Okay. Maybe I’m too hungry to be writing right now. Either way, though, Angola was gorgeous. Definitely one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.
Bastille stepped on my foot.
‘Ow!’ I complained. ‘What was that for?’
‘Stop gawking at my sister,’ Bastille grumbled.
‘I wasn’t gawking! I was appreciating!’
‘Well, appreciate her a little less, then. And stop drooling.’
‘I’m not—’ I cut off as Angola breezed down the steps gracefully, coming up to us. ‘I’m not drooling,’ I hissed more softly, then bowed. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘Lord Smedry!’ she said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you!’
‘Er . . . you have?’
She didn’t reply, instead laying her hands gracefully on her sister’s shoulders. ‘And Bastille. After all these months of writing you and asking you to come visit, now you finally come? During a siege? I should have known that only danger would lure you. Sometimes, I wonder if you’re not as attracted to it as those you protect!’
Bastille blushed.
‘Come,’ Angola said. ‘You are welcome to what comforts Mokia can provide you. We will take morning repast and discuss the news you bring. The Aumakua bless that it be of good report, as we have seen too little of that as of late.’
Now, as an aside, you might be shocked to hear such a distinct reference to religion from Angola. After all, I haven’t talked much about religion in these books.
This is intentional, mostly from a self-preservation standpoint. I’ve discovered that talking about religion has a lot in common with wearing a catcher’s mask: Both give people liberty to throw things at you. (And in the case of religion, sometimes the ‘things’ are lightning bolts.)
Unfortunately, in the later years of my life I’ve developed a very rare affliction known as chronic smart-aleckiness. (It’s kind of like dyslexia, only easier to spell. Particularly if you don’t have dyslexia.) Because of this tragic, terminal disease, I’m unable to read or write about things without making stoopid wisecracks about them.
Due to my affliction, I’ve wisely left the topic of religion alone – because if I were to talk about it, I’d have to make fun of it. And that might be offensive, as people take their religions very seriously. Better not to talk about it at all.
Therefore, I will most certainly not tell you what religion has in common with explosive vomiting. (Whew. Glad I didn’t say anything like that. It could have been really offensive.)
Angola nodded to Kaz and Aydee in welcome, giving each a smile, then glided back up the steps, expecting us to follow her in.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Is she always so . . .’
‘Nauseatingly regal?’ Bastille asked softly. ‘Yeah, even before she was married.’
‘Well, I can see why the king married her. Too bad I won’t be able to meet him.’
Bastille’s eyes flickered toward Mallo. It was only for a moment, but I caught it. Frowning, I turned to study the general, trying to find out what had drawn Bastille’s attention. Once again, he looked familiar to me. In fact . . .
‘You’re the king!’ I exclaimed, pointing at him.
‘What?’ Mallo said, voice stiff. ‘No I’m not. The king was taken to safety by the Knights of Crystallia weeks ago.’
He was a terrible liar.
‘Hey,’ Kaz said. ‘Yeah, I thought I recognized you. Your Majesty! We had dinner once a few years back. Remember? My father spilled cranberry juice on your tapa.’
The man looked embarrassed. ‘Perhaps we should go inside,’ he said. ‘I see there are some things I need to explain.’
(Also, if you’re wondering, it’s because both often make you fall to your knees.)
No!
I try very hard to be deep, poignant, and meaningful at the beginning of each chapter. Most of the content of these books is basically silliness. (Granted, these events are real silliness that actually happened to me, but that doesn’t stop them from being silly.) In the introductions, therefore, I feel it’s important to explain meaningful and important concepts so that your time reading won’t be completely wasted.