By the time they reached the landing, Kayla felt composed enough to talk about something other than her frustration with Casavir.
"So did you like your first snowball fight?" she asked him.
"I did," Casavir grinned, "though we should work on your aim. You hit barely two times in five, and when you do hit, your missiles lack force."
"They're snowballs, Cas!" she laughed. "I wasn't trying to take your head off. But I was never any good at it... Merciful gods, what has Khelgar got?"
"It looks like a horn," Casavir observed. "Though I would not have liked to have fought its former owner for it."
Khelgar strode across to them and thrust the horn at Casavir.
"Happy birthday, lad," Khelgar grinned. "The horn's for you. It came from an auroch, and my clan did the fittings. Thing is, with a horn like this, you can't set it down until it's empty, so drink up."
"Thank you, Khelgar," Casavir said, though he eyed the full-to-overflowing horn with trepidation. "It is a princely gift... am I permitted to enlist aid in emptying this?"
"You'd better," Khelgar laughed. "Your bladder would burst before you got to the bottom, otherwise. When it's this full, it won't matter much, but when it gets lighter, you'd better remember to keep the point down, or you might drown in the flood."
Casavir took a long pull from it, and passed it back to Khelgar for his turn.
"That'll keep him busy for a while," Khelgar chuckled, watching Casavir approach Shandra with the still-full horn. "It holds two gallons."
"Are you trying to kill him, Khelgar?" Kayla scolded. "You know Cas can't drink even half a gallon of ale in an evening, and on top of all that firewhiskey, too..."
"He'll pass it around," Khelgar shrugged. "And you know he'd just sit in a corner all night, otherwise."
Kayla could only smile at Khelgar's rather fuzzy logic, but Neeshka was on her way over to them, with a drink in her hands and a grin on her face. She greeted Neeshka with a kiss on the cheek and laughed along with them for their first round. She would have been perfectly happy drinking with them the rest of the night, but it felt odd doing it without Casavir. He was still passing his new horn to friends, and indeed, to anyone who stayed still long enough, though he was taking a drink himself every time the horn changed hands, and looking back at her every once in a while, perhaps to see if she was going to catch up with him. So she excused herself to Neeshka, clapped Khelgar on the shoulder, and set off after Casavir as he made his rounds of the common room. She caught up with him in front of Bishop.
"I've got a present for you, paladin," Bishop drawled, holding up what looked like a metal spoon with the handle cut off.
Casavir took it suspiciously.
"And this would be..." Casavir sighed, apparently bracing for the insult that must soon follow any present from Bishop.
"Why, it's a new codpiece," Bishop laughed. "Can't have you bruising your goods, can we?"
"Just ignore him," Kayla said softly, though she groaned at yet another size joke. Could they think of nothing better to bicker about? Still, it was better than watching Bishop bait Casavir about her. "Can I have some of your ale?"
"Of course, my lady," Casavir replied promptly, and, stuffing Bishop's rude present in his belt pouch, he held the horn for her while she drank.
"Have some of mine, Princess," Bishop leered, pushing his hips forward provocatively, "but you'll have to suck it through a pipe. I'll hold it for you, though, if it's too big for you to handle."
"You're made of ale, all right, if you think I'd want my lips around that gutter-spout," Kayla laughed.
"The ale just helps me last longer," Bishop grinned, reaching around Kayla's waist and pulling her closer. "Why, just a little more, and I could last all night, even if it is the longest one of the year. But good eye you've got there. It's ugly as a one-eyed gargoyle, but it's hard as stone, with the right incentive."
Bishop rubbed against her suggestively, but if he was trying to get a reaction from Casavir, he was wasting his time. Casavir was looking at Bishop, but his gaze was fixed on the point where Bishop's neck met his body.
"Come away, my lady," Casavir interjected, his face mottled with suppressed anger. "Sand and Elanee have just arrived, and you wished to hear of their progress with the cache of scrolls the builders found."
"You did very well, Cas," Kayla whispered encouragingly, once they had moved beyond the sharp-eared ranger's hearing. "You conducted yourself with admirable restraint. I'm proud of you."
"I keep the peace because you desire it," Casavir said shortly. "I would have struck him for his cheek... and for willfully brushing against you."
"Bishop will be Bishop," Kayla sighed. "So he's got the right equipment for his gender. That does not make him a marvel. Really, Cas, he's only trying to get you angry."
"He... by Tyr's hand, my lady, I knew not the extent of his lewdness. I thought he touched you with his hip, nothing more. Had I known of his wickedness -"
"Then it is well you did not know," Kayla interrupted. "Cas, please. You're making too much of absolutely nothing. I don't care what Bishop rubs against me, I'm not going to bed with him. And look. He's already off bothering Shandra... poor Shandra. We should see if we can help her get away from him."
"Better he should trouble Shandra... " Casavir said, then blanched. "Forgive me, my lady. I do not wish ill for Shandra, nor do I mean to imply any fault in her, but... my lady, if Bishop is bent on mischief, I should rather spare you."
"I know you mean well, Cas," Kayla replied. "But you know Shandra's been a little sensitive around him lately..."
"I would as soon let my anger with him fade somewhat before going near him again," Casavir admitted. "We will speak with Sand and Elanee, and then, if he has not moved on to a more amenable target, we can intercede."
"All right," Kayla agreed, trying to hide her reluctance. Casavir was showing restraint in not placing himself in a place where confrontation with Bishop would be unavoidable.
"Well, here's the birthday boy himself!" Sand greeted them. "I understand that is traditional to offer congratulations on the anniversary of a human's emergence from the womb. While I do not claim to understand the custom, since the mother was responsible for all the effort involved... and the father, some months earlier... I do congratulate you on a job well done. I have prepared a token to commemorate the event."
Kayla and Elanee laughed, but Casavir bowed as solemnly as a man holding an auroch horn full of ale could manage and accepted the parcel Sand handed him. He set it on the table and handed Kayla his horn so he could open it. It turned out to be an exquisitely carved chess set.
"I suppose we'll both have to wait until we're sober to play a match," Sand mused.
"And we shall, as soon as possible," Casavir agreed readily. "I look forward to getting much use out of it. Thank you."
"Before you have your hands full again, let me give you mine," Elanee smiled, handing him a pair of heavy felt boots.
"You won't need them quite yet," she explained, "but once we move into the Keep, you're going to want something warm on your feet. And you might get some use out of them this year, come to think of it. It's a bother, lacing up a pair of boots just to walk to the outhouse, and good felt stays warm even if it gets wet from the snow."
"A very thoughtful gift, Elanee," Casavir replied, kissing her cheek. "I thank you."
"Ooh, is it time for presents?" Grobnar gushed, holding out a brightly wrapped parcel. Kayla was pleased to see that he wore his lavender doublet, and the hat she had given him. "I wanted to have another try at the special shielded codpiece, but Jacoby wouldn't let me use his forge."
Grobnar paused, then giggled at Casavir's horrified expression.
"Just my little joke, sir paladin," he laughed. "Open it. It's perfectly safe."
Regardless of Grobnar's assurances, or perhaps because of them, Casavir passed off the chess set and the boots for Kayla to carry, and unwrapped his present very carefully. He stared at the contents a moment, then held them aloft for inspection. It was a pair of incredibly shiny armored gauntlets.
"Eldario says they won't rust," Grobnar said. "Thought they might be handy, when you're using the greatsword."
"Indeed!" Casavir agreed. "The clamshell shape offers outstanding protection. Thank you, Grobnar. I have grown surprisingly attached to my fingers, and your gift ensures that I will enjoy their company for many years to come."
"I can appreciate that," Grobnar assented. "A bard learns quite early to protect his hands. I have also prepared a song for the occasion, but I thought I might wait for a larger crowd for that."
"In the meantime, will you accept a drink from my cup... or perhaps I should say horn?" Casavir asked.
"I'd be delighted," Grobnar cheerfully accepted.
The horn was almost as big as Grobnar himself, and probably weighed about as much, but Grobnar managed it deftly.
"With that, I must depart," Grobnar said. "My audience awaits, and I've just the tale for a Midwinter evening. The longest night of the year. Midwinter was made for bards!"
With that, the jauntily dressed gnome left, and Casavir stuck one gauntlet down the top of each of the boots Kayla carried. She was beginning to wish their friends had all given him small presents, since it looked like she would be lugging them around, but he needed his hands free to receive them, and it made her happy to see Casavir grinning at each new gift.
Kayla would have been perfectly happy to sit down with Sand and Elanee and talk about the scrolls they were deciphering, or any other subject, but she was prevented by the sudden hush. Sand and Elanee sat motionless, and stared at a point midway between her and Casavir. She turned.
"They told me today is your birthday," Katriona said to Casavir. "You never said."
"I never knew the precise date of my birth," Casavir replied, though his features were grim. "My lady thought it a suitable day."
"It's the shortest day of the year, and the coldest," Katriona reflected with only partial accuracy. "But never mind. I have a gift for you."
"I thank you for the kind thought," Casavir said, "but I cannot accept."
"Take it, Casavir," she urged. "It isn't very gentlemanly to deny a person the pleasure of giving."
Once more, Casavir passed Kayla his drinking horn. She watched him take Katriona's present, but he moved as if he had heavy chains wrapped around his hands. He unwrapped the parcel, looked once at the contents, and put it back in Katriona's hands.
"Now I know that I cannot accept this," he said.
"You admired it once," Katriona protested. "You should have it. It looks better on a man's cloak, anyway."
"Katriona," he sighed. "You said this brooch has been in your family for generations. If you insist a man must wear it, give it to your son, when you have one."
"So that's the way it's going to be with you?" she asked bitterly. "We are equals, now, but that was never the problem, was it?"
"Katriona..." Casavir began, "Katriona, may we speak privately?"
"Why?" she snapped, her voice rising in volume. "You can say it here just as well. And what do you care if I humiliate myself?"
"Katriona, please," Casavir said calmly, "I beg you, do not do this to yourself. I am not worth it."
"You've got that right!" Katriona retorted, her voice breaking. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, but she apparently thought better of it. She turned abruptly and walked away, not looking back.
Kayla exhaled, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath. The Phoenix Trail had become very quiet, while Casavir and Katriona were speaking, and everyone was looking at Casavir. Casavir himself looked wretched.
"It never changes," he sighed.
"Should I speak with her?" Kayla asked. The normal sounds of the Phoenix Trail were starting to resume.
"No," Casavir said heavily. "It would do no good, and I fear she would resent what she would perceive as an intrusion. Forgive me, my lady. I had not anticipated this complication in bringing Katriona to Crossroad Keep."
"She is good with the Greycloaks," Kayla muttered uncomfortably. At the time they recruited Katriona as a sergeant, she and Casavir had argued about the advisability of bringing her to Crossroad Keep, given her infatuation with him, but Casavir had assured her that it would not interfere with the performance of her duty. And it had not interfered. Katriona was helping with the training now, and leading whatever missions took the Greycloaks beyond the walls of the Keep itself, and she was doing admirably well. She and Casavir could even work together without friction. It was only in social settings, like now, that there was any kind of awkwardness, and there were few enough of those.
"That she is," Casavir agreed. "They are coming along well, though their training was already good, when they came to us."
"Have you tried talking to her?" Elanee asked.
"Yes," Casavir replied. "I apologize, Elanee, Sand. How goes the translation of the scrolls?"
"About the same as yesterday," Elanee smiled. "We haven't so much as looked at one, today."
"It will be so much easier once you get the library finished," Sand said. "I shudder to think of what the mice are eating, while we wait for spring."
"I haven't wanted to send workmen in there until we get the walls shored up," Kayla answered. "All we need is a collapse..."
"Ah, well," Sand sighed, taking another sip of his wine, "I suppose it can't be helped. And Jaral does enjoy chasing the furry little bibliovores, when I let him into the Keep. And there are those scrolls to keep us busy in the meantime... and this lovely bottle of Saerloonian Topaz. Wherever did you find it, Elanee?"
"I don't think I'm going to tell you quite yet," Elanee giggled. "But there's another one just like it hidden somewhere in the Keep, and I thought you might like to go looking for it later."
"Oh, you wicked woman!" Sand laughed. "We'll have to go find it at once! It wouldn't do to have it freeze before we can drink it."
Sand got to his feet with the exaggerated care of one who has already enjoyed his share of wine and seized Elanee's hand.
"Excuse us, my dear," he said to Kayla. "There's a precious vintage in danger of death by broken flask."
"Be careful!" Kayla called after them. "Parts of the Keep still aren't safe!"
They just waved farewell and dashed off to get their cloaks.
"They will be all right," Casavir said, taking her hand. "They have been all over the Keep in the last few tendays. They know where the loose stones are."
"I know," Kayla sighed, "but I would never forgive myself if they came to harm because I couldn't get the repairs done before winter set in."
"We had precious little time for that," Casavir reminded her. "And you know how long it took us... or Neeshka, I should say, since it was all her skill... to find and disarm all the traps Garius left for us. Not that I fault her for the delay! May the gods bless her for her thoroughness. I certainly do, every time one of us sets foot inside."
"You know," Kayla reflected, "Elanee never used to like to drink. She used to give Khelgar a terrible time, if he came in smelling like ale."
"Familiarity changes people," Casavir said sagely. "It emboldens them to try things they might otherwise avoid, around those with whom they are less at ease."
"Is that so, dear one?" she whispered, raising his hand to her face, turning it in hers, and kissing his palm.
"Unless they fear something more than the censure of strangers," Casavir replied, swallowing hard. "My lady..."
"I know, Cas," she sighed, letting go of his hand. "I know. Let's go see how Shandra is faring."
"Yes," he agreed reluctantly. "She is still speaking with Bishop, I see... though she does not look distressed."
To Kayla's surprise, she found that Casavir was right. Shandra and Bishop were talking animatedly when they arrived, but they both appeared to be in perfectly good spirits. Shandra was laughing at some joke of Bishop's, and Bishop was refilling her cup from a pitcher on the table.
" - and you should have seen the look on his face," Bishop snickered.
"That wasn't very nice," Shandra laughed, "and you're so wrong about that, by the way."
"Oh, yeah?" Bishop leered. "How would you know?"
"Never mind," Shandra said quickly. "Oh, hi Kayla, hi Cas. Pull up a couple of chairs and have a drink with us."
Ignoring Casavir's sharply drawn breath, Kayla smiled and pulled over a bench big enough to share.
"Don't mind if I do," she said, sitting down on one end of the bench. "So, having a good time?"
"Not bad," Bishop shrugged. "It'd be better without the stiff."
"C'mon, Bishop," Shandra chuckled, nudging Bishop's shoulder, "give it a rest. Have an ale instead."
Shandra slopped some ale into Bishop's cup, and put out another two for Kayla and Casavir, but Kayla shook her head when Shandra looked like she was about to fill them, pointing to Casavir's horn, which was still almost two-thirds full.
"Hey, Cas," Shandra hiccuped, "never gave your your birthday present. Forgot to wrap it, but here."
She passed him what looked like a pile of twisted bar stock, but she did not wait until he had a secure hold on it before letting go, so it slipped away from him and landed with a clang on the table, upsetting her cup. She giggled, righted the cup, and refilled it again.
"Thank you, Shandra," Casavir said hesitantly, sitting down himself. "What is it?"
"It's a puzzle," she said. "Jacoby helped me make it. You gotta get the iron ring out, off the thingy that looks like a tongue. The other rings move around a bit, but only one ring will come off. At least I think only one ring will come off. Jacoby showed me how to work it, but I forget. So if you get stuck, you'll have to wait until tomorrow when his shop's open, 'cause I don't remember."
"That's okay, sweets," Bishop said, grinning broadly and patting her hand. "We'll just leave his holiness to play with his new toy, and you two ladies lean in close, and I'll tell you the one about the paladin, the goat, and the dryad. First one to guess the punchline gets a kiss from yours truly."
"I hardly think that's an appropriate tale for the ladies," Casavir protested.
"You can leave if you want," Bishop laughed, "but I'm telling you, the goat didn't mind all that much. Yeah, he probably never buggered a paladin before, but it was something to tell the kids."
Casavir stood up abruptly, sloshing ale from his horn onto Kayla. He sputtered apologies, and tried to brush off the ale, but most of it had gone down the front of her gown, so he stopped quickly, and stared at his feet.
"Come away, my lady," he said at last. "You should not have to listen to this."
"It's all right, Cas," Kayla sighed. "Sit down, please, and pretend Bishop is just another drunk with a pack full of bad jokes."
"So what am I supposed to pretend he is?" Bishop snorted. "A man?"
"If you like," Kayla smiled. "Cas, why don't you pass around that horn again, lighten it a little. I could do with another drink."
For a moment, Casavir looked like he might refuse. If he passed the horn, it would come to Bishop, and he did not look eager to share his drink with the ranger. But he grimaced something that might have been a smile of acquiescence and handed his horn first to Shandra.
"Your lips touch it last," he whispered in Kayla's ear. He left his chin there for several heartbeats, resting on her shoulder. She felt his arm creep surreptitiously around her, and he drew her closer to him on the bench, until her hip touched his.
The horn made more than one trip around the table. On its fourth pass, Kayla had to stand up to drink from it, since it was finally starting to feel empty, but she was careless, and forgot to keep the pointed end down. As it happened, there was still a good deal more in the horn than she thought. It hit her in the face like a wave, and sloshed in her hair and down the front of her dress.
"Oh, well, that's just wonderful," she groaned. "Sorry about wasting all your ale, Cas."
"Do not fret over that, my lady," Casavir replied, though she could see he was stifling a smile. "I fear your gown is ruined."
"It's had ale on it before," she sighed. "But I'd better go change."
"I will walk you to your room," Casavir volunteered, ignoring snickers from Shandra and Bishop.
"It's all right, Cas," Kayla protested. "I know where it is."
"Yes, my lady," Casavir agreed, scooping the iron puzzle off the table. "But I insist."
He offered his arm and led her back up the stairs.
She had drunk more than she thought, she found, as it took her two tries to get the key in the lock, and nearly snapped it off before she discovered that she was turning the key the wrong way.
"I will just wait here for you," Casavir said nervously.
"Don't be silly, Cas," she replied. "You've come this far. You make yourself comfortable, and I'll change behind the screen."
Her room was dark. She set his presents down on the floor and fumbled with the tinderbox for a while before giving up and opening the Sphere of Invocation. It seemed trivial, using its light for something as mundane as lighting a room when she was too drunk to work the tinderbox, but she reflected that Casavir had chosen it in the first place because it would allow her to navigate the campsite without breaking her neck in the dark. Granted, he intended that she should use it while praying, and she did, but it had other, less lofty uses, as well.
She set the Sphere back on the washstand, went behind the screen, and heard Casavir settle himself in a chair to wait.
Casavir looked around the room. It was smaller than her lodgings at the Sunken Flagon, of course, but in some ways, she had made it look more homey. Since she would be moving to the Keep, she had begun to collect ornaments. It was nothing much, a scarf draped over a mirror, a set of brushes and combs arranged on the dressing table, an empty vase on the table, but the subtle touches made the room feel much more personal than her room at the Sunken Flagon ever had. And there was her scent. Except for those three months they had spent at the Flagon between Greengrass and Midsummer, she had never spent more than a couple days at a time in the room. She had been living in this one for over two months now, and the room smelled of the perfume Sand made for her, and of wax candles and soap, and the faint, acrid smell of ink, and only a little of the gambeson that hung from the armor rack in the corner. He could sit in the room forever, just breathing.
Something flashed on the table near the vase. There was a locket there. Curiosity battled propriety for a moment. He should respect her privacy, he knew, but he longed to see what the locket contained. Was it a lock of hair? Whose? She had never asked him for one. Short as his hair was, he would have noticed if she had cut it while he was sleeping. Was it Bishop's? He wore his hair short, too, but disheveled as the ranger's hair usually was, Casavir would never have noticed if it sported one more unruly patch where hair had been cut unevenly. And she had been uncommonly tolerant of Bishop, lately, and Casavir's duties as her personal aide often did take him far away from her, during the course of a day. And even when he had no official tasks to take him from her side, he often went far afield with Khelgar, training together or fishing, or cutting firewood. Were they... no, she had kissed him often, today. She would not have done that if she were...
Stop tearing yourself apart and open the damn locket.
His own face looked back at him. The miniature was not done with any great skill, but it was passable, and unmistakably him. He snapped the locket closed and held it tightly in his fist. Relief washed over him, followed swiftly by embarrassment. This was a secret thing, something she had not wanted him to see, but he had pried because he was jealous. He really should be ashamed of himself.
She had come out from behind the screen. She wore only her chemise, and the amber light of the Sphere of Invocation shone behind her, making her hair glow copper-gold and showing her figure through the luminous cloud of her linen chemise.
He could only stare mutely as she crossed the room and seated herself on his lap. He put his arm around her back to steady her, but she just took his other hand... the one that still held her locket... and stroked it.
"What have you got, dear one?" she breathed.
Guiltily, he opened his hand.
"Oh, so you've seen that, have you?" she laughed softly. "Grobnar made it for me. I didn't know he could draw, but I like it... I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all, my lady," he said, once he found his voice. "I am honored that you would wear my token, as I wear yours."
He reached out and tried to loop it over her head, but she had to help him when it tangled in her hair. She put her arms around his neck, then, and looked into his eyes. His hand still rested on the locket where it hung between her breasts, but he paid heed to nothing but her face, so close to his own.
He was kissing her before he even knew he moved, and she responded to him, drinking his kiss and stroking his hair. Finally, their lips parted, but he only renewed his caresses on her throat, savoring the softness of her skin against his lips. His hand fumbled at the drawstring on the top of her chemise, loosening it, and he eased the fabric over her bare shoulder. He could feel her slender bosom trembling under his touch, but the drink made him fearless. He stroked her places he never would have dared, sober, but she yielded to him, her sighs inviting him to even bolder caresses. She arched her back, allowing him to take her nipple between his lips. Her moan should have driven him wild... but something was wrong.
He should have been bursting from his clothing with the intimacy of their embrace, but he hung lifeless, flaccid as a wet rope. He drew her chemise back over her shoulder and lay his cheek against her bosom, groaning at his impotence.
"I'm sorry, Cas," she gasped. "Too much?"
"Aye," he moaned. "Too much drink. Forgive me, my lady, I'm useless."
"Cas?" she asked anxiously. "I don't understand. Are you all right?"
He sighed. Of all the things he might have expected to say to her over the course of their lives, none of them involved explaining the effect of too much firewhiskey and ale on the male anatomy. But how else would she know?
"I have indulged too freely," he said sadly. "I cannot rise."
"Oh," she sighed, but her arms tightened around him, and she lay her cheek against his hair. "I'm sorry, Cas. Would an antidote help? Or I could cast a Neutralize Poison."
"It would," he admitted, "but then I should remember why I should not be holding you so closely. And I do remember. I am sorry, my lady. It is as well my inebriation has saved your virtue."
"Oh, Cas," she moaned, "please don't think of that now. Just let me think that the only thing holding you back was the drink, just this once, all right?"
"My lady..." he began, preparing to tell her why he should have more care for her chastity, but he stopped himself. He really should just stop talking, right now. "As you wish... though perhaps you should cast that spell. I fear that drunkenness will turn to illness before much more of the evening has passed. My stomach is no better suited to drink than my head... or my... well..."
"I know, Cas," she said gently, and stood up.
He buried his face in his hands and waited for her to cast the spell.
A moment later, he felt clear-headed again. He looked up, but she was already gone. He heard rustling behind the screen, like she was drawing a gown over her head. When she emerged, she wore a stark black gown that he liked not at all. It sucked what little color she had from her cheeks and made her look wan and tired. But she must wear something, he knew, and he had seen her wear few winter gowns. She had a triangular flask in her hands, an antidote.
"I'm as bad as you, or worse," she said. "I know it's too early to turn in, so we both might as well go back down with clear heads."
She drank the antidote and shuddered at the taste.
"There," she said. "Shall we see who's left standing?"
"May I leave my presents here?" he asked. "I am grateful for their generosity, of course, but boots and chess sets and gauntlets and bits of twisted iron are bulky things to carry around... and the horn... must I refill that tonight, do you think?"
"You should carry it," she smiled. "Khelgar will miss it if you don't have it in your hand. But that doesn't mean you have to fill it."
"Very well," he agreed. "We will leave the horn empty, and I will drink from your cup, and we will wake tomorrow with clear heads."
"Er... Cas," she said softly, catching his sleeve before he reached the door, "do you remember what you were doing before I cast the spell on you?"
"Yes," he sighed. "I am ashamed of the liberties I took with your person... and other things."
"Don't be, dear one," she said, embracing him and laying her cheek against his chest. "I only wanted to tell you that I liked it. I didn't want you to stop. I understand why you had to, and I understand why you can't do it now, but that doesn't mean that I didn't love every moment of it. I loved being close to you like that."
Even as he raised his arms to return her embrace, something stirred in his memory, some dim, shadowy recollection of another night when he had drunk far more than was wise... he really must stop doing that. She had said something, something that had thrilled him, filled him with wonder and joy, and a thousand brilliant emotions... right before he forgot what it was.
"My lady," he whispered, "that night after the Trial by Combat, the last we spent in the same bed, you said something to me, something that moved me to great emotion. What did you say?"
"Do you expect me to remember, if you do not?" she replied very quickly. "You were at a low ebb, dear one, and drunk and weary, besides. I could have said anything to you, and it would have moved you."
"Perhaps you are right," he sighed. "But I wish you would tell me, nonetheless."
She raised her face to look at him.
"When you are ready, I will," she answered cryptically.
"How will you know when I am ready?" he asked.
She ran an adventurous fingertip down his abdomen and halted it just past his navel. He flinched and grabbed at her hand, but he did not retreat... not this time.
"I will know," she replied. "Believe me, I'll know. And you are getting closer."
"Very well," he chuckled, "keep your secrets. But blame me not if I grow impatient."
"I can only hope," she smiled. "Come on, Cas, your admirers await."
She took his arm, and he led her back down to the common room. To his infinite relief, Bishop was gone. To his bafflement, so was Shandra. Khelgar, Neeshka, and, to his surprise, Zhjaeve were sitting in their place.
"Well, now, here's the man hisself," Khelgar slurred amiably. "Was just tellin' Zhjaeve here 'bout how you'd ducked off with Lala and we shouldn't be expectin' you back anytime soon. Guess I was wrong."
"Is that the same dress?" Neeshka giggled.
"An ale-related accident," The Lady replied, laughing. "I forgot to keep the point down."
"Amateurs," Khelgar rumbled. "Wastin' all that ale. Ah, well. There's more. Have you got some, or do you need a refill."
"I thank you, Khelgar," Casavir replied, "but I should rather drink from the Captain's cup for a while."
With what felt like reckless abandon, he seated himself on an empty stool and pulled her down to sit on his lap. He was rewarded for his brazen behavior with a face full of hair, but he swept it aside and kissed her lightly on the neck before reaching for an empty cup. Her shiver at the caress was almost enough to make him pick her up and carry her back upstairs, but he steadied his nerves and held out the cup to Neeshka.
Neeshka filled it for him, but he could see her smile.
What was he thinking? He was sober now. He should not be wondering whether he might be able to persuade The Lady to allow him to resume where he left off. But like it or not, that was the mood that had taken hold of him tonight. If he were bolder than usual, well, it was his adopted birthday. As long as he drank moderately, he would always be able to stop himself before he went too far.
"Have you been enjoying the party, Zhjaeve?" The Lady asked the Githzerai politely.
"I am unfamiliar with the customs of your land," Zhjaeve answered in her pleasant, husky voice, "but the Midwinter festival is a enjoyable. I understand that it is customary for people to gather and feast at the prospect of warmer months ahead."
"It's as good a reason as any to drink," Khelgar agreed with a belch. "So, Zhjaeve, you want another ale?"
"Thank you, but no," she replied. "I preferred the wine I tried earlier."
"I'll have one, too," Qara announced, pulling a chair up beside Khelgar. She turned and looked at Casavir, then stared, when she saw The Lady seated on his lap. "How much has he had?"
"Ah, cut him some slack," Neeshka said. "It's his birthday. Not that I expect you to remember."
"Is it?" Qara sniffed. "I thought you stopped counting, after you got past decrepit."
"Someday, Qara, you, too, shall be as old as I," Casavir replied, ignoring the insult.
"If nobody kills her first," Neeshka quipped under her breath.
Casavir just smiled beatifically and drew The Lady closer against his body. His legs were falling asleep, but it felt good, holding her like this.
"Somebody should get Qara and Zhjaeve their drinks," she said, rising despite his half-formed protests. "I'll go."
He grumbled a little at the chilly air that was now able to reach his legs, but she returned quickly, with a bottle and two cups. She set one down in front of each woman and poured the wine. She reached for a chair, but Casavir took her hand again, and guided her down to sit on his lap again.
"What has gotten into you, Cas?" she whispered. "I know you're sober."
"Yes," he agreed happily, wrapping his free arm around her and placing the cup in her hands.
"That really is disgusting," Qara said disapprovingly. "You should be ashamed of yourself, carrying on in front of everybody."
"Yet, strangely, I am not," Casavir replied contentedly.
Khelgar let out a bark of laughter and clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're just jealous," Neeshka snorted. "And who was that I saw you talking to before? It didn't look like you were being too careful about where you put your hands."
"Some trader," Qara sniffed, as if the very idea was now repulsive, "far too crude for me. But he might do for you, if he didn't mind slumming, that is."
"You watch your tongue, Qara," Khelgar rumbled.
"Or what?" Qara retorted.
Casavir lost the thread of their argument. As he so often did when Neeshka, Khelgar, and Qara bickered, he allowed his mind to wander. It found pleasant avenues, this time, sunlit lanes through well-tended gardens and neat little cottages with brightly-painted doors. He sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his cheek against The Lady's hair.
"Come on, Cas," he heard her say. "Let's get you up to bed."
"All right," he agreed, though he was too content to move.
She got up. He tried to tighten his arms around her, to make her stay where she was, but she was already standing, and reaching down to him. He took her hand.
She led him to the stair, then to his door. There, she embraced him.
"Did you enjoy your birthday?" she asked him.
"I could not have enjoyed it more," he said sleepily, but with utter conviction.
"Do you want me to help you to bed?" she offered.
"Yes," he sighed, "very much, but I must refuse. I would only ask you to stay."
"I would, you know," she said gently.
"And that is why I must decline," he sighed. "I would seek contentment in your arms, and you would give it, and I would be tempted... and we would argue. Let me go to sleep thinking only of how much I will treasure the memories of today."
"Then I will, too," she smiled at him. "Sleep well, dearest, and I'll see you when you wake."
She kissed him, then, and tenderly, but it was sweet and chaste, and filled his heart with peace.
"Sleep well, Kayla," he whispered.
For a moment, her eyes brightened, and she looked like she might speak, but she kissed his hand, kissed his chest over the top of his tunic, and closed the door behind her.
Casavir smiled at the closed door, then put on his new nightshirt and crawled under his blankets. For a while, he looked at the shadows moving across the ceiling, and listened to the sounds of the Phoenix Trail growing quiet around him, and thought about every smile he had felt, and every smile he had seen on the faces of others, but eventually, he drifted off to sleep.
Once more, he dreamed of gardens and cottages, but this time, it was sunset, and he was walking away from them, toward the lighted doorway of the Keep, and a smiling woman waving greetings to him and holding out her arms in welcome. He was coming home.