“You mean just to watch him turn red and stutter out his apology?”
“Aye.”
“Perfect. That’s when he’s cutest.”
68
Rowena sat among the drunken Izmorozian singers in the tavern, wondering why she was there. Well, she knew why she was there. Because Jorge was there. The question was why he was there. He didn’t seem to be particularly enjoying himself. He sat across the table from her, sipping his Izmorozian liquor, watching the celebration around him as if he was not a part of it. She supposed that he might have felt more kinship with them all if he’d fought alongside them. But as he’d said, he was no warrior. She understood that strange distance, perhaps better than most. She was Uaine, and yet she was also Death Touched, which was something apart from merely being Uaine. She was respected, perhaps even revered, but she was always apart.
“Hey, Jorge!”
Sonya and Blaine lurched over, arm in arm, both grinning from ear to ear, their faces flush with drink.
“Enjoying yourselves?” Jorge asked.
“Thought we’d go enjoy ourselves somewhere a bit more private, y’know?” Blaine leered.
“Oh, um, yes…” Jorge seemed uncomfortable, and most likely jealous. Rowena wasn’t sure which he fancied more, Sonya or Blaine, but in this case, it didn’t matter.
“Wanna join us?” asked Sonya.
Rowena thought that seemed a sensible suggestion which would satisfy all three of them, but Jorge’s eyes widened in alarm, and his face became quite red.
“I… that’s… a very generous offer. It’s just… it violates at least three laws of my religion that I can think of right off the top of my head.”
Blaine sighed and nodded.
“Told ya,” said Sonya.
“Ye did,” agreed Blaine.
“Sorry, to, um, disappoint you both.” Jorge forced a smile that looked like it cost a great deal of effort.
“Well, if yer sure,” said Blaine.
“I am. Have fun, though.”
“Good night, Jorge,” said Sonya.
“Good night, Sonya.”
Jorge watched as they walked awkwardly arm in arm up the steps to the rooms above, and Rowena watched him. When he turned back, he saw her inquiring expression.
“What?” he asked.
“What does yer religion have against fucking?”
“Why is that the one word every Uaine knows?”
“It’s a good word.”
“I suppose…,” he admitted. “Regardless, I can assure you that my religion is not against… er, intercourse.”
A suspicion began to form in Rowena’s mind. “Have you never done it?”
“No, I must wait until marriage.”
“But isn’t marriage a life commitment?”
“Correct.”
“What if the fucking is bad? You won’t know until et’s too late?”
“Er, I suppose that is a danger…” He sighed, and glanced back to the staircase where Blaine and Sonya had disappeared. “Sorry, if you don’t mind, I… I think I’ll go check on Master Velikhov at the college. Make sure he weathered the conflict okay. Although knowing him, he might not have even noticed.”
She nodded. “Good night, Jorge.”
She watched him leave the tavern, not looking at all like he had been instrumental in a glorious victory. She pitied anyone whose god was so cruel as to deny them the simple pleasures in this terrible world. No wonder he was so unhappy.
She sat alone for a little while, sipping her clear, fiery drink and watching the Izmorozians cavort around her, acting like children who had never tasted alcohol before. There was a strange sort of desperation beneath it that she had never seen in her own people. She wondered what fueled it.
Mordha sat down at her table with a fresh bottle.
“Well?” he asked in the Uaine language as he refilled her cup.
“Things are progressing,” she said. “Although I still have grave doubts about whether we can count on Jorge when the time comes. He’s too attached to the beast witch.”
Mordha nodded, not looking particularly surprised. “Do you at least have the formula for the preservative?”
“And the fireworks.”
Mordha’s thick eyebrows raised. “Well done.”
“They’re more than just recipes, Tighearna. I will need him to teach me the preparation techniques.”
“There is time. Spring thaw has only just begun. I estimate at least a month before the bulk of our forces reach Izmoroz.”
“What of the beast witch? Now that she’s served her purpose, she could be a serious hindrance.”
“She’ll be gone by then,” said Mordha. “Angelo is putting that plan into motion as we speak.”
69
Galina did not really know why she was at the Sturdy Sturgeon that night watching rowdy peasants guzzle an astonishing amount of cheap vodka. Masha had suggested it would mean a lot to the people if she was there, and so she’d come.
But even Masha had given in to the boisterous celebration and was now giggling like a schoolgirl as