XV. HOLIDAY IN EEFRIT

Generally considered the hottest month of the year, the heat of Goldsun was amplified by the lake of magma beneath the border city Eefrit. Alice undid the top two buttons of her blouse, contemplating undoing the third as she fanned herself with a folded shopping list. She shielded her eyes as she cast her gaze up to the blazing sun and stepped gingerly onto sunbaked paving stones. The throng of shoppers jostled against one another, hiding beneath the awnings that shaded the narrow streets, like cockroaches beneath a cupboard.

Fiora looked to be in far worse shape; her blouse had no buttons and was made of thick cotton. Despite leaving the laces unlaced at the collar, she was dripping with sweat. Alice could not help but to giggle upon noticing her protruding nipples, as did several slack-jawed passersby. She crossed her arms over her chest and cut her eyes in Alice’s direction, kicking up clouds of dust as she dragged her feet along the dusty road. She could not blame Fiora for forgoing a bra; it was really bloody hot in Rhode.

It was a surprise to see that they were not the only humans in Eefrit, however, with a great many sailors and merchants mingling amongst the elves. The modest port along the Bay of Woe was apparently a bustling trade hub, and she heard snippets of Old Aes Sidhean spoken by passerby, as well as Rhodarcian and Agrardyan, a tongue she had only heard spoken in the academy. Fiora however seemed far less impressed by the cultural diversity of the city.

“Alice!” Fiora wailed, hunched over as the sun roasted her from above. “I fear I’ll melt if I continue in this heat. I’m going back to the inn.”

Alice grabbed her friend by the arm and led her on their path through the bazaar trying to fan Fiora to cool her down. She had no desire to leave just yet, the city was far too interesting and offered a veritable trove of opportunities for exploration.

The cacophony of hagglers and shopkeepers filled the narrow streets. Several stalls had wind and water charms, which blew a gentle mist across the aisles. A few of the more affluent brick and mortar shops had ice stones and mechanical fans that periodically sent forth a gust of arctic air to entice shoppers. The sound of pipes and fiddles wafted through the street. She could not decide where to start first.

“That’s not helping, Alice,” Fiora moaned as she lingered under a spray of mist. “I’m going back.”

Alice groaned as she pulled her friend by the arm once more. “Look! Here’s a boutique. We can go in, cool off, and find you something light to wear.”

Fiora allowed herself to be pulled like a stubborn goat into the boutique, breathing a sigh of relief as a cool breeze blew past. Several ceiling fans, powered by nearly a dozen wind runes, kept the chilled air well circulated. Racks placed in an unsystematic fashion were loaded with colorful and foreign fabrics in exotic designs.

“See, I told you. Now let’s find you something risqué,” Alice said with a hint of mischief.

“Is this silk?” Fiora asked in amazement.

The chime above the door rang as a man with lavender hair entered. Alice looked up at him, but his back was towards her. He did not appear to look like a sailor, and his clothes were not as tacky and gaudy as the merchants that ran around. She wondered what brought him to Eefrit, and to a woman’s boutique no less. He certainly was not one of their group.

The female shopkeeper yawned loudly and leaned lazily on the counter. A nearby wind-charm whipped her auburn hair in its breeze as she turned the page of a newspaper. She seemed completely content to ignore her patrons. Alice dismissed the oddities of the shopkeeper and patrons and flitted gleefully from rack to rack. She grabbed sheer fabric wraps and colorful tops while Fiora browsed at a more leisurely pace. The women of Rhode all seemed to adopt a very minimalist and airy type of dress, sheer wraps and what amounted to little more than underwear, she was curious as to whether this was a form or function fashion trend.

“How are we paying for this, Alice?” She asked upon seeing Alice’s armful of clothes.

“My father opened a line of credit for two hundred thousand Crownes through Simon and Cowell.”

Fiora stood with mouth agape. Alice smiled weakly, hoping her friend did not believe her to be a pauper upon revealing how little she actually had. Two hundred thousand was a trifle, barely a month’s allowance when she was back in Briartach. Unfortunately, her father was rather cross with her when he discovered her itinerary and slashed her budget in hopes that she would reconsider. It was hardly a punishment however, as she had the option to renew it as many times as she wanted upon reaching the limit.

“Alice, that’s more money than I could hope to earn in a lifetime.” Fiora gasped, awestruck.

“Really?” Alice replied, a look of genuine concern upon her face. “that’s terrible, how do you live?”

“But do they even accept credit here?” Fiora said as she shook her head, choosing to ignore the comment. “I don’t know much about Colby-Nau economics…”

Alice scoffed and waved her off. She was Countess of Ácýðan, and barring her cousin bedding anyone other than whores, set to be queen in another twenty or thirty years. Her father certainly did not want the title, and those in line before him were likely to succumb to old age long before Céolsige would. Least of all being that her line of credit was from one of the most renowned banks in Briternica, their credit lines even being accepted in Agraydya and the largest of the Lyresian Isles.

Fiora put back a dress she had been eyeing with a groan of misgiving. Alice swatted her hand and put the garment back into her modest bundle.

“If they have any form of economic practice or understanding, then they’re obligated, nay, honored to accept—”

“We daen’t take no credit.” The shop owner stated with a yawn.

“What!” Alice exclaimed, dropping several garments, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

“Only hard coin, lady.” The shop keeper rubbed her fingers together for emphasis. “Daen’t much care where it’s from, mind ye, long as it’s worth something somewhere.”

“Coin?” Alice sneered incredulously. “What is this, the time after the fall?”

The woman shrugged, indignant. “Daen’t trust paper lady. Only me’al. No coin, no clothes, an’ ye two can get the fuck outta me shop.”

Alice stammered in shock as she tried to find a voice to respond. The insolence of this woman was unheard of. She had assumed that by coming to an established city that they would be entering civilization again, but she had received more courtesy from Eth, and he was an outright lout at times. Fiora sighed and went about returning the garments to their racks. Alice grabbed Fiora by the arm, holding her friend in place; she would not surrender so easily.

“How dare you!” She spat, dropping her garments and producing a badly creased note. She stormed to the counter and slammed the note onto it, “My father is Charles Templeton the Third, Duke of Briartach and seventh seat to the throne of Aes Sidhe.”

The woman was unimpressed, so Alice continued, “He set up this line of credit for me, signed and dated by the Patrick Simon and his partner Jared Cowell. You insult me Madam, by claiming my father’s word and that of his esteemed colleagues—verified by signature—to effect payment is not efficient; you are thereby insinuating they are deadbeats and frauds.”

The woman continued to stare blankly at her, provoking her further. It went far beyond privilege and title, this woman failed to show even the most basic courtesy. She was outright hostile in fact with her disrespect; the fact that her hole in the wall establishment could keep its doors open with such lack of service and basic decency was a marvel in and of itself. As if to show her gall knew no bounds, the woman flicked the paper to the ground and shooed at her as if she were a dog begging for scraps. Her face red with indignation, Alice quickly struck the woman as hard as she could across the face.

“I demand satisfaction.”

The shopkeeper drew back a well-muscled arm and punched her squarely in the face. She stumbled back stunned, clutching her bleeding nose. Tears welled in her eyes as stars danced before her. Convention was that terms would be set, and a time arranged when formal declaration was given, not to devolve into some barroom brawl. This shopkeeper was mad.

“You savage!” Alice cried as she held her bleeding nose in hand.

The shopkeeper prepared to vault over the counter, only to be halted gently by a man’s arm. His short lavender hair was tousled with mousse in the fashion of young Aes Sidhean’s. Despite the heat, he wore some long-sleeved ruffled shirt and dark wool slacks bound with leather bands. She wondered who the hell he was, hoping that the savage of a shopkeeper was not running some sort of racket on tourists of which he played the pivotal role. He was a handsome man in his late twenties, perhaps thirty. His eyes were rather cold, at odds with the easygoing smile he flashed to her.

“Please forgive my friend. She is…unaccustomed to your wonderful culture,” he said with a thick Xanavien accent.

“Yeah? Well toss off!” The shopkeeper screamed as she attempted to vault the counter again.

Alice took cover behind the stranger and readied a spell; her head was still spinning from the last strike. He held up his hand and withdrew his wallet; the shopkeeper stepped down and turned her ire to the man. He held up the wallet for her to see, which she eagerly peered into.

“Of course, I’d be willing to recompense you for any damages, should you be able to forgive her ignorance,” he smiled, though his eyes did not mirror the gesture.

“What’s that? Paper?” She sneered, turning her sights back on Alice. “Only hard coin mate.”

He put away his wallet and pulled out a small coin purse, dumping a handful of coins on the counter. Alice realized it was similar to the magic pouch Kielan carried, a bag of holding it was called. Generally, only Sages and wealth merchants carried such items, being somewhat rare and expensive relics of the time before the collapse. It was also evident that the two were not in cahoots, which was a relief. All that was left was to determine his angle, but given they were two young women and he a man travelling alone, he could not be too hard to pin down.

“Will this suffice?”

The woman greedily took the coins, a mixture of currency from Catharone to Elysia, Aes Sidhe to Thiudoricus in various sizes and shapes; some were octagonal, others oval and some even square. All were worth five to ten notes each.

She pocketed the coins and nodded slightly “What about the merchandise the bitch threw off me racks?”

Alice’s face grew red again; did this woman’s greed and insolence know no bounds?

“Of course, I will pay for her clothes as well.”

Alice lit up, but Fiora rushed forward, protests on her lips.

“Oh no sir! You needn’t—OW!” Fiora cried out upon receiving an elbow to the ribs from Alice.

“Fine by me,” the shopkeeper yawned.

Fiora pulled Alice aside and whispered harshly in her ear. “What are you doing? We don’t know this man!”

“I know that! He probably wants something from us.” Alice hissed back.

“Well, I’m not willing to give whatever it is I assume he could want!” Fiora drew back, and shot the stranger an offended glare.

Alice glanced up at the man, wondering what a Xanavien was doing in Rhode. He did not look like a soldier, though admittedly, she could not exactly pin down what a soldier was supposed to look like. He returned her gaze and she nearly jumped from her skin; it was as if he were looking through her. She pushed the thoughts aside, flashing a coy smile as she wrapped a strand of hair around her finger, completely ignoring Fiora’s continued protests.

“That was a kind gesture, Mister—”

Her smile faltered as she became uncomfortable under his oppressive gaze. He smiled, seeming to take notice of her discomfort, and took her outstretched hand to kiss it. Though smiling, his gaze was still frigid. She began to reconsider her decision to accept his act of charity.

“Please, call me Séverin. I, like yourself, am on a pilgrimage of sorts,” he replied, gesturing to her uniform.

Fiora growled disapprovingly under her breath. She rested her hand on her sword and she tapped her foot impatiently. Alice placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to calm down. The last thing they needed was to start another fight.

“I travel the world to experience different cultures that I later catalogue. I feel the true path to peace lies in understanding.”

Alice giggled nervously, as she avoided his eyes. “Is that so…”

“Unfortunately,” he began with a sigh, “this dreadful war has halted my travels. It shames me that my fellow countrymen, my brothers, would allow this travesty to occur.”

Fiora shuddered as he took her hand and looked her over similarly.

“Fiora Fluorspar, Knight of Sorn.” She squeaked.

He recoiled slightly and raised an eyebrow at this, “A pleasure, Lady Knight, I pray my pacifist ramblings don’t bore or offend your sensibilities too much.”

Fiora blushed, looking down and away, avoiding his gaze; she was dubious of his claims at best.

“No, it’s quite alright. Each is entitled to their own opinion; it is our given right.” She mumbled dryly.

Remembering his offer, Alice gathered her garments, and urged Fiora to do the same. “I certainly do appreciate your generosity Séverin. I can write you a promissory note with my banks letterhead if you’d like.”

She flashed a flirtatious smile as Fiora guiltily added her own clothes to the pile on the counter.

“Actually, there is something else I had in mind.”

Alice bit her lip and teased her hair with her finger. She was dismayed at how predictable he was, though not surprised. It would be simple matter to string him along to cover their expenses and vanish before he could collect. Perverts such as him did not deserve pity, especially when brothels were a thing.

“Oh?”

“Alice…” Fiora groaned.

Alice pulled Fiora close and hissed into her ear. “Shh! Just get the shopping done and we can ditch him later.”

“It’s been far too long since I’ve left this city, and visitors are rare as of late. I would be honored if you regaled me with tales of your travels. I could take you to the best shops, covering the expense of course, would you mind accompanying me for the day?”

“Fifteen hundred.” the clerk interrupted.

Séverin pulled several coins worth fifty and one hundred notes apiece from his purse and handed them to her without as much as a grimace. Now she was intrigued, he was no mere traveler with this much money. It was odd, Alice noted, that his wealth came from nearly every kingdom in the northern hemisphere, it was almost unheard of to carry so many differing currencies. Most nobility simply carried a couple notes of credit when on tour. She wondered if there was possibly a moneychanger in the city who had cashed out his credit; if that was the case, she would do the same and be done with him. The thought of how odd she felt under his gaze caused her to shudder.

“Is that agreeable?” He asked again.

“That seems fair enough,” Alice replied quickly and grabbed new outfits from the pile. “Fiora?”

Fiora glared at her as the two debated silently. Alice pouted her lips and Fiora rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather go back to the inn if it’s all the same; it’s too bloody hot for my tastes.”

Alice gave Fiora a dejected look, and she relented, snatching her outfit from the pile.

“Fine…”

Alice smiled and silently clapped her hands. Fiora was almost as easy as her father. Fiora quickly swatted her hands to cease her celebrations and pointed a finger in warning at her face.

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“But we have to go to places with conditioned air.”

Alice ushered her to the changing rooms before she had time to change her mind.

“Fine, fine. Now let’s hurry and get you changed.”

* * *

Séverin watched as the women disappeared behind the embroidered curtain to change. He had followed their group since he entered the city. They were an odd assortment of traveling companions, elves and humans, with one an injured knight of The Order. Though they numbered only fifteen when he arrived, he was certain they were responsible for the badly maimed corpses he had encountered in the Wraith Wood. It looked as though the assailants had continued to desecrate the bodies even after they had fallen. After a bit of asking around, he had determined that they were the only travelers coming through the wood in quite some time. While Xanavene was understandably hated at the moment, he wouldn’t stand for his countrymen to be disrespected in such a way.

If they were going to Rhode, he would join them and find the answers he sought, one way or another. He only hoped he had not wasted too much time waiting for them. His brother could be on the march as he paused to entertain these two women, neither of whom seemed capable, let alone able to do what he saw in the Wraith Wood. Then again, he hardly looked like one capable of doing his line of work either.

* * *

As the day progressed, more and more wind and water charms were strung up over stalls to send a mist over heat-weary shoppers. They hung from windows and awnings giving the marketplace the look and feel of a cool forest waterfall in some places, a tropical jungle after a rain in others. The thin swaying palms offered little shade, and the potted bushes and flowers between brick storefronts and wooden stalls offered nothing but a pleasant distraction.

Fiora had tied her hair up, her eyes darting about as she nervously caressed her shoulders, unable to get over her discomfort at baring so much flesh. She wore a silk sari around her waists and a two-piece bikini, tie died in blues and greens. Sandals replaced her boots, though she kept her sword at her waist. She had a horrible farmers tan, leaving a bronzed face and hands juxtaposed against pasty limbs and torso.

While Alice was also pale, it was more even than Fiora’s, she was also more comfortable baring flesh in her black two-piece; a belt of gold loops hung loosely on her hips. She had convinced the blind mage to also purchase a pair of spectacles, after the initial backlash, she seemed quite pleased with the results.

She secretly hoped Alice got badly sunburned as she admired her friend’s figure. Those concerned with primarily scholastic pursuits were not usually so trim; perhaps it was different for mages, or perhaps it was the vanity of the nobility. Fiora pinched her “paunch” and love handles in disgust; at least her breasts were fuller and her rear shapelier. Fiora blushed and quickly looked away as Alice caught her stares. After several moments of strained silence, they both burst into a fit of compulsive giggling.

They spent the day in conversation with their current sponsor about where they were from and why they chose their current professions. Séverin seemed generally interested, but always managed to redirect the conversation if similar questions were asked of him.

* * *

With grumbling stomachs and too many bags of unnecessary trinkets, they finally stopped at a bar and grill after Alice found the much-coveted magic satchels. Séverin led them to a table under the awning out on the upstairs patio, close to the steady mist of the wind and water charms. Their waiter was a shirtless elf in a suede vest. Unlike Kielan’s group, he bore no tattoos and few piercings.

“What can I get fer ya then?” He asked cheerily.

“I’ll have a pint of Rhodean ale.” Fiora said without delay or preamble. “And a plate of garlic fried potato wedges.”

“And you wonder why you have that gut.” Alice jibed.

“Shut up.” She spat back.

“I’ll have a mandarin salad and glass of iced peach tea.” Alice said folding her parchment menu.

“Make it a pitcher of tea.” Séverin added. “And your herb roasted frog legs please.”

“Excellent choice sir.” The waiter beamed as he took their menus.

It was not surprising the specialty would be amphibians considering their proximity to a swamp. However, it was surprising that he would order them. Those frogs cost nearly a week’s wages.

“You do realize the price of those legs, don’t you?” Fiora queried.

“Don’t be rude Fiora.” Alice muttered under her breath.

Séverin laughed. “Yes, that’s why I ordered them. Something that pricy must be absolutely delicious. At least, it should be.” He paused to take a sip of water. “Mind you, these aren’t your garden variety frogs; they were harvested from the Death Marsh after all. I hear they’re self-roasting even.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks, placing a large mug of heady ale before Fiora. She slurped the foam from the overflowing mug, mentally cursing Alice and her smug, petite smile. The woman was gorgeous but that only served to make her more infuriating. Fiora never was exactly confident in her appearance, but neither was she as self-conscious as she found herself now.

“So, Mr. Séverin,” Alice began as she sucked on a peach slice.

“Please, just Séverin.”

His smile had taken on a more genuine look, though his eyes were always… frightening? Intimidating? Perhaps they were the eyes of a soldier, someone who saw far too much atrocity in a lifetime. That may explain his current “pilgrimage.” Neither she nor Alice could shake the feeling that he was not being exactly honest, however.

Alice smiled and adjusted her glasses. “Very well Séverin, do you have a family? A wife or perhaps some other significant one?”

Séverin nearly choked on his tea. Alice had been trying to get an emotional reaction out of him all day. She had thought it was a waste of time and did not look forward to Alice’s inevitable gloating.

“No, no! There isn’t a woman alive that would tolerate my comings and goings.” He said with a laugh.

The waiter arrived with their entrées as Fiora drained the last of her ale and signaled for a refill.

“What about a family?” Alice prodded further.

He smiled, aware of her ploy. “It’s not a terribly interesting tale I’m afraid.”

Fiora belched loudly. “Tell it anyway.”

“Fiora!” Alice exclaimed through laughter.

“Excuse me.” She put a hand over her mouth and burped again. “I drank too fast or something.”

“No, no Fiora, it’s quite charming and ladylike of you!”

Alice continued to laugh as she ducked a balled-up napkin she hurled at her. The waiter returned shortly with a dirty look and a fresh pint for her. Alice finally stopped laughing long enough to remove her glasses and wipe the tears from her eyes. Fiora socked her in the arm and took a drink; it was not all that funny.

Her cheeks still burning from embarrassment, Fiora reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. While she could not read the writing, from the picture, it appeared to be made of bananas. She dumped a small pile of the sauce onto the plate and sampled it, pleasantly surprised by the flavor.

“I’m sorry Séverin, please, continue.”

“Quite alright.” He replied with a chuckle and split a frog’s leg at the knee. “Let’s see, growing up I was too busy taking care of my siblings to be involved in any serious relationships.”

“How old are they?” Alice asked, picking at her salad.

“Well, Maleah turns twenty-three on the ninth of Bloodmoon, and Os—” he paused “Oscar is twenty-eight.”

“Why is it you had to raise them by yourself? I mean if it isn’t something too difficult to talk about that is.” Fiora asked, opting to sip her ale this time around.

“No, it’s not difficult, not anymore at least. Our father died shortly after Maleah was born. A political movement was gaining popularity, favoring a new form of government, a type where all are equal, and each is given according to their need. No more peasantry or monarchy to exploit them. No more starvation during winter while extravagant balls are thrown in Sarevon.” He slowly picked at the meat; his expression having become far graver.

“Our village was a small one in the northern drift’s region along the Chrono’s River. Far from the capitol and any real form of government,” he drew a crude map out of sauce upon the table. “Xanavene has a buffer zone along its western border, a no man’s land to prevent enemy incursion. Unfortunately, it also separated the outlying villages from the rest of the kingdom, a kingdom whose resources and commerce are situated in the south and east along the coast. We often went months without seeing any officials, but they always managed to come during tax season.

“The village had one sheriff and his two deputies that arrived after their predecessors died fifteen years prior. They were cowards but could not be blamed entirely for their course of action, as our village was the unwilling sponsor of a band of thieves and brigands; they called themselves ‘The Wolves of Balalaika.’” He wiped up his map with a linen cloth. “It was during tax season that these political activists first arrived, preaching of their new means of government. Being a poor laborer who saw most of his earnings feed these brigands rather than his family, my father became an influential member; turning many of the skeptical villagers to this activist’s cause.”

He began to rend the meat, though eating little of it, his gaze distant. Fiora shoved several chips into her mouth. She could relate, to an extent, she had seen firsthand the horrors of a bandit occupied town. While never rich—her family had some money from their tailoring business—there were always those with more who strove to keep things that way.

“It was a world none could recall, and seldom could even imagine, but it was no less tantalizing, nay hopeful. No more being overlooked by the military and the throne while bandits, marauders and thieves hold villages hostages, taking their pick of food, supplies, mothers, daughters. Sisters.”

They were silent as Séverin stared into space, the vehemence that laced his words sinking in along with the morbid nature of his tale. He took a sip of tea and continued in a less emotional tone.

“Soldiers came and put down the uprising in our village, my father was among the dead. Before he was executed, he made me, and my brother promise that we would do everything in our power to make the world safe for our sister.”

Alice and Fiora sat in stunned silence, remorseful at their tactlessness in allowing him to relive such horrid memories. His emotion was raw, and despite his insistence otherwise, the wound was still fresh and raw.

“Séverin—” Alice struggled to think of words of condolence that were the least clichéd.

He held up his hand in dismissal and smiled. “I told you, it is no trouble for me to speak of this, in fact it strengthens my resolve…” he trailed off, picking at his frog meat before continuing. “I have many more pleasant memories of my childhood than unpleasant. I was able to see my brother off to attend the Academy in Asketill, and my sister; she grew into a charming, beautiful young woman. And me, I travel.”

“You’ve come quite far from such humble beginnings.” Alice remarked.

“I suppose you could say that.” He continued to pick at his frog. “Tastes a bit gamey.”

“Wait a bleedin’ moment though,” Fiora had since finished her second pint and was working on her third, but the inconsistencies of his story were not lost to her.

“If yer jus’ a peasant,” she placed a hand over her heart as she hiccupped. “If yer jus’ a peasant, how’d you get so bloody rich ’en?”

Alice shot her a heated glare. “Fiora! Don’t be rude!”

“It’s fine really.” He chuckled. “I made my fortune in Rhodarcium and Catharone as a, liaison, for various government figures, politicians, ambassadors, generals and the like. Just a year or two ago I was in Briartach.

“Liaison? Wha’s tha’, like a pros’itute?”

Alice spewed iced tea as Séverin burst into laughter.

“Sometimes. In a way.” Was all he said on the matter.

“Fiora, you’ve had enough.” Alice placed a gentle hand on Fiora’s arm.

She threw off Alice’s hand and ordered another round. She had been drinking for at least four years now and knew her limit better than some waif that ordered salads for lunch.

“Ge’ off it! I know me bloody limits!”

Alice sighed and finished her salad in silence, seemingly content to take her aggressions out on the lettuce with forceful fork thrusts.

* * *

The sun had set by the time Fiora and Alice made it to the inn, but the heat barely relented at all, even with the suns passing. Alice struggled as she attempted to guide the stumbling Fiora back to their hotel. She had been utterly wasted by half past noon, and they were forced to part ways with Séverin early at a little after five.

Crickets and cicadas created a steady drone in the otherwise silent neighborhood. Foot traffic had died down considerably, and she was glad there would not be an audience for Fiora’s antics. Her giggling, as she stumbled along towards the back deck, sporadically interrupted the chorus of insects. The wind and water charms still blew a steady, gentle mist as they mounted the stairs. Alice took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose as Fiora stumbled out of her sandal. Giggling hysterically, she bent unsteadily and tried to pick it up.

“Just take them both off Fiora; you’ll never be able to put it back on as you are.” she snapped wearily.

Fiora ignored her as she hopped over to the railing overlooking the hills leading to the marsh. She was baffled as to how the woman was still so drunk, she should have sobered up at least a little between the passage of time and the plate of potatoes she had ate by herself.

“Oh hush! Stop bein' such a prude.”

Alice crossed her arms over her chest and gave her an un-amused look. “How was that prudish?”

Fiora mimicked the gesture with exaggerated expression. Her chest nearly burst from her top; Alice became painfully aware of her own, inferior bosom. She had never noticed how curvy Fiora was, mostly due to her choice in clothing and armor. Her sloppy drunken state only seemed to emphasize her carnal appeal. She was quite fit and muscular when she flexed, sculpted abdominals most likely rested just beneath that keg of hers.

“You made an ass of yourself today Fiora.” Alice turned away and tapped her foot impatiently.

Fiora blew out her tongue in a childish gesture.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Fiora raised her glassy eyes to the sky in mock concentration. “How many gallons to a pint?” She finally slurred.

“You mean pints to a gallon?” Alice sighed.

“Aye, that many.”

Fiora giggled as she turned and leaned over the railing. Alice swore and hurried over to her side to make sure she did not tumble over. She swayed almost hypnotically in tune to some song only she was aware of and hummed between hiccups.

“What d’ya think o’ tha’ Séverin bloke, eh?”

“By the light Fiora! Don’t start talking like some trash from the Tower Estuaries or that rogue Eth!” Alice chided in disgust.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, taunting Alice with the sashaying of her hips. Alice smirked and took the bait, lashing out and striking her on the buttocks.

“Ooh! ‘Ave I bean naugh’y mo’her?”

Alice struck again, allowing her hand to linger as she giggled along with Fiora. She rarely saw her in such a light, and her drunken playfulness was infectious.

“I think these elves are having a negative impact upon you. You sound like some hill dwelling bumpkin!” Alice said as she spun Fiora around to face her.

She eyed Fiora’s still swaying hips, blushing when she realized. But why? She was always secure in her self-image, aware that many considered her beautiful. However, there was something innately carnal about Fiora’s fuller figure compared to her own petite build. While her own body was firm and toned, Fiora’s could be eyed hungrily.

Alice was aware that she was of a petite build with a modest bust, Fiora on the other hand possessed small melons hidden under her blouse. Alice was overcome with an urge to squeeze them and was surprised at how aroused such thinking made her.

Fiora suddenly grabbed and embraced her, more an act of stabilizing herself than anything else. Despite this rationalization, she could not stop her cheeks from burning red, nor keep her heart from racing. The warmth and softness of Fiora’s skin against hers made her melt, and the two nearly collapsed together on the floor.

“I, -hic- think I drank too much Alice!” She giggled.

“Come on then, let’s get you to bed.” She sighed, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind.

Perhaps it was just in the nature of all women to judge and critique the others appearance. Nevertheless, she still could not escape the strange feelings that she was feeling. Women were not supposed to desire other women; they were supposed to desire men, right?

Fiora looked up at her, a goofy grin on her face, but her eyes held a curious glint, one she had seen on many other occasions, and one she now recognized as an invitation. Alice leaned in, hesitantly, but with increasing resolve as she found no résistance.

“Fiora…” Their eyes locked, full of equal curiosity and trepidation.

Alice closed her eyes and kissed Fiora on the lips, a stiff peck at first, followed by a groping joust of tongues and wandering hands. She pinned Fiora against a post as passion and comfort grew. Fiora giggled as Alice slipped her hand into her bikini. A moan of pleasure escaped her mouth as the young mage expertly navigated the folds of her womanhood, her fingers gliding into the slick orifice. Alice had freed one of Fiora’s breast from her top before she knew what she had done and gently teased the nipple between her teeth. Another moan and sharp inhalation as she flicked it with her tongue.

Fiora pulled on Alice’s hair as she worked her fingers below and kissed her neck above. Fiora swore and reluctantly pushed her away as the sound of footsteps and voices mounting the stairs reached their ears.

With little warning, Clarissa burst onto the patio, twirling grandly as the two sprung apart. Fiora turned around and struggled to sheath her breast in her top as Alice stood awkwardly in front of her, wiping her mouth as if it held some evidence that would betray her. She smiled bashfully as she hid her hand behind her back, hoping Clarissa did not see her slick fingers or smell the musk of their arousal.

“Well, ‘ow do I look?”

The cleric’s absurd pink hair was now dyed black or a very deep brown; she had on a new gown with a plunging neckline trimmed in black lace on creamy beige silk. It was all very form fitting, very flattering to her impressive figure. It was harder and harder to imagine this woman as a nun. She wore a necklace with a pendant of a stylized tree that Alice recognized from somewhere but could not quite place, charm bracelets, and a ring for every finger.

“You dyed your hair.” Was all that Alice could manage.

Clarissa gingerly touched her curls, a look of worry on her face. “Too dark?”

“No! You, you look stunning.”

Clarissa’s face lit up as she twirled again. Her hair was done up in two pigtails of loose curls, straight bangs and more dangling curls framed her face. Eth stomped his way onto the patio and threw two armfuls of packages at her feet before lighting a cigar.

“Why didn’t you get one of these?” Alice asked as she held up her handbag.

“Oh, I did, but eet iz full.”

“Full!” she exclaimed.

Those satchels were said to hold up to a hundred different items, some could hold even more. What was more shocking however, was Eth’s silence; he would usually have some sort of derogatory remark or insult to sling. Instead, he sat in silence and smoked at a table.

“I see you two did a little shopping as well, going for zee local look I see, très chic.”

Clarissa rummaged through her packages. Upon finding what she wanted, she pranced over to Alice and thrust it out to her.

“I bear gifts.” She chirped.

“Oh, how lovely.” Alice said a bit surprised as she took the package.

Clarissa had bought her a strapless black gown that pleated at the waist, with a grey bar running around it just above the hemline. Beneath that was a panther skin cloak as black as coal with a grey silk lining and thick stoat fur trim.

“Light Clarissa! It’s gorgeous!”

“It is for when we reach Marquez. It should be late fall or early winter by zee time we arrive no? Ooh! You can wear eet to zee ball! Duke Laelianus holds zee most splendid winter balls at Le Palais.”

Alice was speechless; the pelt had to have come from Lyresia or Eurithania and could not have been cheap. She only had maybe a dozen or so similar items back at home; they were that much of a rare luxury. A number of gowns and cloaks filled the bag, as well as a pair of patent leather knee high boots with crisp laces. While she was not a fan of heels, they were lovely, nonetheless.

“Et pour vous.” Clarissa sang as she handed Fiora her package. “I know you’re a warrior and all, but I feel you need to flaunt your assets, you don’t want zee people to think your queer after all.”

Fiora pulled out a green cotton skirt that sounded like metal and a silvery three-quarter sleeves shirt of the same material. They appeared to be undergarments of some sort.

“A bit shor’ in‘it?”

“Pardon?” Clarissa asked, unable to decipher her slurs and accent.

“Shor’. I’s a bit short.”

“Oh! Short! Well, that’s zee style; you’ve got to show those thighs. Though if I’d known you were so curvy, I’d ‘ave gotten a different top…”

“What’s it made of?” Alice asked as she felt the material.

“Something from Alfheim, better dzan mail I hear, non? Now you can wear less of dzat gaudy leather and plate nonsense without losing protection.” Clarissa waved in derision. “Dzat’s ‘ow zee real warriors fight you know, flaunt style et grace. Not as lumbering behemoths.”

Fiora eyed the shirt dubiously, while an attractive garment, it would do little in lessening the effect of a blow. The quality of Alfheim smith works was world renowned, but their people were not known as fighters themselves. The garment was likely stronger than any mail she ever came across, but it did not change the fact that a sword could easily break bones even if it doesn’t cut into the flesh. On its own, the piece was useless, and judging by her expression, Fiora had come to a similar conclusion.

“Wha’? Are you fuckin’—”

“What Fiora means Clarissa,” Alice interjected. “Is that she is most grateful for your gifts.”

Eth snapped his fingers, lighting and extinguishing a flame intermittently. “Yer bloo’y welcome.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Clarissa rolled her eyes and swatted the air as if to dismiss the question. “He’s sore dzat we went a little over budget is all.”

“A lil’ eh? All this rubbish cost me two hundred bloody thousand!”

“Details darling.”

Alice finally recognized the symbol around her neck as being the same one on Eth’s shoulder.

“What’s that pendant for?” She asked casually.

“Oh, zis?” Clarissa responded fondling the pendent. “Eth ‘as made me a member of ‘is ‘ouse. Did you know ‘e’s like some sort of Earl in dzeir petite royaume?”

“Wha’ did I say ‘bout blatherin’ ‘bout that? Bloody hell…”

“Oh ‘ush.” Clarissa scolded, not bothering to answer the obvious question of why she was a member of House Eth.

“Oh! Dzat reminds me! I got both of you some jewelry as well. I’ll ‘ave to dig it out later dzough, I’m about to retire for zee night.”

With a smile full of the pageantry and arrogance of high society, she waved goodnight and made her way back into the inn.

“Oi! What about this shit?”

“Oh, don’t be silly Eth! Of course, you’ll carry it in for me.”

Eth swore and grumbled, but in the end, did as he was asked, yet another surprise.