At first, the city was quiet. Empty markets and locked-up buildings encouraged the crickets to speak up and go about their own night-inspired escapades. The moon beamed down on the smaller towers and gave Jularra tiles of shadow to skip in and out of whenever she heard the occasional footstep or rattle of armor that signaled patrolling Bedrock.
With each passing alleyway and alcove, more residential areas trickled into Jularra’s surroundings. The pure moonlight became contaminated by an increasing number of lit candles from open windows. The distinction between shadow and light became blurred, and as the vague syllables and muddled tones of conversations grew louder, the crickets became harder to hear.
The shifting smells carried on the evening air warned her when she was close. When the cold mountain breeze with its light hint of soil mixed with the aromas of fire and smoked pork, then did she know her friends were nearby.
The group lounged on logs encircling the fire. When they caught sight of her, they cheered and raised cups and flagons—mostly because they were empty, and needed her to fill them.
It didn’t bother anyone that she was able to secure so much wine so frequently. True, it was a luxury to that crowd, and some might consider it curious, what with the state of the nation’s resources, except that she had told countless stories of how she had fought or robbed to acquire it for them. The unsavory group lapped up her tales as readily as her wine, and as long as she shared, they could not have cared less if they were true. The same unspoken standards were applied to whoever brought the food for the night. Once inside their little circle of hedonism, anything outside of it could rot.
She replied to the cheers by holding the wineskins high above her head in triumph. She had won! They had won! They were, at the very least, going to get drunk tonight, and no one was going to stop them. Their pleasure came first. Their buzz came first. Their conversations, food, wine, and possible sex, were their only concerns. Again, all else in the world—for that night, anyway—could starve, or rot, or burn.
She joined the group through a narrow gap in the logs, tossing one of the wineskins over the fire. Two more went to each side of her. Hands grasped and playfully fought with other hands to provide their owners with the first drink. Savili set his lute down and gulped as much wine as he could swallow. He wiped his mouth and caught his breath, then shouted, “Aleusa! Didn’t think you were going to make it tonight!”
“Yeah. Bit of trouble with the wine tonight, but nothing I couldn’t overcome,” she answered.
“I hope you didn’t have to spill any blood for it!”
The group erupted with laughter.
“Well, perfect timing,” Kinlarkas announced. “Pig’s about done!”
“What about that pig, hmm?” Jularra asked playfully. “You’re no pig farmer!”
Kinlarkas’ eyes stayed on the pig as his grin collapsed. Many around the fire looked at him as the silence expanded.
“Well, we gotta eat, don't we?” he replied. His voice scraped with a mixture of regret and malice.
The wrought iron spit scraped against the stands as he turned it. Some of the group stirred in anticipation and moaned with hunger. A few of the women, sitting on the laps of their lovers, turned and applauded. Others remained enthralled with the taste of their lovers.
With rags wrapped around both hands, Kinlarkas lifted each end of the spit off the holder. “You hear about Her Highnass getting ambushed the other day?” he asked, eager to change the subject. He set the pig down on a burlap-covered stone.
Jularra's disgust with Kinlarkas’ implication shifted to panic at being mentioned, which was quickly overtaken by her anger. Those fucking, gossiping lords!
She made herself relax before answering. “Heard about that,” Jularra said, passing another wineskin. “I guess the bitch won.”
A few of the others chuckled. Savili nodded. “She’s a tough gal, the queen,” he said as he reached for a plate of pork.
“What makes you say that?” Kinlarkas wondered.
Savili rolled his eyes with condescension. “Oh, I don't know. Queen, witch, Spire Commander…”
Kinlarkas shrugged. “She had to use any of those skills, though?”
“She killed the assassin, didn't she?"
"Mmm, apparently," Kinlarkas conceded. “But what if she’d been killed?” he posed generally to the whole group. “What would’ve happened with that pact and all that?”
Another in the group, Vilfarin, was fuzzy on his history. “What do you mean?”
Kinlarkas stumbled along in his clarification. “Well, don’t all the queens need to… pass along their blood oath to their daughter, or something? What happens if a queen dies before that happens?”
The fire popped and sent sparks into the air. No one had an answer, except for Jularra.
“I heard there’s something in the pact that addresses that bit,” she began, after casually slugging some wine. “If she dies naturally, or by someone else’s hand before the deadline, that Void thing will kill a hundred Acorilinians for every moon between her death and the deadline, as a penalty.”
Various members of the group gasped.
“To encourage her to pop out an heiress sooner rather than later, I guess,” she added. “And even then, it’d still create a child out of her blood to continue the line. But if she kills herself or intentionally doesn’t meet the deadline…”
All kissing, eating, and drinking came to a stop.
“Acorilan gets destroyed,” she finished.
“How?” Kinlarkas wondered.
Jularra shrugged. The conversation was handed back over to the fire for a moment.
“Well,” Kinlarkas said eventually, “I’m glad she killed that assassin.”
Savili raised his cup in agreement. "I heard he had a doppelcharm.”
Heads turned.
“A doppelcharm?” Jularra repeated with false astonishment. When Savili slowly nodded, Jularra let her mouth drop a bit as she raised her eyebrows, wanting to get the attention off herself and let someone else lead the conversation.
Savili continued nodding.
