Azure bonds - Kate Novak [62]
Of course, I might not be dreaming, Alias considered. This could all be some fantastic illusion. But the noise would have wakened the others, and they would still be here sleeping beside me. No, this was a dream, she concluded.
Suddenly there was a tremendous clatter to her right. Her head turned in time to witness a burly man berating a small servant girl for spilling wine down the copious cleavage of his female companion. As the youngster protested her innocence, the man stood up and loomed over her. He was twice her height, but Alias caught the glint of sharp steel as the servant reached into her apron pocket.
A loud roar came from the corner booth again, and she turned her attention back to it. No longer occupied by shadows, it was filled with people of depth and color. A tired cleric and a young fighter argued some fine religious point. The cleric insisted that Tempos was a corruption of the southern Tempus, and that Tempus was the correct pronunciation. This supposition seemed to madden the fighter, a northern barbarian on his manhood journey, no doubt. His face, already quite red from several drinks, flushed even darker. He was preparing his argument by reaching his right hand over his left shoulder to grasp the lionheaded hilt of the massive sword strapped to his back.
Alias wondered which of the two arguments would be the first to cause a room-clearing brawl.
"Neither," answered a pleasant voice. Alias started at the reply. A young man stood beside her table, holding two crystal glasses in one hand and a dusty bottle in the other. He sat in the chair beside her, setting the items he carried on the table. "But devastation will arrive shortly," he assured her with a lopsided grin and a wink. Alias would have judged him to be not yet twenty, but his suave manner belied her estimate. He wiped off the bottle and extracted the cork with an expert ease.
The youth's blond hair hung loose about his shoulders and glistened in the firelight. He had what the members of the Swanmays would agree was a well-formed figure, yet his blue eyes reflected the firelight back in pinpoints of red. As attractive as Alias found him, he made her quite nervous. She felt as if she were waiting for someone in the dream, but this man was not that person.
"I took the liberty of ordering a wine special. I know you'll like it." He smiled as he poured copper-colored liquid into both glasses.
"How do you know what's going to happen?" Alias asked.
"We all have our little curses," he whispered, running a finger down her right arm along the brands. They tingled, an entirely new sensation. "My curse is that I'm required to read the script before the play begins." He held up his glass and waited for her to do the same. "In a few minutes the plot will pick up. Plenty of time to finish your drink."
Alias lifted the delicate crystal by the stem and allowed her host to clink his own against it. "To drama," he said.
Alias sniffed the beverage warily, afraid to discover yet another Cormyrian mixture unsuited to her tastes. Instead, a pleasant, tangy scent wafted to her nostrils. She took a sip and then, without thinking, drained the glass. The sharp, sweet taste of mountain berries clung to her lips, and the alcohol coursed through her body like a shock. Her face warmed immediately, as if she stood in bright sunshine, and the aching muscles of her back relaxed. It wasn't just the only good thing she'd tasted in a long time. She had a strong suspicion it would be the best thing she would ever taste.
"Which of these incidents is responsible for the fire?" Alias asked the young man as he refilled their glasses.
"Neither," the man said. He nodded toward the burly man and his buxom companion. The servant girl had convinced the man at knife point to return to his seat and stop fussing. She tossed the woman a dingy towel and left them.
"Labor troubles are quite common this far north," the youth told her. "Every potscrubber dreams of becoming a petty