for art, living their carefree lives in the forests, tall and thin. While the Morbuskor, gosh me underground, but we’re short, and wide, and we work the earth and make contraptions of all kinds.”
“Knowing Lore,” Lillee said quietly. She didn’t point out that the Ohlyrra worked just as hard on their art, in their forest homes. If Tori was going to be friendly, Lillee would let her.
“Yes, Knowing Lore,” the dwab said agreeably. “We’re opposites, but we can be friends, and rather than be in competition, we can complement one another. I think that is the idea.”
“I like that,” Lillee said quietly. “We can complement one another.”
“Bless my stone bits we can.” Tori started to scoop up items for Lillee. “I love working in the kitchen, and, yes, it’s a lot of work, but I like to chat with people. We have folks from all over Thera here, including some merfolk, which makes me a bit nervous. You know how they are. But I won’t talk bad about races. Maybe about orcs, and probably fairies, and a little bit about merfolk, but I’m sure most of those people are fine. Mostly.”
She worked while she talked and set the good tin plates on Lillee’s tray.
Lillee did feel like Tori’s opposite. She spoke so much and seemed so at ease in the conversation. Lillee rarely felt that social.
Other scholars headed over. Tori smiled. “Ymir is lucky to have you. And I won’t mention the other person, but she’s lucky too. I was jealous, I’ll admit it, but I’m over him. I hope you’re happy, Lillee, I really do.”
Lillee thought she meant it. There didn’t seem to be any barbs, but there was a bit of sadness in the little woman’s eyes, just a hint that most people might not catch.
“You’ll find happiness too,” Lillee said softly. “I thought I wouldn’t either. With what I am. With where I am from. But it will end, won’t it? Ymir is human. He only has a few more decades. You and I have centuries. I think about that sometimes.” The elf girl was shocked at herself for being so honest.
Tori was quiet, her eyes searching her face. “Oh, sweetie, it’s Monday. Let’s you and me get through Monday. We can worry about the centuries later.” She laughed. Her smile made her whole face glow. And yet, that sadness was there as well. Tori had to be str
ong to hold both her cheer and her sadness inside her. “Gosh me underground, but we have other hungry scholars, sweet Lillee. Enjoy your kaif. You take it dark, now don’t you? And you cool it with two cups, pouring it back and forth. I’ve seen you do it.”
Lillee didn’t feel spied upon. She felt cherished. “It was nice chatting with you, Tori.”
Tori saluted her with a spoon. “Nice to chat with you, Lillee. I imagine we’ll be working together here soon. That’s what I hear, and that’s what I hope. I’d like another big group of friends to bang around with.”
Lillee knew she was talking about the xocalati endeavor, though that wording, “bang around,” made her wonder. And it was true, Tori did have a big group of friends she studied with, and she lived with a dozen students in an old dilapidated apartment on the edge of the Moons College, overlooking StormCry.
The elf girl poured herself some kaif from a big silver urn, a mixture of Sunfire heat and Flow magic working with the kaif powder to give them their morning cup of wake-me-up. That was what Tori called it sometimes.
Lillee could be happy about her new friend. What had changed between her and Ymir? Lillee couldn’t even begin to know. She ate, sketched, and kept looking up to see if Ymir or Jenny showed. Neither did. A few Swamp Coast women ate together, but no Nelly, and no Jenny either.
Daris, Odd Corry, and Roger Knellnapp strutted in. Daris loved the attention from the women. Even some of the Swamp Coast queendom women threw glances his way.
Lillee hated him, and the sneering Odd Corry, and she wondered why a nice human man-child like Roger would accompany those two scoundrels anywhere. Maybe Roger was afraid of being alone. The humans, in their short lives, had to worry about such things.
When you expected to live a millennium, sometimes solitude was a fine thing—away from the desires and passions of your friends and lovers. Lillee didn’t mind being alone, not at all. The best part of leaving home had been her time alone making the journey to Old Ironbound. The worst part? Lillee didn’t want to think about that. Not at all.
