empty and she knew it, but there were others where that came from, of that she was sure. They’d gone through two of them together, but he didn’t rise to grab another and she was glad because she knew she would go on drinking with him, foolishly feeling like she had to match him cup for cup just to drown sorrows she shouldn’t have been trying to avoid in the first place.
“You want to go for a walk with me?” he asked, pushing the bench away from the table. Its legs scraped heavily across the wood and she winced at the sound.
“We’ll wake the whole city, I fear.”
“Nah, we won’t,” he waved her off. When he stood up, he wavered and took a moment to steady himself before holding out his hand to her. “And if we do, why should they sleep if we can’t? Come on,” he urged, fingers wiggling with temptation. “I want to show you something.”
Hesitating, she watched the almost impatient urge of his hand and then she reached for it. He drew her from the bench and they stumbled before Logren steadied them both and placed hands on her shoulders as if he momentarily forgot what he was going to do. Then he nodded once, reached between them and took her hand again and led her toward the door.
The cold rush of air across her face sobered her almost as much as her awareness of how exhausted she was. She felt awake with unexpected suddenness, though her head tingled and swam as she took carefully planned steps to hold herself upright. Her legs felt so far away and rubbery as she commanded them to move and her hips were like jelly, swaying her body languidly as she attempted to look as normal as possible.
She’d never drank so much in her life.
Logren squeezed her fingers before he withdrew and lowered his arm across her shoulders. They walked together with difficulty. She was fairly certain, as they leaned against one another, it was that and that alone which kept them both on their feet as they moved through quiet streets bathed in the strange, ethereal light of the lanterns lining the street and the blood stain of the red moon burning through the clouds.
The sky was overcast and the air smelled like snow, though the subtle warmth of the city assured her the flakes would never fall within the walls of Dunvarak. She could smell it nonetheless, the crispness of it fluttering beneath her nostrils every time they flared outward with the draw of her breath.
“It’s going to snow.” Her voice sounded so loud; maybe it was.
Her brother laughed, a far louder sound than she’d made with her voice, and it echoed against the buildings rising around them with stark precision. The boisterousness of his amusement was becoming a familiar fondness for her, one she would carry with her and refer to in her memory whenever she needed a smile.
“It’s always going to snow here. Great gusts of blustery white battering at our gates like raging trolls, but they never touch us. They never break beyond the magical barriers that protect the city unless the mages want them to.”
“Do they ever want them to?”
“Rarely,” he shrugged. “Mostly they alter temperatures to create rain for the crops and gardens, but even that is so strange and unnatural I don’t even know if it could be called rain. There are fields beyond the wall that are mind-boggling to behold. Rich golden grains growing stubborn and tall despite the cold, and all because of the barriers the mages raise around them.”
“Magic is a strange thing.” She shuddered with the realization, momentarily playing over the hundreds of precautions Master Davin handed down to her and her sister over the years. It was a dark, terrifying power, unfamiliar and peculiar, and yet she knew inside it was the most natural thing in the world. There were beings born with magic flowing through their veins the way the silent wolf lingered beneath her skin, and they could do incredible, impossible things.
“It is what it is,” her brother shrugged her closer. “Without it,
“You want to go for a walk with me?” he asked, pushing the bench away from the table. Its legs scraped heavily across the wood and she winced at the sound.
“We’ll wake the whole city, I fear.”
“Nah, we won’t,” he waved her off. When he stood up, he wavered and took a moment to steady himself before holding out his hand to her. “And if we do, why should they sleep if we can’t? Come on,” he urged, fingers wiggling with temptation. “I want to show you something.”
Hesitating, she watched the almost impatient urge of his hand and then she reached for it. He drew her from the bench and they stumbled before Logren steadied them both and placed hands on her shoulders as if he momentarily forgot what he was going to do. Then he nodded once, reached between them and took her hand again and led her toward the door.
The cold rush of air across her face sobered her almost as much as her awareness of how exhausted she was. She felt awake with unexpected suddenness, though her head tingled and swam as she took carefully planned steps to hold herself upright. Her legs felt so far away and rubbery as she commanded them to move and her hips were like jelly, swaying her body languidly as she attempted to look as normal as possible.
She’d never drank so much in her life.
Logren squeezed her fingers before he withdrew and lowered his arm across her shoulders. They walked together with difficulty. She was fairly certain, as they leaned against one another, it was that and that alone which kept them both on their feet as they moved through quiet streets bathed in the strange, ethereal light of the lanterns lining the street and the blood stain of the red moon burning through the clouds.
The sky was overcast and the air smelled like snow, though the subtle warmth of the city assured her the flakes would never fall within the walls of Dunvarak. She could smell it nonetheless, the crispness of it fluttering beneath her nostrils every time they flared outward with the draw of her breath.
“It’s going to snow.” Her voice sounded so loud; maybe it was.
Her brother laughed, a far louder sound than she’d made with her voice, and it echoed against the buildings rising around them with stark precision. The boisterousness of his amusement was becoming a familiar fondness for her, one she would carry with her and refer to in her memory whenever she needed a smile.
“It’s always going to snow here. Great gusts of blustery white battering at our gates like raging trolls, but they never touch us. They never break beyond the magical barriers that protect the city unless the mages want them to.”
“Do they ever want them to?”
“Rarely,” he shrugged. “Mostly they alter temperatures to create rain for the crops and gardens, but even that is so strange and unnatural I don’t even know if it could be called rain. There are fields beyond the wall that are mind-boggling to behold. Rich golden grains growing stubborn and tall despite the cold, and all because of the barriers the mages raise around them.”
“Magic is a strange thing.” She shuddered with the realization, momentarily playing over the hundreds of precautions Master Davin handed down to her and her sister over the years. It was a dark, terrifying power, unfamiliar and peculiar, and yet she knew inside it was the most natural thing in the world. There were beings born with magic flowing through their veins the way the silent wolf lingered beneath her skin, and they could do incredible, impossible things.
“It is what it is,” her brother shrugged her closer. “Without it,
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