Book 4, Chapter 12: Rooftop Party Blues
Tired from the meetings, the people, the honorifics, and with Brin and Tread busy, likely chatting up Mr. Cute-and-handsome, ensuring their dallying, I gathered a bit of a picnic basket, a pillow, and a warm, fur lined cloak and dismissed the guards, ordering them to take the afternoon and evening off. Then, I found some pottery jugs and heated red wine in them.
That took a bit of doing. Both the heating and the carrying. Pottery can be used for cooking, so it can go on open flame. Well, the kind used here. Though, it suddenly came to me, climbing the stairs up, I should really check their glazes, see what awful, heavy metals they’re using. With my luck and this world, it’d be cadmium. But I didn’t know what the glaze was now, and that naturally meant it couldn’t hurt me.
So, I heated it up, trying not to worry too much, or boil the wine, as that would undo all the efforts of those friendly yeast. Just simmering, resting the jug for a while, perhaps a long while, in a larger pot of not too hot water, hoping no one would return home to stop me from going out. Pull the bottles out, dried them off, still no one here. Wrapped them in cloth and, boom, I had heated wine. Add some spices and butter if you bend that way, it’d be mulled wine. But I was in a hurry and so the spices and butter remained happily beside their friends, hanging out on their respective shelves.
Winter is good to fifteen-year-old princesses in this universe. Fifteen and a half!
It wasn’t until I got to the tower that I realized I could have just heated the wine myself. Although, maybe it was best to let the beast within sleep. Also, if I started using magic just because I could, I’d eventually slip up and someone would see. Or, you know, go full on power-mad. Yeah, better to concentrate on gaining control over it first.
I brought the hot wine, bread and cheese up to one of the towers to get away from everyone and think about what to do with the earls. Mainly Hafthon. I needed to find an answer to the future problems he was bringing. But all I could think about was pizza. No idea why. I guess because it had been a long time. Wine, I had to bring wine. Ale would have gone better with pizza. Except, of course, I didn’t have any of that either, so wine would do.
I could make it. The flour here was granular and I’d have to work with lard or butter, but it was feasible. Pizza. Of all the technology I was introducing to this world, I’d probably be remembered for this the most. Because pizza! It almost made me stand up and shout it to the heavens.
Except, I’d need some kind of oven. To my great embarrassment, I realized then that I hadn’t been in the kitchens yet. Too busy being a princess, all priss and proper, being cooked for, served. Damn.
They might not have proper pizza ovens, and that would be a slight issue. Though, they’re simply igloo shaped, made out of bricks or stone, with a hole at the top to vent the smoke. Simple. No problem. Definitely going to make pizza later. Whiskey and pizza. Maybe it’s not such a bad world after all.
“Cayce! Here you are!” said Maitlan, after pushing the trap door open, and correcting my far too generous sentiments of the world. “Aren’t you cold up here alone?”
“Uh, no. I’m dressed appropriately. What are you doing here?”
“It took me forever to find you! This is the fourth tower I checked.”
I stared at him with what I hoped wasn’t the utter dismay and disappointment emanating from my soul and then looked away to watch the setting sun. It’s always setting when he finds me. There’s probably some hidden meaning in that.
He pulled his own cloak tighter around his body and under his behind and sat down to my left. “Well, you brought a picnic.”
“For one, I’m afraid. And I only brought one mug. For the wine.”
“That’s ok,” he said, taking it out of my hands, picking up the jug and refilling it, “we’ll share.”
“Yeah, yeah, help yourself. Maitlan, I came here to be alone. To consider what to do about the duchy.”
He took a long draught from the mug, then refilled it, saying, “Now you have someone to share your thoughts with.” Passing it back to me, he asked, “What are you thinking?”
“Have some food.” I set the mug down, pushed over the basket, sliding it between us as I scooted a little over to the right. Probably all anyone would see if I took off my jewelry and melted him into the stone would be a bright light overtop the tower. Maybe they’d brush it off as a lightning strike.
Ah, but honestly, the little, guilt-ridden voice inside said, he wasn’t that bad. Doing his best, really. Supported me against the earls. Wouldn’t be fair to melt the boy, not even a little. “Ah, I was kind of feeling guilty about holding the duchy as some kind of prize, dangling it between the earls.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty. It is a prize, one worth fighting for.”
“They all seem to feel entitled to the damn thing. At least Hafthon does. I don’t know, I guess I’m brooding. Life isn’t fair and all that. But I really should be enjoying the quiet times.”
He took a sip, then held the cup in front of him, admiring it. “Warm, very nice. Did you prepare the wine?”
“Uh, yeah. And the meal. Just some meats, bread, cheese.” Time for one last hint, despite that he wasn’t being that annoying. “I didn’t think to make a picnic for two.”
“Oh, it looks like you brought plenty. Two jugs of wine, even!”
“Yeah, alright. How is, uhm, your brother? I’m sorry, can’t recall his name.”
“Me either! He’s doing well. You needn’t concern yourself.”
“What are you going to do with him, when we go to war in spring?”
“I guess that depends on what you do with the duchy. It’d be safer for Charce to remain here if, that is, if the earls don’t fight over the dukedom. Knowing him, though, he’ll want to fight.”
“I was really hoping they’d come to an agreement and not seriously go to war over it. I mean, we’re all supposed to be part of the same team! Same kingdom, I mean.”
“Cayce, if Hafthon doesn’t get his way, I wouldn’t put it past him. But, he’s more likely to bully the earls into following his lead. Probably it depends on how the spring campaign goes. If we lose to Barclay straight away, Hafthon will almost certainly move on the duchy.”
“If we lose to Barclay, this duchy will be the last thing on our minds.”
“You’d be getting cloistered, executed or married.”
“Yeah. Hopefully, not all three. Though I guess executed me wouldn’t mind the other two.”
“Honestly now, of the three, which would you prefer?”
“Maitlan!”
“Me? You prefer me over those three options? I’m flattered.”
I picked up the wine mug off the ground, saying not a word, except maybe a grunt of annoyance, and not a trace of a smile, took a very short sip.
He continued, “Just making small talk. Me, I’d go with marriage. I’m not overly religious, so cloistering doesn’t really appeal to me.”
“If you were me? If you were suddenly in my body, what would you do, my lord?”
“Ah, Cayce, let’s not use honorifics in private. I like to hear you say my name. My first name.”
Looking from him to the cup, it forced me to take a heavy sip, bordering on a gulp, and then sailed on past that line until the mug was nearly straight up and empty, then spluttered into a coughing fit as I inhaled some of it along the way. “Excuse me,” I managed to get out between coughs, “sorry.”
He started patting my back, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Stop, please stop.” I finally caught my breath, “I’ll never understand why people do that.”
“Why, to help get the air flowing again.”
“No, it just makes everything worse. And you know what’s even stranger?”
“No?”
“After coughing that much, I need more wine to sooth my throat.” I took a sip but stayed firmly in sip territory. “Better, much better. I should have brought some water.” One more cough.
“You drink quite a bit for a young woman.”
“I know, I know, it’s terrible.” And I don’t get hangovers. No need to tell him that, but it did make me feel particularly immoral when, after passing him the wine, I said, “Here, why don’t you see how much you can drink in one go?”
“Uh, thank you. I’ll go slowly. I find that too much ends the evening too quickly.”
Ignoring Maitlan, I wondered whether I really got tipsy or if that was all in my imagination. The thought made me want to test out poison, to see if I was immune, but there were potentially serious consequences if I was mistaken. Although, were I immune and not a princess, I could travel this world betting the biggest and strongest men all the money they had that they couldn’t drink me under the table. Perhaps using all manner of liquids.
‘Hey,’ I’d say with a smile, ‘you wanna see a girl drink bleach? How much gold do you have?’ Nice to know I had a backup plan in case it all went south.
“Would you still drink this much in marriage?”
“God, even more I think.”
“What if your husband forbade you?”
“What was that?”
“I mean, disapproved.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I took the wine back from him and took a sip.
“Well, I just thought, I mean, maybe . . .”
“Let’s just watch the sunset, ok? And, no, you can’t hold my hand this time.”
“Cayce, I-”
“Shhh!”
“I have some thoughts about the duchy.”
I took his hand in mine and gave him the most deliberate and meaningful glare I could, then turned my head to watch the setting sun. It worked, he shut up. Then pushed the mug over to him, and tried to ignore how awkwardly he picked it up with his left hand, ensuring his right stayed firmly attached to mine.
It dawned on me at that moment he might be a virgin, and I wished and wished at the thought I was still holding the wine.
The dark bodies of ravens were high in the sky, heading away from the far-off tree line. The sun set just a touch more quickly than before, hanging over the fields and turning the grassland a rusty red that slowly and inevitably darkened under a brighter, but fading sky, as if the rust itself was being drawn away, the fields cleaned.
He lifted my hand up to his lips and I quickly yanked it out of his grasp. “Alright, alright.”
“Cayce . . .”
“No. No kissing. Calm down, eat some bread and cheese.”
“Are you secretly seeing Gun?”
“Oh my god. No! Look, Maitlan, please get this through your head. I do not want to date any of you! Marry any of you! I mean, damnit, court you. I don’t.”
“The rumor is that Gun is courting you.”
I buried my head in my hands. “That’s great. Look, the duchy, you said you had some thoughts. I’m seriously going to drink myself sober if you keep talking about courtship.”
Just then, as the last rusty light was slipping off the clouds, the ravens cawed, stopped their circling and began to descend out of the sky, probably to roost, but below a certain point, they were no longer visible.
“I’ve never seen so many murders of crows, nor conspiracies of ravens in my life. Do you know if this is normal for Castle Bechalle?”
“Conspiracy of ravens?”
“Yes. Have you ever seen one this large?”
“I take it that’s the countable name for a bunch of ravens?”
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t know that’s what you call them. Ravens. I’d heard of ‘murder of crows’ before, though.”
“You don’t have ravens down at Breadamont?”
“Forgive me, I’m ignorant. Maybe a little too much wine.” And it made me wonder, not even the why on those names, like why they originated, but the how. How did you know a bunch of crows was one or two murders? How many crows to a murder?
“Well, there’s a lot of them here. More than I’ve ever seen before.”
“Why do you think they’re here?”
“Could be a bad sign. Maybe a good one.”
“Well, that covers all the options, doesn’t it?”
“You should ask the archbishop or one of the wizards.”
Something lingered about what he was saying and bothered me. In a way that I couldn’t fully form as an idea. “Why a sign? What do you mean?”
“One of the older gods, I think. Associated with ravens and crows. But with murders and conspiracies, I don’t think those would be good portents.”
“Tread would know! He was telling me about the deities a while back. Before we came here.” Back by that tall statue, he’d outlined the names of various gods and their mythological influences on the landscape. I hadn’t given it two thoughts, written it off as nonsense. But this was a land of magic and wonders and I was a moron and a newcomer. Tread! Why didn’t I pay more attention to him?
I stood up to leave and Maitlan again took hold of my hand. “Hey, I’m going to find Tread.”
“You can ask him later. Don’t you meet with him in the mornings?”
“Maitlan, let go of me.”
“Just sit with me a while. You’re always running off.”
The anger rose up then and the energy burned deep within hotter and hotter, woken and angry, it burst forth. How dare he touch me! Me!
He suddenly let go of my hand, “I’m sorry, of course. You’re busy and I shouldn’t have . . . I apologize.”
I quickly turned around, so he couldn’t see my hands. In the darkness, stars slowly emerging, a few winking out as a fast and dark cloud covered them, I wondered what the hell was I thinking. I wanted to step on his hand and laugh in his face – his eyes had been fearful and worried – I quickly held up my arms, checking and checking for any flames, energy, I was about to blast him, but no, the iron somehow, no, a touch of flame there. On my palm. I closed my eyes, needing to calm down, gave into my senses, listening to the wind through the trees, faintly brushing across the grass of the fields-
“Cayce?”
“Damnit, Maitlan!”
“Here, no, I’ll help you pack up this basket and we’ll go ask Tread about the crows.”
It felt like waking up into a world of soft sounds and darkness, and I heard him moving about, packing up the bread and cheese, opening the basket. I looked. My hands were my own.
Turning and crouching in front of him, I took his palm as he was placing the wine into the basket, covered his hand with both of mine, pushing back a little, and said, “No, no, let’s sit for a bit. Pour me a cup, would you?”
He sat back down, lifting it out of the basket, pouring, then holding the cup out for me. “Alright, yes, here you are, my lady.”
“I . . .” taking the cup, my gaze rose to meet his, “I didn’t mean to frighten you just then.” No, no, a voice inside me, perhaps a thought from myself, my original self maybe, from deep within and unheard until now, said, I meant to do far worse.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“Why haven’t I seen your brother around?” I said his name to remember it, “Charce.”
“Well, I, uh, I posted him with my soldiers. He’s training with them daily.”
“Ah,” small talk, small talk only, gotta be normal, if this life could possibly be said to be normal, “and how is that going?”
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