Donald's barrel-shaped chest rose and fell in time with his soft snoring. He'd only sunk further into the plush couch overnight, the purple cushions now wrapping around his sides like it would eventually subsume him into its bulk. One of his hands rested protectively over the lump hidden beneath his blue nightshirt.

The candles along the wall had long since burnt away, the metal collection cups below their mounting spikes filled with hardened spent wax. In the dim light, Aurnia peered down at her hulking host, taking a moment to gather her wits. Today would mark the third time in so many years she'd entered into negotiations with Donald, but no matter the outcome, this time would be the last. Considering the current climate in Comelbough and the contents of Nevin's story, it was becoming increasingly clear that she couldn't afford to fail again.

Aurnia flicked her hand toward the fresh candlestick she'd placed on the side table next to Donald. Her soul flashed briefly through the darkness of her mind and the candle's curled wick burst into flames. The flash of light startled her host awake. Blinking and rubbing his sleep weak eyes, Donald extracted himself from the clutching cushions and sat up straight.

“Aurnia?” He stretched an arm overhead and yawned. “Is it morning already?”

She nodded, sinking into the dining chair she'd strategically placed across from him. “Sleep well?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap.

“A might better than you, I'm sure.” Aurnia's expressionless stare only spurred his chuckling. He scratched at his curly white beard. “Dreamless and brief, but I'll manage.”

“One of whiskey's finer qualities.”

His child-like grin out-shined the candle. Slapping his thighs, he leaned forward to rise. “Well. I suppose a good cup of tea is in order. Warm these old bones before I go wake the boy.”

“One step ahead of you.” Aurnia retrieved one of the two steaming cups of tea she'd placed on the end table and took a sip, gesturing to the other cup with a thin finger as the warm liquid flowed through her in a rejuvenating wave.

Donald pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing the cup of tea like one would a coiled adder. She sipped her own and waited. Behind her, the soft glow of dawn peeked through the latched shutters, highlighting the fine motes of dust floating unnoticed in the still air of the common room. They loomed just over her shoulders, hundreds of shapeless figures listing about as they steadily closed in around her.

“So,” he started, the jovial tenor of his voice shifting to a more somber tone. “It's finally time for this discussion again. Truth be told, I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about it.”

She scoffed. “You know me better than that.”

“That I do,” he mumbled, nodding into his lap. “That I do.”

He picked up his tea, wrapping his burly fingers around the circumference of the cup and, closing his eyes, took a long sniff. The cup trembled slightly in his hands, and when his eyes flew open, he stared at Aurnia with such intensity that it took every ounce of her considerable will not to squirm uncomfortably in her seat.

The cup vibrated against the tabletop as he slowly set it down, his piercing stare never wavering from her expressionless face. Once the cup rested securely on the end table, Donald rose from to his feet and flew to kitchen with a speed that seemed contrary to his considerable size. Aurnia watched in silence as the man tore open a cupboard and shoved aside its contents, pulling from its depths a small yellow tobacco tin. He pried the circular lid free and peered inside.

He looked up at her, confused. “Where did you-”

“I didn't use the last of your stash, Donald. I'm not that callous.”

He snapped closed the lid and replaced the tin at the back of the cupboard, his shoulders slumping as the worry fled his muscles.

She inhaled the tea's floral aromas as she awaited him to return to his seat. Hibiscus, lavender, cardamom. Whether she'd ever encountered a more interesting blend in her travels was likely a subject of personal taste, but Donald's fondness for this particular mixture extended far beyond its effects on the palate.

He returned to his place on the couch, eagerly lifting the aromatic tea to his lips with both hands. He didn't drink though. He simply existed in the flavorful aromas, a soft moan rumbling from the base of his throat. The cup sank into his lap as he relaxed back into the dented cushions.

“Please forgive my...intensity. It's been years since the last merchant came to town with more of this unique tea. I've been saving what little I had left for a special occasion. When I realized what you'd given me, I was certain you'd stumbled upon my reserves and...”

Aurnia tossed a bulging leather pouch onto the couch beside him. “I remembered it was your favorite from our last visit. Crossed paths with a merchant who had some on my way through Trovel last Fading. She told me the batches made after the leaves started turning enriched the flavors, but the blend had proven too much for her. I bought the whole lot at a discount. Been carrying it about ever since.”

“Thank you. I mean it.” He smiled down at his cup. “It's not my favorite, though. Much like that merchant you purchased it from, I've always found the flavor to be a bit cloying. I prefer a more delicate brew. Something subtle. Something you really have to think about to appreciate.”

“I don't understand.”

Donald wiped a hand down his bald head. “It was Tia's. The only tea I could ever get her to drink. She hated tea. 'Dirty water', she'd call it. I'd practically have to guard my cup, because if she got ahold of it and it wasn't steaming hot, she'd dump it in the wash basin with rest of the 'dirty water'.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I bought some of this tea on a lark, but right away, I knew I wasn't going to like it. Tia though...” He chuckled, memories glistening at the corners of his eyes. “The woman had a bit of a morbid streak. The walls were her idea. The color, I mean. Blood red. So she took one look at the color of this tea and fell in love. Used to stare at me, grinning like a demon while she sipped it.”

Aurnia peered down into her own cup. In the relative darkness of the room, the tea appeared almost black, but as she tilted the cup around, she thought she could make out a deep burgundy color around the edges.

“Is this-” he started, his voice catching. “Is this just another ploy to get me to let go of her necklace? Butter me up in the hopes I'll finally give in?”

She set her cup aside and folded her hands in her lap. The tea really was a bit much. “And here I thought I was just doing right by a friend.”

“Don't blow that smoke up my pampered rear, missy. We both know every action you take is carefully calculated.”

He reached beneath his shirt and drew a delicate silver chain up and over his head. A small pendant emerged from the collar of his night shirt; a silver lace filigree framing a small cube-cut citrine the size of her pinkie nail. The yellow gemstone was utterly clear, sans a single visible fracture running diagonally through its heart. The way the candlelight played through its facets made it look like it was fluttering on a gentle breeze.

“It's quite beautiful, isn't it?” He held it up between them, allowing it to rotate slowly at the end of its chain. “I'd never allow her to wear it in public, mind you. A cut purse would have slashed her throat for something like this even if it wasn't Orlicite. First thing she did when she walked through that door was to slip this over her head, and it stayed there until she decided to leave again.”

“I need it, Donald.”

He nodded, clutching the pendant to his chest. “I thought you might try that,” he said, fighting back against a rush of emotion.

She reached out and laid a hand on his knee. “I mean it. Things are different this time. Having that may mean the difference between escaping this bigoted city and suffering a horrible death at the hands of the Breathers. To the right person, there's a value in that little stone beyond money, greater than sentiment. Power, my friend. A real, substantive, undeniable power.”

She leaned back in her chair. “And one that's wasted if it follows you to the grave.”

“I can't, Aurnia. I can't give it up.” He brushed the tears from his flushed cheeks. “You don't understand. When I hold it, I can feel her warmth. I can smell her hair. She's with me. It's like...it's like a small piece of her soul somehow transferred into that little gem when she-”

He choked up at that, turning away from her to clear his throat.

Aurnia's face was stone. “It doesn't work that way.”

“I don't care. It's getting harder to remember her face. As much as I appreciate the tea, it's not going to work forever. My Tia's there, hiding in the shadows of my mind, but every day she steps further back into darkness. I'm worried one day I'll wake up and she'll just be a blur of grays...or a mashup of familiar customers and the strangers I pass on the streets.”

His mouth contorted in anguish, so he covered it with a hand. “That when I eventually leave this life behind, I'll spend the rest of eternity wandering the luminous fields of Obolvia, alone and unable to recognize her when she finally crosses my path.”

Aurnia looked at her hands, uncomfortable in the face of Donald's intense display of emotion. This discussion was not heading in a positive direction. She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of replenishing the stores of his late wife's tea. A rare tactical misstep, though unforeseen, and one she hoped wouldn't keep her from her outcome.

Her host squeezed the necklace to his chest and sobbed. Part of her could empathize with Donald, with his fear of forgetting the one he valued above all others. But where Donald's loss was only six or seven years in the past, hers had surpassed two decades. She wondered how painful his lack of memory would be when nothing in his life reminded him of Tia, when a week would pass by without a single thought of his missing wife, when he would wonder if that part of his life was truly real...or just the tattered remnants of a half-imagined dream.

Her brow tightened in thought. Memory.

“Donald.”

The hulking man wiped his nose on his sleeve. He smiled at her apologetically. “I'm sorry, my dear. There's nothing you can offer that's worth more to me than than this pendant. I'd sooner give you my life than give up on her memory.”

She nodded, pressing her fingers together in a tight steeple. “What if I could give you that? What if I could give you her memory? Vivid? Immaculate? Obdurate?”

He waved her off, retrieving his teacup from the side table. “Save your silver shil words. You're reaching.”

“I'm serious. You know what I'm capable of. The skill to impress a thought or feeling or image on the mind is well within my capabilities as a Vellurgist. In point of fact, it's the very thing that drew the Breather here last night. So answer the question.”

She eased forward to the edge of her seat. “If I could give you an enduring memory of Tia, of a memory of your choosing...if I could draw that memory out and bring it so thoroughly into the forefront of your mind that you forget where you are and start to experience the past as though it's the present...”

She pointed to the silver pendent pressed against his chest. “If I can do all the things I say, would you then at least consider the idea of trading me that bit of Orlicite?”

He stared at her for a good while in silence, searching every inch of her expressionless face as if the truth of her words would emerge and paint a story across her flawless skin. She gave him nothing though, nothing beyond her spoken message and the time it would take to digest it. Time was something she had little of, but if she rushed him now, she knew she'd lose him.

But if he gave her the chance to do as she said...

...that Orlicite was as good as hers.

Finally, Donald released a drawn-out sigh, allowing himself to relax back into the cushioned couch. He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, taking the time to pick the mung from their corners. Once clean, he placed the glasses on the table beside his forgotten cup of tea. “I can...pick any memory?”

Aurnia straightened. “And you don't even need to tell me what it is.”

He nodded into his lap. “If I say yes to this, I can't promise you I'll give you what you want.”

“I'm aware.”

“And you'll be able to accept that?”

Her lips stretched into a thin smile. She wasn't about to tell him she had little worry of that happening. “I will.”

He wiped his palms on his wrinkled night pants.

“Then tell me what I need to do.”