by Aaron Crash
The Amora Xoca would give him his freedom.
Chapter Twenty
YMIR WALKED TOWARD the Librarium, still thinking about his conversation with the Ironcoats. He was done cleaning and could start studying. More than that, he was looking forward to talking with Tori about her secrets.
He wasn’t so lost in thought that he didn’t see the group of men waving to him from where they stood in the entryway of the Chapel of the Tree. Rainwater poured from spouts in the statues at the corners, sculptures of Homme, Ohlyrra, Gruul, and Morbuskor, but each also could be seen as their divine counterpart, the old gods that some people still worshipped. He’d take a religious studies class at some point to see what kind of weirdness the southerners worshipped.
The clansman walked over, his guard up. Mixed in with the upperclass boys and imprudens from other colleges were Darisbeau, Odd Corry, and Roger the Viscount.
Ymir had stowed his cleaning supplies in a closet. He had his satchel slung over his shoulder. He was covered in three layers of clothes: his cloak, robes, and his leather pants and shirt. The worn boots were gifts from his once-friend Gharam Ssornap, but that friendship was over. It was a shame, if for no other reason than the fact that Gharam’s wife, Korga of the swinging breasts, was brutal to the clansman in her Classical Warfare class. She’d nearly run him over on horseback the week before. Ymir had leapt out of the way, but he’d found new respect for orcish resentment. It seemed to spread through entire families.
Ymir walked directly into the center of the men. He might as well make it clear he didn’t fear any of them. Even together, he’d bloody and bash them until they went down.
His nerve was unnecessary since there wasn’t violence in there. These men had wonder on their faces.
One of the upperclassmen Ymir recognized. They’d played Seven Devils together in the Unicorn’s Uht. Denrhix Miij was a brown-haired man with a soft jawline, which he tried to define with a sparse beard. Den wasn’t as docile as many of the men, but he was no gambler. From casual conversation over the gaming table, Ymir had learned Den was from a small town in the Sunset Mountains, part of the Farmington Collective. He was well off from trading with Morbuskor.
It was Den who spoke. “Ymir, we heard you might have some of this new kind of xocalati.”
“Heard from who?” the clansman asked. And looked at Daris.
Daris shrugged. “Nelly talked to me about it.”
“Aren’t you supposed to hate her because she’s a Josen?”
Another shrug from the slippery man. Long brown bangs half covered eyes the color of coal. “None of her direct kin killed any of mine. Not directly. If she can forgive the other murders, I can too. Maybe it’s time those feuds ended anyway.”
“Not likely,” Ymir spat.
A third shrug. “Maybe it’s why your Jenny is still alive. Nelly sent word back about you two. Seems Auntie Jia might have softened up in her old age. Arribelle ain’t so bad looking. I’ve thought about making a go of it.”
“And I wouldn’t mind being a king,” Odd the Smirk said, lips twisted.
Den sighed. “People. This isn’t what we need from Ymir.”
The clansman continued to play stupid. “I don’t understand. You mentioned xocalati. What is that?”
“The Paradise Tree?” Odd said boisterously. He was so loud that Roger seemed embarrassed. Darisbeau only smiled slimier.
“It’s a type of sweet,” Den explained. “We like it all right, but the women here love it. And this new stuff is supposed to get them randy. Who doesn’t like a randy woman?”
The men murmured in agreement. Ymir leaned back against a central column. The sleepless night was catching up to him. He might need more kaif to help him study. There was always a full urn in the feasting hall. At some point, he’d take a potions class, but he wouldn’t think there was anything more magical for scholars than the bitter drink.
“What does any of this have to do with me?” Ymir asked.
“It’s obvious he doesn’t know,” Roger muttered.
“Ha!” Odd Corry exploded. “Something Ymir doesn’t know? He’s read every book in the fucking Librarium. Or that’s what I heard. You see him, all the time, on the second floor.”
“Yes,” some thick-bellied sophist put in. “I tried to sit there, and Gatha chased me away. She says it’s reserved for Ymir.”
The clansman liked the sound of that.
Darisbeau looked on as if bored, but those eyes showed a mind working. There was hate there, a great deal of it. He and Ymir would tangle again—that was certain.
Ymir finally had to relent. “Wait. Xoca? Do you mean Amora Xoca?”
Den nodded. “Amora, that’s from the old Theranus word for love. Yes, that must be it.”
“It’s about love all right,” Odd sniggered. “It gives a guy a hard-on. It makes a girl wet.”
Again, Roger sighed in embarrassment.
Darisbeau grinned on, as if his friend wasn’t a worm.
Den tolerated the nonsense, but he wouldn’t let go of his point. “You can’t get the Amora at The Paradise Tree. We checked. Nelly said that you, Jennybelle, and Lillee might know something about it. You are so connected here.”
Which is why he didn’t want to tie himself to the business. Was it illegal? Not necessarily. Was it better if it was a mystery and not connected to the barbarian? Yes.
Inside, Ymir was smiling. On his face, he feigned confusion. “I think I heard that beardless dwab in the feasting hall talking about it. Maybe Jenny. I don’t remember. It’s expensive. You’d have to be a fool to spend a platinum sheck a pound for any kind of food.”
Several of the men gasped. Others nodded. What was a night of passion worth? For some, such an experience would be priceless. However, as men on a continent without many males, they shouldn’t have any problem getting their uhts wet in the first place.
Den frowned. “It’s a steep price.”
Ymir shrugged. “I wouldn’t pay it. And from what Toriah said...or was it Jennybelle? I can’t remember. It’s not like a love spell. It won’t make someone fuck you if they don’t want to fuck.”
“But it will put a tickle in their glitter box!” Odd shouted like the fool he was. “Or in my case, my big glitter pole.” He held his crotch. Again, such a fool. Ymir had to resist the urge to break his nose.
Den shook his head. “So, you don’t know where to get any?”
The clansman shook his head. “I’d ask Toriah.”
And she’d refer them back to Jenny, who would send them back to Tori. But this time, Jenny would tell them that Tori did know, but she couldn’t sell the Amora Xoca to just anyone. You had to have money, and you had to be worthy. If Tori approved the buyer, which she would, the dwab would then arrange the deal. Their product would be very difficult to get, at first, and those packages, wrapped in soft, velvety paper, tied in red ribbon, would be worth every single sheck.
Delicious and arousing, Ymir knew the story was good already, but he wanted to make it better. He wanted a yarn as good as Grandfather Bear’s story of the woolly tundra serpent.
Ymir left the men, got his kaif, and took it to his second-floor table. Food and drink were forbidden. He was too tired to follow the fucking rules. Gatha wasn’t there to complain at him. And Drippy the librarian was too mousy to confront him. She did bring him his normal bibliography of the Librarium’s holdings, along with a copy of Obanathy’s poems. On top of the pile, he added a biography on the poet and a grimoire on cantrips designed to both hide the truth and reveal it. Most of those were major arcana—out of his reach, for now. He also requested a book on Focus rings.
He found an interesting set of verses in a poem by Obanathy.
The waif whispered sweet nothings while plucking
Cursed power from royalty’s hand. They felt
Like favors, spoken in haste, then resented,
Like his absence. Sticky fingered, he ran,
And sweet grew bitter, fingers to bones, wit to mad
ness,
And all his tears, wept until dying, could not loosen the cruel band.
The writing smelled of curses. It stank of them. Some of it was poetic claptrap, but there were some stanzas that warned of rings that clung to your fingers—you couldn’t take off such jewelry. The evil magic then either killed you or drove you insane. Other rings forced you to love them with an obsessive jealousy. If anyone else tried to borrow the jewelry, you were forced to murder them.
Anything about cursed rings had his attention. So far, the Black Ice Ring wasn’t in that category. He hoped the Veil Tear Ring wouldn’t be either.
He was reading, slightly dizzy and very sleepy, when Tori showed up. She sank down into the chair on his right.
Her words came out in a torrent of syllables. “Only got a minute, Ymir, so I’ll make this quick. Can’t talk about Morbuskor customs, biology, or any of the unmentionables because it’s forbidden, and by the holy bedrock, I know I don’t owe my people much, but I owe them that. Speaking of bedrock, holy or otherwise, this is where we stand. Lillee and I are going to be special friends. You know what that means. I want to know if you’re okay with that.”
Ymir grabbed his ceramic mug, hoping there was a bit of kaif left. He needed it to wake his weary mind. It was empty. Damn.
The bags under Tori’s eyes mirrored Jenny’s. He knew he didn’t look too well either. Lillee was probably sleeping in her cell. However damp, it was a quiet place amidst the bustle of the college.
The normal sparkle in the little woman’s eyes was gone, and it wasn’t just the exhaustion. She was upset and worried.
Ymir squinted at her, trying to show her his concern. “Lillee is free to do what she wants with other women. You’re free to do what you want. It’s none of my concern. I don’t blame you and Lillee for your time together. It was simply a poor choice given the circumstances.”
Tori rocked herself forward, then back, her brow wrinkled with worry. Tears filled her green eyes. “It wasn’t my choice. It’s the Inconvenience. I can’t talk about it. You won’t make me, will you?”
The clansman laughed gently. “From the context of our conversation, and from my research, I can guess what the Inconvenience is. And if Lillee doesn’t mind being your Inconvenience Partner, then I’m fine with the arrangement.”
The dwab rocked herself back and forth, just a little, with that same worried look on her face.
One of Grandmother Rabbit’s sayings came to him, another bit of wisdom from the Sacred Mysteries of the Ax: The sleepless man can’t lie. The sleepless child will cry. The sleepless woman won’t even try.
The first two made sense to him. He wasn’t so sure about the third.
“This might not be the time to talk about this,” Ymir said quietly. “We’re both very tired.”
Lightning crackled behind them, racing from one shelf to another, blocking out the murmurs of the studying scholars below. Ymir sniffed and smelled the ozone along with a healthy dose of book perfume. Oddly enough, it had become one of his favorite smells, as sweet as a wet summer morning bathing the tundra grasses in dew.
Tori got up and went to him, and before he knew it, she had her forehead pushed against his arm. He wasn’t sure what to do.
“I wanted you for it,” Tori said in a grim voice. “I figured you were different, and I was different, and that we might have something. Maybe not partners like that, but friends, maybe. Or more, maybe. But I was strange. And you were too handsome to be alone for long. You got Lillee, and you got Jenny, and I don’t blame you. If I was Inconvenient all the time, I’d want them with me, every night. I wish...I just wish...”
She didn’t speak. She was this big, wide woman, short, yes, but still so strong. Here she was, breaking in front of him. Ymir corrected the thought. She wasn’t breaking. She was healing. Grandmother Rabbit would be proud of this little woman.
Ymir adjusted himself, moved his chair, and opened his arms.
Tori knew what to do. And she was in his arms, wedged between his legs, in a heartbeat.
Ymir remembered their many conversations. He remembered the sadness that sometimes lurked behind Tori’s cheer. He could guess all the rest.
He held her and put his lips near her ear. The red hair was soft on his face. She smelled like the kitchen, at first, then he got some of her perfume, and then her body underneath. All of them were good. All of them were Tori.
“You were my first friend,” he whispered. “You’ve helped us so much with the business, and yet, you don’t want a single copper sheck. You’ve been kind to me, to Jenny, and to Lillee. You’re a bit of sunlight in all this rain. You’re so beautiful you make my heart ache.”
The tears came. Ymir wasn’t surprised. “I’m not beautiful,” she said, trying not to sob. “I’m hideous. I have these big teats, and no beard, and my hips are way too big, and I won’t even try to defend my thighs. It’s why I had to leave Ruby. No one, no man would ever have me. I had to leave, and I knew I’d find some asshole, and I’d have to put up with him and his wives, but I figured I’d keep to the kitchen and a workshop, hopefully, so I could tinker. Then I met you. And Lillee. And Jenny. It could all be so different. Only...you can’t think I’m pretty.”
Ymir eased her back.
The dwab couldn’t meet his eyes. She closed them, and tears tracked down her face, over her freckles, to drip on her blue dress and, of course, the apron.
“Next time you get the Inconvenience, I want you to find me. You and I can have something, Tori. You and me. But I have three questions.”
Her eyes flickered open, the tears making them greener. She snorted. “Lil tried to sidetrack me with them questions. What are they?”
“They’re from the clans,” Ymir said. “We ask them before we have sex, to make sure the act won’t cause unneeded chaos. Chaos in the north can get you killed. The three questions are: Will there be babies? Will what we do disrespect our families? Will what we do disrespect ourselves?”
Tori sniffed. By the Axman’s beard, she looked tired. “My family don’t care. When I’m in the Inconvenience I don’t care. It all feels like I’m disrespecting everything.” She lunged and gripped his arm. “You can’t tell no one, right? It’s a secret. It’s a Morbuskor secret.”
“I won’t.” Ymir still had any number of questions about her, her family, and their strange customs. Yet, he knew the dwab needed to get back to help with mealtime. She worked far harder than he did on her work study, and yet, she didn’t need to.
Tori rushed back into his arms. “I’ll think about it,” she murmured. “I don’t know when I might get the Inconvenience next, or how I’ll be. Normally, I just take care of it myself. Most of the time that works. But I was with Lillee, and we were so friendly. I also knew that with girls it’s different. I’m different about it. With a boy? Gosh me underground, Ymir, but I haven’t done the Inconvenience with a boy just yet. I think it’ll do things to me...to my heart. I’m scared of it. Don’t hate me for being scared.”
“I won’t,” he soothed. “Just sell as much of my xocalati as you can. Then all will be forgiven.”
That made her laugh. She squeezed him, settled into his arms, and didn’t pull away. Was she sleeping?
He could feel her huge chest pressed up against him. She was warm; her hair was soft and smelled good. His hands held her back, but then they drifted down, and before he knew it, he was touching her where he shouldn’t.
She didn’t pull away. He felt his pants grow tight. His uht pressed up against her stomach.
Tori wasn’t sleeping. She chuckled. “Seems you have an Inconvenience of your own.”
She pulled back and stepped away, hands on her hips. The sparkle was back in her eye. Grandmother Rabbit was right. We heal through our mouths.
The little woman nodded. “We’ll sell this Amora Xoca, and we’ll sell it all. I won’t try it, though. I don’t want to...get addicted to it. You see, what if this love candy gives me the Inconvenience?”
“What
if it did?” Ymir asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, bless my stone bits, think about it, Mr. Man. If I had the Inconvenience every time I ate xocalati I’d get nothing done!” She strode away on her thick legs covered in black boots.
Ymir considered the books in front of him. Back to reading. It wasn’t long until he saw that Obanathy wasn’t just a mediocre poet; no, Obanathy was a genius when it came to scrying and hiding from magical eyes. He’d managed to reduce several key components to their core energy, simple enough for even a novice sorcerer to cast such spells—Flow spells, which Ymir was currently studying. This was perfect.
He switched to the bibliography, and, yes, there in the Scrollery, Obanathy was next to Octovato. If he could get down there, he could find the information he needed to craft the Veil Tear Ring. Ironically enough, those Obanathy Flow cantrips would also be useful if not critical. They built directly on the wards that Jennybelle had taught them.
Yet, even if Della Pennez approved the minor magic in those scrolls, it wasn’t like Ymir could simply walk down into the Scrollery. Most likely, a librarian would get the information for him. Or what if he could get Gatha to escort him into the dungeon underneath the citadel?
That wasn’t likely. There was a bigger problem. How could he get the she-orc librarian to bend the rules so he could make a copy of the writings of Octovato?
He was closer than ever to the Veil Tear Ring. At the same time? He was still far away from getting the artifact that could keep him, Jenny, and Lillee safe.
The Third Exam would be here before he knew it, and that was when his hidden enemy would strike next. But who did they want to kill, and why?
Chapter Twenty-One
YMIR LOVED HIS NEW tale about the Amora Xoca. It was the perfect blend of drama, xocalati, and tragedy.
Lillee, ever the storyteller, expanded the story with Ymir’s help.
And it was Tori who told it with her usual cheer and excitement. Tori was a natural storyteller, and she’d hold audiences spellbound as she talked of Sinaj Pjolin, a poor winged girl who grew up in the port city of Tubaqua on the continent of Reytah.
