The Duke blinks sleepily and begins a long explanation of his plantings. For a moment, I think Mirelle has decided to let the matter go.
Then, just before I reach my chair, her heel presses down on the top of my boot.
Deliberate. Precise.
She withdraws it and settles back into her seat.
Don't fuck this up, Torgan.
She can't know what Ma and I discussed in the garden. She can't know what's in my pocket.
But I feel the weight of both for the rest of dinner and all the way home.
Don't fuck this up.
3
LISSY
Amug of mead thunks down in front of me. I look up to find Lyra grinning proudly.
"Drink, Lissy. You look like you could use a thirst quencher."
I wouldn't call alcohol a thirst quencher, but after the past few days, I can't shake the malaise clinging to me. So I pick up the mug and take a swig. Then I grimace, cough, and nearly spit it back out. "How can you drink this stuff?"
"How can I..." Lyra repeats before scoffing. "Lissy, that's my family's secret recipe. A combination of hops and orc-specific spices that my Aragos loves, brewed in small batches, just for you to cough it up like outhouse water."
I give the mug a forlorn look. "Sorry, I..."
She barks out a laugh. "I'm fucking with you, Lissy. Cheer up." Before I can answer, she pulls out a chair and sits across from me. "That's the shit we stopped discounting because it's so bad. A failed brew."
I stare at her, horrified. "And you gave me a mug?"
She shrugs. "On the house. It's not going to kill you. It's only eighty percent alcohol." She nudges it toward me. "Drink. Youcould use something to take the edge off your sobriety. You're making everyone else feel too sober for a pub."
I glance around June's Tavern. The few patrons here in the middle of the afternoon are picking at bowls of nuts, their mugs nearly empty. None of them are paying attention to me, and none of them care what I say.
I open my mouth to point this out, but Lyra leans into my line of sight. "So," she says. "What's gotten into you?"
I debate whether to tell her or lie and say nothing is wrong. Lyra would know. She would also know exactly how far to press before giving up.
You want a potion that makes someone fall out of love, correct?
I don't want it to break her heart.
That orc lord had been trying to make someone he knew fall out of love. As if love stories come in spades and a person gets to choose who falls in love, when, and when their heart breaks. Something about it rubs me the wrong way, especially when I have nothing like that in my own life.
No prospects. No love story. Certainly no happily ever after.
And that orc is trying to end one for someone else.
I don't know why it bothers me so much. Maybe it's because my grandmother has always told me the story of the Oak and the Needle, our family's own fairy tale. Except it doesn't end happily for anyone in my family. It's why I grew up without a father. Why my mother wasn't around. Why my grandmother raised me.
I shove the thought away and take another drink. This time, it's a little more palatable.
Barely.
"This tastes like disappointment, if disappointment were beer," I manage.
