“Yeah,” I sighed. “That’s the sticking point for me.”

“Oh sure, I’m happy to show you my talent. It’s nothing special but it’s mine, you know?”

Xax chittered uneasily.

Ignoring him, I extended my hand, closed my eyes, and concentrated. “Shh, I need focus.” I didn’t really, but it was fun to make a little ceremony out of using my talent. I’d spent a lot of time as a kid trying to figure out grandiose plans where only my special power could save the day, and I’d let my inherent flair for the dramatic shine through. I left out the invocations though. Kid Ris did not have a good sense for meter.

After a moment or two, a soft glow lit up the palm of my hand and I slammed it down on the bar. Lifting it up, I let out a huff as though exhausted, and wiped imaginary sweat from my brow.

“There you have it. The power of the next future monarch of Lymnis. Behold.”

A tiny flower, no more than the size of a cat’s nose, had lifted itself perhaps an eighth of an inch out the wood of the bar. Its four petal pattern identified it clearly as a lilac, although none of the plant's traditional color. It was delicate and extremely detailed. I knew a close inspection would reveal perfect wooden veins and lines in the petals.

“You can say useless Xax, I won’t be offended. And no, I can’t mold wood,” I laughed. I extended my palm once more, this time slapping against the side of my recently refilled glass. A moment later, I lifted it to reveal yet another lilac bloom, barely raised up from the rest of the glass. This one seemed identical, but I knew from experience that the tiny patterns of life now frozen in glass would make it unique from the wooden one, and indeed from any other flower I’d made. Every lilac was perfectly unique and just as perfectly pointless.

“I make flowers. Whatever material it is, wood, stone, crystal or gold, I make a little tiny flower standing out just the smallest bit from the surface. I used to emboss the notebooks my tutors gave me, till they told me to cut it out. Those pages were covered in tiny paper lilac blossoms, and apparently it made it hard for them to decipher my handwriting or something.” I threw back my drink, slamming the now beflowered glass to the bar with a satisfied sound in the back of my throat.

“Pretty and pointless, just like the princess herself.” I said in a tone deep enough to make it clear that was a quote, even if Xax wouldn’t know who from. The scorpion and I were buds, but I wasn’t drunk enough to start unloading my childhood trauma on him even if we had been that close.

I tapped my empty glass with the tip of one long fingernail. I enjoyed having my nails well kept and painted with a variety of colors to suit my mood. They were generally long and slightly pointed at the ends, clacking together in a way I found endlessly satisfying, with the exception of my pointer and middle fingers on my right hand. Those I kept short and blunt for, uh, extracurricular purposes.

Xax picked up the bottle of brandy in his front pincers. I could have watched him do that all day, frankly. The scorpion was delicate, exerting only the slightest pressure on the fragile glass with one claw, and resting its base equally gently on the other. Bottles, it turns out, were designed for use by fleshy folk with opposable thumbs. Xax found his own way of doing things, and it worked damn well.

He poured me another glass.

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I threw back the fresh shot and held up my finger in the universal gesture for ‘one moment, I just swallowed my drink much too quickly and need a moment before I open my mouth or else I might vomit on you. I am also slightly drunk.’ He understood perfectly, projecting another mental sigh my way.

Before I had the chance to gather my thoughts and stomach and answer him, a thing I was definitely going to do and was not avoiding, I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I spun around. “You talking to me?”

It was a man maybe ten or so years older than me, thick of frame and with the toughened skin of someone who worked out in the sun on a regular basis. His hair was cut short, leaving only a few brown curls at the top poking out.

“Yes miss. Sorry to bother you, only I couldn’t help but overhear–”

“Oh you couldn’t, could you?” I asked with a bite in my voice. I hated being interrupted when I was drinking. “And I notice that although you say you’re sorry, you’re still here. Bothering me.”

He paused, clearly not having expected my pointed reaction. Men, I thought. Always think they have a right to everyone’s attention.

“I really am sorry, ma’am, and I’ll leave you alone in just a second. I just have to know, did we hear you say earlier that you were the ‘future monarch of Lymnis’?”

Crap. My identity wasn’t exactly a secret. Xax knew, for one, and had since almost the day we’d first met. And I came down here often enough that the regulars had probably picked it up, but I didn’t flaunt it about or anything. Maybe I had had too much to drink.

“No. You didn’t. I’m just Ris. Now buzz off.”

“Ri–Ris? That’s the Princess’ name! Your Highness, I–”

People perked up around us. He’d been speaking too loudly, even louder than I had earlier. And folk pay more attention to an awed ‘Your Highness’ than they do some random lady’s delusions of grandeur. More folk started to make their way over to my place by the bar.

So I punched him. No, I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t usually make a habit of punching random strangers, despite what my mother might have you believe. But I was drunk and angry and still itching for that fight with Ed, and he had just ruined the one chance I had at a decent night where I could vent some of the rage I felt. So he’d have to do instead.

He reeled back as someone in the crowd that had formed around us gasped, and stared at me in shock. I shook out my hand and gave him a contemptuous smirk. Gods all around us but that felt good. It wasn’t the same rush I got in a duel, my tonfa smacking against my foe’s as we matched wits and batons until someone finally fell. I wasn’t so far gone as to draw a noble’s weapon against a commoner, no matter how much I might want to.

It was too late. The thrill of the fight had me, and I wasn’t going to let it go. Not if it meant going back to feeling things again. I leapt forward and dived for the man, aiming this time to slap him across the face in a powerful backhand. He’d recovered in time however, and grabbed my hand with his own, an incredulous expression on his face. He still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Unhand me, now.” I said, ice in my voice.

“I, what, no I’m so sorry” he replied, dropping my arm like it had suddenly transformed into a snake. I immediately brought my now-freed hand up and slapped him across the face. A smile burned its way across my face like acid. This was exactly what I’d needed.

His eyes narrowed in anger, finally seeming to realize his situation. He lunged for me with his right fist, swinging wide with a force I knew would knock me flat if he connected. I could have laughed. He’d tucked his thumb inside when forming a fist, meaning he’d likely break it even if I let him make contact. He wasn’t a fighter.

What am I doing?

I took a step back, letting his swing go wide. My face was still etched in a smile leaning towards rictus even as what felt like a cold wave ran down my back. I was fighting this random stranger, for what? For the thrill? Because I was sad?

I couldn’t stop though. The man was well and truly angry now and let out a roar as he charged into me. In my moment of confusion he’d grabbed one of the long shallow dishes that Xax usually served pretzels and other snacks in. It was probably three feet long, and solidly built and could do some serious damage to me if I let it hit.

Reacting automatically to the sight of a wooden rod swing towards my face, I lifted my right arm in a standard block, twisting my wrist to bring my tonfa back to standard position. In this grip, the long side of the split baton covered the length of my forearm to just past my elbow, making for a perfect blocking surface.

Except I wasn’t using my tonfa. I had never drawn it from where it hung at my belt. The trencher slammed into my arm and made a sickening crunching noise as the delicate bones fractured.

Both of us frozen in shock, I made eye contact with the man. He was horrified. So was I.

“I–I thought you would block. I didn’t mean to–”

I opened my mouth to reply, whether to curse at him or reassure him that the whole scenario was my doing, I’ll never know. The pain from my newly broken arm hit me at precisely that moment and with a groan I vomited all over him.