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Night time, however, is another matter entirely.
With nothing else to do but wait for the gala tomorrow afternoon, Kingsley decided to make a move. Demetria’s house is so big we have an easy time finding a bedroom to ourselves far enough away from everyone else not to be embarrassing. This ‘trip’ is the first time we’ve been romantic in the same building as my kids. Sure, Danny and I did the deed with the kids in the house… but they were really little at the time and, of course, we were married.
Kingsley is… how do I put this? A bit more energetic than Danny.
Hopefully, I won’t be too sore tomorrow to dance. Check that. Hopefully, I can avoid having to dance at all. We’re not going to that party to have fun. Speaking of parties, Lindsey thinks Anvar Londuin throws orgies purely because Quentin likes to write weird sex scenes out of the belief it gets people to buy his books. Maybe so, but if he was trying to appeal to his audience, it seems to me he’d be better off not leaving so much room for readers to make icky assumptions about Elden and Sansha.
I guess he’s just doing it to push people’s buttons. Same with all the exaggerated violence and tragedy.
Anyway… afternoon the following day, we all get dressed up in finery. Demetria suggested we collect Damon and bring him along just in case ‘things happen’ and an opportunity to go home appears suddenly. We can’t risk him being stranded here. So, I teleport to the castle and pass on that he’s been voluntold to attend this party.
After we’re all dressed, Tammy cracks a joke about us looking like background extras from the animated Beauty and the Beast movie. This stuff is definitely not period accurate. For one thing, it did not take a team of handmaidens to help me get into this dress. For another, I can still breathe in it. It’s also not so cumbersome that moving around is arduous, nor is my skirt so huge I could smuggle half a SEAL team into the event underneath it. It’s almost like medieval-themed garments made with a modern sense to them.
It still doesn’t have pockets.
Sigh.
We take a coach because rich people don’t walk anywhere.
I’m not sure where Demetria got the coaches, the horses, or the guys driving them. It almost feels as though the world caters to her whims. However, I did not see any of it materialize from nothing. Maybe she merely used her vampire powers of charm to find new employees. Anyway, this is the medieval fantasy equivalent of renting a limo for prom night.
The party is not exactly what comes to my mind at the word ‘party.’ The music is sedate, more of a background element to fill silence… coming from a group of live performers. No one’s dancing. People stand around talking to each other while nibbling on little treats from trays the servants carry around. Everyone’s got a goblet in hand, sipping wine.
Not even ten minutes inside the place and Tammy already has a ‘shoot me now’ face on. My daughter sports the same expression she did at age six when Danny took us to the Christmas party for the law firm he worked at back then. There are few things little kids like less than sitting around doing nothing in a room full of boring adults doing boring things.
From the look of it, the ‘party’ is going to become a feast at some point. They’ve got five large tables set up with places for everyone. I suppose it’s the least the siblings could do for us after making us suffer through this. Okay, fine. I’m being a bit harsh. This ‘party’ is quite tedious for someone like me. Not only am I from the modern world, I’ve never understood the whole high society thing. Like, how is it fun to stand around sipping wine while randomly talking to people you don’t know and don’t care about while everyone tries to one-up each other with who’s got the biggest, fanciest estate or whatever?
To be fair, the last time I went to a big party, I’d been in college. Let’s just say it was quite a bit more active than this. I can totally see Roldon Barathor doing a keg stand while sucking down a beer bong.
Speaking of Roldon. He’s here. As are all the others… even Anvar Londuin. Whoa. We were not expecting him to be here. Now that I think about it, though, the man loves parties… and seems entirely unfazed by the worry of assassins. I guess it makes sense he would be here. For the most part, Anvar goes from one ‘young pretty thing’ to another—as well as a few handsome men—undoubtedly trying to convince them to pose nude for him to paint.
What a shtick...
Meanwhile, Meritha Teredwyn and Nielf stand together off to one side near the wall. They both look like a pair of mice attending a party thrown by cats. Their vibe is like a pair of super introverted teachers were ordered by their principal to attend a social event or be fired.
Nald Mur is the life of the party, such as it is. I mean, this party is so lacking a pulse it basically counts as a Lichtenstein monster. Still, the dude’s making his way around the room greeting everyone, talking to everyone, and sucking down wine like water. He is what we used to call a ‘fun drunk.’ The more he drinks, the more he laughs. Though, the guy isn’t drunk quite yet.
Sansha and Elden flit about the room, also greeting and talking to people. She looks like the shy, unpopular girl who’s totally thrilled so many people showed up for her birthday party. Elden’s the opposite. His demeanor makes me think of him as the most handsome jock in the school who invited everyone—even the nerds—to a party and is genuinely happy they showed up. It’s rare to find a Mr. Perfect who isn’t a conceited ass.
Right as I’m about to attempt falling asleep while standing up, a heavy thud comes from my left.
I spin to look toward the noise. Nald Mur’s passed out on the floor. People near him start complaining about him drinking too much, causing a scene, and so on. One or two men comment about it being strange he passed out after ‘so little.’
A moment later, Anvar emits a gasp. He staggers to one side, catching himself on a chair, and rasps, “Poison! The wine is poisoned!”
Sweeping whispers of alarm spread over everyone here, leaving silence in their wake. Roldon begins to look unwell. Sansha Galahir looks on in shocked horror, making a face like a tween who tried to cook for the first time, started a fire, and has no idea what to do next.
My brain goes full psychotic theory mode. Could Sansha be so damaged mentally she invites everyone to her party only to poison them all? Seems kind of unlikely, but here it is. Nielf braces a hand on the wall and breaks out in a sweat. Meritha stares at the goblet in her hand, seeming an inch away from fainting.
“Hang on!” Tammy hikes up her dress and runs over to Nald, sliding to a stop beside him on her knees.
Another wave of shocked gasps come from the people around them. I think they’re more aghast at her kneeling in a gown like that than the man dropping dead in front of them.
Tammy puts her hand on Nald’s shoulder. Dark green light glows between her fingers. A moment later, Nald regains consciousness and promptly re-enacts the pea soup vomit scene from The Exorcist. Only, his head isn’t doing a 360. He’s also not vomiting pea soup. Instead, he looks like a wine dispenser with a serious pressure malfunction.
The crowd recoils from the blast of tainted wine. Mur rolls onto his side, coughing and choking. Evidently satisfied with what she did, Tammy leaps to her feet and runs over to Anvar to cast the same spell on him.
“Neat!” whispers Lindsey. “She can cure poison?”
