Red Rope of Fate (18 page)

The grounds swirled with Honor G
uards in their pristine uniforms. They cast odd looks at her, occasionally glancing at her tapered ears that peeked out from behind her hair, but no one stopped Tari as she followed the scent of food.

Tari sneezed when she found a large building that smelled heavily of beer and gravy. She cautiously looked inside
—vaguely aware of two fretting Honor Guards trailing behind her. They belonged to Arion’s squad, if she remembered correctly.

Grygg, Thad, and Wilford were inside, finishing up what looked like meat swimming in gravy but was probably supposed to be a stew.

Tari could feel one of the Honor Guards behind her working up the courage to speak to her—probably  ask her to leave—so she slid inside the building before he opened his mouth. “Grygg, I want to learn another drinking song,” Tari announced in Calnoric as she approached their table.

The men were caught completely off guard. Wilford actually spat out his drink and Grygg choked. Thad was the only one calm enough to speak. “Good afternoon Lady Tari. I believe you are early for our regularly scheduled appointment,” he mildly
said.

“I want to learn a drinking song,” Tari said.

“Yes, so you mentioned. However, I think it would be best if we continued with your lessons in
your
quarters. The Honor Guard facilities are hardly meant for a lady of your status.”

“You aren’t listening,” Tari said, reaching down to pluck Wilford’s pint
from his numb hands. “I want to learn a drinking song. I want to
DRINK
!”

Wilfo
rd rescued his mug. “With all due respect, Lady Tari, this is hardly the place for you to indulge in alcohol.”

Tari snorted. “Not
hing will happen. I could drink the three of you under the bench.”

“Under the table,” Grygg helpfully
piped in. A small crowd of guards was amassing around the table, fascinated with the shouting elf.

Wilford shot Grygg a sharp look and Thad attempted to further reason with her. “But you don’t
like
alcohol. You complained bitterly of human wines during one of our teas, remember?”

Tari—to the patrol leaders’ horror—sat on a bench, sliding her legs under the table.
“I hate human wines because they taste as appealing as radishes. Beer, mead, ale, all of those we drink at home in Lessa.”

“A drinking song is a far different thing than sipping a cup’o beer at home, Lady Tari,” Grygg said, leaning across the table to address
her. The guards around them murmured in agreement.

Tari inhaled and briefly shut her eyes. When she looked at Grygg again the force of her gaze made him plop down in his seat. “Let me put it this way. If you do not get me a mug of beer, as many mugs as I desire, I will go into the city of Haven
alone
,
without
Arion to drink. And when your captain finds me I will tell him I told you my plan before carrying it out,” Tari said with a chilly smile.

Grygg
bolted from the bench. “Somebody get this lady a drink!” he shouted.

Wilford studied Tari over the rim of his cup. “Something bothering you, Lady Tari?”

Tari placed her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes with a groan. “Yes.”

Wilford and Thad exchanged looks before nodding. “Right then, a drink or two may help calm your nerves,” Wilford said.

“Only a drink or two, though,” Thad added, scowling darkly at his fellow guards that were jostling each other as they crowded around the table. “And no one tells the Captain!”

The
guards sang out a chorus of affirmatives. One nearest to Tari plopped down on the bench next to her. “He won’t find out. How much alcohol can one elf drink?”

“We are in big trouble,” Grygg said to Thad as they watched Tari
chug a pint.

“We’re dead,” Thad agreed as Tari’s opponent gave up, gasping for breath.

Tari kept chugging.

“Guards keep coming in. The Captain is going to find out,” Wilford said, staring at the collection of mugs placed next to Tari. All of them were her’s.

Thad rubbed the back of his head. “Did anyone know elves were big drinkers?”

A fellow off duty guard laughed. “You mean you
didn’t
know?”

Thad, Grygg, and Wilford turned to the guard with murder in their eyes.

The guard defensively added, “What, haven’t you stood on duty in any of the state banquets? Those elves can drink for
hours
without so much as a hiccup or stammer. Buddy of mine who serves under a bonded earl said the elves have more festivals and feasts than we do—and they drink at
all
of them ‘til sunrise.”

Grygg, Thad, and Wilford looked back at Tari with horror. She finished her mug with a satisfied smirk and slammed it on the creaking table.

“Who’s next?” the blonde elf demanded.

Guards clamored to go against her.

“I hope it’s a myth.”

“It
must
be a myth.”

“Do you reckon we can charge for going head to head with her?”

Thad and Wilford glared at Grygg.

“What?” Grygg grumbled, shrugging slightly before taking a mouthful of his ale. “We might as well make a spot of money for our troubles.”

Thad and Wilford returned their attention to Tari.

“How can we make her stop?” Thad asked.

“Out drink her, maybe,” Wilford suggested. “She’s a female. She can’t possibly drink more than us.”

“Your captain is a total—what’s a good insult
, Grygg? A kill joy,” Tari emphatically said, banging her beer on the table.

“Oh is he ever,” Thad violently nodded.

“One little joke about queen Luciee’s prissy face and you’re out of his good graces forever,” Grygg grumbled, barely audible above the ruckus raised around them. He took a mouthful of his ale and tipped his mug too far back, splashing alcohol on his uniform. “And he doesn’t even
like
the queen,” Grygg complained, brushing off his uniform.

“He said,” Wilford started, his voice high pitched and emotional from the alcohol consumption. “If I ever walked into his office without knocking again, he would demote me
to guarding the Calnor borders of the Dreadfelv Desert! Like I
wanted
to see him accosting Lady Tari,” Wilford complained.

“He’s so, so pigheaded,” Tari said. “Did I use that right?”

“Beautifully,” Grygg said, making the gesture for “perfectly ripe.”

“A royal pompous—,” Wilford started.

“No, no,” Thad interrupted with a nervous giggle. “Even with beer to fortify me I don’t have the courage to teach Lady Tari swear words. I’d wet myself the next time the Captain looked at me.”

“Swear words?” Tari asked with growing
curiosity.

“Oh good gog, look what you’ve done now,” Wilford complained.

“How about another drinking song?” Grygg suggested.

“Yes! Yes!” Tari cheered.

“Hurrah,” Wilford said, splashing mead.

“Make it a funeral song,”
Thad suggested. “We’re all dead men anyway.”

Tari was contemplati
ng the remaining mouthfuls of mead in her mug when Arion blew into the mess hall. Tari adjusted her feet, which were propped up on the back of a soldier snoozing under the table, and saluted Arion with her mug. “Good afternoon, Arion,” she greeted.

Arion’s eyes were icy flints as his gaze traveled down the table. Tari was the only upright person in the area. Most of the
off duty guards were slumped across the table top, passed out on the benches, or unconscious and on the ground.

“What is going on
?” Arion barked, his voice thunderous.

“We,” Tari said with a wide, sweeping gesture. “Are having a resounding good drinking hour. Time. Day,” she said, setting her mug down and nudging it to join a large cluster of mugs in front of her.

“That ssssneaky elf,” Grygg said, blinking hard to concentrate as he picked his upper body off the table. “She can drink.”

“She’
s the tolerance of a keg master,” Wilford groaned into his elbow from his position on the bench.

Arion narrowed his eyes as he studied Tari. “You’re drunk.”

“I am
not
drunk. Maybe fuzzy, but not drunk. We elves tend to sing
horribly
when we’re drunk. I was pitch perfect at my last song. Ask anyone who’s not sleeping.” Tari nodded before adding. “You’re
not
well trained like Seer Ringali thinks you are. You’re too, too, too!” she finished, reaching for a new, filled mug. “I can’t think of the word in Calnoric. Which is a shame because you humans have better insults.” Arion pulled the mug out of Tari’s grasp, ignoring her feeble “Hey!”

Arion then
turned to his men—some of whom were quickly gaining sobriety in the presence of their captain. “You all,” he said, his voice as warm as a winter storm.

“Will clean up this embarrassing
spectacle of debauchery, gluttony, and failure of discipline,” Tari paused, blinking rapidly. “I have no idea what I just said,” she declared.

Arion stared at Tari for a few moments. The normall
y controlled elf smiled sheepishly at him, her hair charmingly disheveled. He bent over and whisked her off her bench, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Arion!” Tari complained,
pounding a fist on his back.

Arion ignored her and
pinned his morning patrol leaders in place. “Clean up this embarrassing spec—just clean it up. We will review your conduct tomorrow morning,” he said before leaving the mess hall. His exit struck fear into the hearts of his men and was not at all hampered—perhaps it was even complimented—by the tousled elf complaining on his shoulder.

“—always serve disgusting wine, never serve any halfway decent beer or ale. It would make state events
a lot
more interesting if they at least served mead. By the stars above, no wonder the majority of your royalty have pinched expressions. They’ve probably never had a decent pint of ale in their lives,” Tari rambled, making the switch to elvish as Arion strode through the training grounds.