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I tilted my head and peered at him. “And what were those like? Did those seventeenth-century folks know how to get down?” I asked, grinning.
Mzatal lifted an eyebrow and hesitated a second, likely reading the meaning of “get down” from me, then smiled. “They were lively indeed. I tended to observe from the mezzanine,” he said, his smile widening. “Unless, of course, a reveler caught my eye.”
Okay. Now that was interesting. “Oh? Do go on,” I urged.
He took a drink before continuing. “It was usually a smooth process. I would catch the glances thrown my way and note which appealed most in the moment,” he said with a slight shrug. “Later I would descend to the atrium and rescue the chosen one from the throngs.” Amusement lit his face. “They did so love to be rescued.”
“I’m sure they did,” I said, laughing.
Gestamar snorted, and I slid a glance to him. “I bet you saw some interesting shit,” I said.
“Much,” the reyza said, rumbling. “Bedding a qaztahl ranked highly for many, and wine loosened inhibitions and dampened fear.” He bared his teeth and looked at Mzatal. “I know a story they will enjoy. Tell them of Marguerite Deshayes.”
Go, Gestamar. I leaned forward. “Yes, tell us about Marguerite.”
Idris sipped wine and waited, a look on his face as if he couldn’t believe we might get a story from the lord.
Mzatal gave Gestamar a look then stared down into his glass. I kept my eyes on him, knowing how to play the waiting game. He shook his head and lifted his eyes to me. “It is a truly silly tale,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.
“The best kind,” I said, grinning. “Spill it!”
Gestamar rumbled, and Mzatal settled back in his chair. “It was your year, sixteen thirty-two,” Mzatal said. “When I arrived in the atrium, Marguerite, a busty and hitherto unobtrusive woman in her late thirties, approached and sought to press her advantage, obviously quite inebriated.”>Idris stood watching the beginning of the sunset when I stepped off the stairs. He was dressed to the nines as well, in black jeans, a crisp white tailored shirt, and a grey silk and wool blend jacket. It was a good look for him. Even his hair had been tamed. A bit.
“Hey, Idris,” I said, “do you know what this is about?”
“No clue,” he replied with a smile. “It’s a first for me.”
“Maybe we’re being fired,” I said, “for being simply awful.”
Idris laughed along with me. “Somehow I don’t think that would come with a fancy invite. Did the faas dress you too?”
Grinning, I looked down and ran my hands over my outfit. “Yep. Good thing or I’d have shown up in workout clothing.”
A soft scrape of sound alerted us, and we turned to see Mzatal step into the atrium, wearing the dark Armani suit, white shirt, and a deep red tie. His braid hung over his shoulder wound with extra strands of silver cord, and he looked sharp as all hell.
“This way,” he said with an enigmatic smile. He turned and headed down stairs I’d yet to explore. With a glance at Idris, I followed, curious and puzzled. After a couple of turns of the spiral stair, we stepped out into a room dancing with light and color. As everywhere else, a wall of glass faced the sea and sunset, but here, the waterfall cascaded before it, spectacular rays of the setting sun streaming through.
Then came the bewildering part.
Mzatal strode to the head of a dining table elaborately laid with crystal, silver, and fine china. He glanced at us and gestured to the chairs on each side of the table. Gestamar came in behind us and moved to crouch near Mzatal.
Idris slid a look at me, and I gave him a what-the-fucking-fuck look right back. I moved to a chair, pulled it out, and sank into it, utterly mystified. Idris sat across from me with a look on his face that mirrored how I felt. I got that we’d apparently been invited to a meal, but that in itself was weird. I’d eaten plenty of times around Mzatal, but apart from wine and tunjen, I rarely saw him eat, and had certainly never shared a meal with him
Mzatal stood behind his chair, a faint smile curving his lips. “You have both worked very hard,” he said, “and are away from your homes.” He waited while the faas poured wine in our three glasses, then drew a breath as though delaying a moment more to choose his words. “With the fullness of your schedules, you have lost track of your Earth time,” he continued. “This is a day that each of you typically celebrate with your family and with your friends. I cannot offer those, but I can offer the recognition and something of the celebration. Happy Christmas, Idris Palatino and Kara Gillian.”
A weird jolt went through me, a strange combination of dismay and pleased surprise. Idris simply stared, brow slightly furrowed.
I’m going to miss Christmas with Tessa. My throat tightened in preparation for a lovely bout of feeling sorry for myself. But Idris is away from his family, too, I reminded myself. And he had to lie to them; through Katashi, they’d been told he was in Japan. Now that Katashi proved himself untrustworthy, who knew what, if anything, Idris’s family was being told. Ruthlessly I shoved the self-pity down.
Mzatal lifted his glass, smile fading a bit, obviously sensing the muddled emotions. “Here. Drink.”
I forced a smile as I picked up my glass and took a sip of the really good dark wine. “Merry Christmas, Boss. Thanks for remembering.”
Idris cleared his throat, seeming to have recovered a bit from his initial shock. “Yeah, um. Thanks. Really,” he said and lifted his glass.
The doubt seemed to linger in Mzatal’s eyes, and I realized it had to run fairly deep if it was actually showing. Damn it, he’d made an all out effort to do something for us, even if it did sting. Sure, I could get into a big pity party about having to miss Christmas with the folks back home, but that would pretty much guarantee that my Christmas here would suck shit. Truth was, I couldn’t find it in me anymore to resent Mzatal for summoning me. If he and Idris hadn’t brought me here, then Rhyzkahl certainly would’ve carried out his plans, and there wouldn’t have been anyone to rescue me.
Time to lighten the mood in this room. “Wait,” I said with a laugh. “This isn’t at all like the Christmases I’m used to. There’s no smell of burnt turkey.” I grinned. “Tessa can’t cook for shit, and neither can I.”
