Chapter 23: Whiskey and Cigars

17th of Month of Nets, 1823

10:29 PM

I'm used to Euhorn's constantly disapproving glare, but it's not often I can feel him trying to burn a hole through my head with it.

Jessamine tries to get ahead of me, but stumbles again. I catch her and bring her back to my supporting shoulder. Her poor balance is easily explained by the slight scent of whiskey on her breath.

Hayes focuses on the job as always. He opens the door to her room, searches all of the hiding places, and nods as he returns. "Clear."

"You're to leave the moment Amata arrives," Euhorn orders. The same thinly-veiled contempt in his stare comes across in his words. "Not a moment later. Do you understand?"

I nod. "I didn't plan to, sir."

He glares at me for several more seconds, giving his eyes one last chance to kill me. The smell of wine on him is significantly stronger than Jessamine's whiskey. It's no wonder his disgust of me is more obvious than usual. "I will see you both in the morning: remember the Morley ambassadors will be with us early."

"I'll remind Amata."

Finally, he turns to his Lord Protector and the guard protege of the month, Sergeant Firth. "Let's go to bed, gentlemen."

The escorts nod and lead the Emperor to his room. Jessamine enters her chambers as I watch the others, grumbling under her breath and swaying slightly on her feet. She's far from drunk, but whiskey always goes after her balance first.

I don't follow her into the bedroom until I'm sure they're not coming back. Jessamine sighs as she continues undoing the excessive accessories. First is the golden circlet that relieves the pressure on her forehead, then the heels to save her feet, and finally the corset sewn into her dress that's pinching her ribs. It all falls off in a practiced motion almost as natural as breathing. I find myself smiling as relief flows across her face.

She lets her dress fall to the floor, revealing the dark bra and shorts she wore underneath. I look away out of practiced respect. Instead of the sound of the wardrobe coming open, I only hear fabric being thrown to the corner of the room.

"Remind me to tell Father the next dinner should include a better whiskey." She chuckles as she approaches the tea table. Instead of the kettle, a decanter of amber spirits and drinking glasses are waiting. "Was this your doing, or Amata's?"

I fill my own glass with ice and whiskey. "My idea, but her execution. You always need a drink after these things."

"Why would I be desperate for a night cap after a night of with Gristol's elite?" she asks coyly.

"There's a reason most of them need booze to tolerate each other." I sip and feel the warmth travel down into my chest. It will take a few more to remove my slight headache.

She makes her own glass and empties half of it in a single sip, still smiling as she does. "True. You certainly helped improve it though, didn't you?"

"Not that your father approved of my methods."

"He will get over them long before I quit smiling at them," she giggles. "Did you see the look on Morgan's face when you grabbed his brother?"

I chuckle. "It was almost as good as Custis'. I wonder if groundskeepers got his blood off of the front steps."

Jessamine and I both sip our drinks in between small fits of laughter. A dinner to find support for the Emperor's infrastructure initiative was destined to be boring. And bored nobles pass the time by being particularly obnoxious to everyone around them. The Pendletons have been a shining example of this ages. Grabbing Custis by his throat and tossing him down the stairs livened the night up and brought those thought to be untouchable down a few notches.

"Amata will not be delayed long," I say, topping off both of our drinks. "There's still an early morning waiting for all of us tomorrow."

Jessamine smiles gratefully and sips again. "Did you bribe her properly for her efforts?"

"I will fold the Tower's laundry twice next week. Once for the drinks, and once to wait a few minutes relieving me."

"Then we should get the most out of your valiant sacrifice." She sets her drink down to dig out a pair of cigars, a trimmer, and a lighter from the chest at the foot of her bed. "These should do the trick."

Cutting and lighting the tobacco only takes a moment. We throw the ends into the burning fireplace, neither of us missing the irony. There's a foreign sweetness in its smoke as it rolls down my throat. Foreign, but familiar. "Serkonan?"

She nods with her own slow inhale. "The Duke's escorts had a surplus when he visited last month. I had planned on saving them for your birthday next week. You may call me impatient for not waiting that long."

"Tonight is just as good as my birthday, Jessamine. It means you'll have to get me another gift," I chuckle before displaying the Kaldwin crest on my right hand. "Maybe something to match the ring."

"I will happily take that challenge." She smiles again, the smoke drifting out of her nose in a thin cloud. It slowly swirls around her in a foggy halo. The fire's light gives only half of it an orange tinge that makes her seem like she belongs in a painting more than in reality.

I catch myself staring and turn away again as casually as I can.

"Corvo, would you do me a favor? Please?" Her voice carries an effortless smile I don't have to see to recognize.

"I can't if you don't tell me what it is," I chuckle through a sip.

"Don't look away."

My eyes cross the bedchambers and come back to rest on her. On Jessamine, wearing only the last remnants of her makeup and undergarments. She's still holding the drink and cigar in the same hand. A thin wisp of smoke is drifting up from the burning tobacco. The pleading look on her face doesn't match her calm tone.

Unease and serenity both wash over me. I keep enough control to hold my smirk. "I believe I can do that."

There's an immediate change in her features, maybe relief? She smiles and sips the whiskey without looking away from me. "Please, explain something if you could. Why did you throw Custis out the way you did?"

"He deserved it," I say calmly.

"That is true, and I believe no one would argue with you," she giggles slightly. "But if we began treating everyone who deserved it that way, the Tower would never have dinner guests."

"Maybe I was taking the first step in righting that. Custis's shattered nose is a good example."

"But that doesn't tell me why you chose to teach him on this particular night."

She takes a few steps towards me, close enough I can feel the warmth from the end of her cigar. "Why, Corvo?"

I blow smoke through my nose as I debate the words to say. It's not a question of truth or lies, but which words tell the truth properly. "He deserved it more than usual tonight. The whole clan of bastards have a habit of overstepping their boundaries. I was tired of tolerating it when he targeted you tonight. So I stopped."

A real smile forms on her face, not just the relief from before. "Now, was that as hard as you made it?"

My normal sarcasm is in control again. "Do we need to talk about my choice to continue breathing as well?"

"I believe we can let that mystery rest for the evening," she chuckles softly. "But I do like to know what my Lord Protector is thinking from time to time."

I decide to switch roles with her. "And why would that be, Lady Jessamine? I doubt I'm that interesting."

"But you are. Not because you are different, but because you are my friend. I would even go so far as calling you my best."

"Surely there's someone who's company you enjoy more than mine. A future Empress shouldn't put her Serkonan bodyguard at the top of her queue of friends."

She laughs gently. It's an honest laugh, but quiet. "When have I cared for what 'should' be done for appearances? You of all people should know I only show them what they want when it is absolutely necessary."

"You're not wrong," I chuckle through a final sip of whiskey. My headache is mostly gone, and I'll sleep better when I get to bed. That's enough for this evening. "There are evenings I wonder if Euhorn's gray hairs aren't caused by your stubborness."

"There are worse things than having a daughter who prefers to wear her heart on her sleeve. He could have a friend who breaks the nose of anyone who insults him."

Her statement from earlier lingers in my mind more than it should. Enough that I decide to push the subject. "Am I really your best friend, Jessamine?"

"Of course," she says earnestly, setting her drink down on the table beside me. "How could you not be? And I forbid you from saying it's because of your position. Or mine, for that matter."

"Besides that? I assumed there was at least one other person who's company you preferred over mine. Maybe someone without an obligation to be with you," I explain slowly. The words sound more foolish out loud than in my mind, but I stand beside them.

She shakes her head. "I honestly don't know what I would do if I could not see Wendy or Declan at least monthly, or if Judy ceased writing me. But that is nothing compared to how I would feel if we were no longer friends." She started her explanation with a gentle smile, but it slowly transformed into a worried frown.

I take advantage of our height difference and lay an arm across her shoulder. "You should know better than to assume that will ever happen." Then, with a joking grin, I add, "As long as you maintain the other friendships. I can't talk boys with you half as well as Wendy does."

She laughs again, and I know my distraction worked. "And neither of you can compete with Declan. He's a wonderful judge of character. Did I tell you that you are one of his favorites?"

"I'll take that as a compliment. And since I did not hear you say anything about it this evening, I must ask: did you enjoy our musical entertainment?"

"You mean Faith Marie's beautiful performance?" she asks through a wide smile. "How could I not? She could sing a nursery rhyme and I would listen. It is only because of her music and your jokes I enjoyed our evening at all."

I nod to her. "Good. Boredom shouldn't overshadow someone's favorite performer."

"It comes in waves, and I close my eyes. I hold my breath and let it bury me." As she sings a very off-key rendition of her favorite song, she slips out of my grip and spins in the middle of the bedroom. Her slightly woblling dance still holds a grace that's impossible to look away from.

I whisper the next line with her. "I'm not okay, and it's not alright. Will you drag the lake and bring me home again?"

She comes to a stop and wavers slightly without falling. "Why is such a sad song so beautiful?"

"Maybe it's human nature to be drawn to sadness," I suggest, not sure where that insight is coming from.

"Or perhaps we enjoy how it reminds us of the good in our lives," she muses philosophically. "We know at the end of it, we will be able to smile again. Like how the sunrise is always the most beautiful after a night of storms. We want the happiness so badly, we're willing to put ourselves through the sadness to find it again."

I laugh. "You missed your calling as a scholar. You're clearly more fitted for a life at the Academy than politics."

"You're too kind," she giggles. She gives a dancer's bow and takes another drag from her cigar. "Though I do not share your belief. I'm not nearly brilliant enough for that life. Not without Madame Norton's wonderful tutoring."

"She's only helping what's already there. You retain most of her lessons, don't you?" I ask plainly.

She nods. "Yes, but-"

"Then the burden of learning is on you. She presents the information, but it still requires someone as smart as you to remember it." Trying to make my statement seem final, I take a deep breath through my cigar and let the distantly familiar scent remind me of bloodfly nests and warm evenings on the docks.

After a moment, she shakes her head with a smile. "You have some nerve calling me stubborn, do you understand that?"

"Only when the moment calls for it. Such as my best friend refusing to accept a compliment." The corners of my mouth pull back into a small grin to make sure she knows there are no hard feelings.

Smoke dances around her as she approaches again. Her fireplace is due for a fresh log, and only half of her cigar remains. The dwindling orange in her aura should take away from her beauty, but it somehow does the opposite. And, remembering her earlier words, I fight my instinct to look away.

"Am I allowed to admit something, Corvo?" she asks softly.

"Anything," I say through a thundering in my chest making me nervous for reasons I don't fully understand.

"What I said before about sad songs, particularly that one… It does not apply to me. Not completely, I mean." She has the same pleading look on her face, though that word still does not fit properly anymore.

"Then why do you find it beautiful, Jessamine?"

A snort of a nervous laugh escapes her nose. "Because it makes me think of you," she whispers.

My mind scrambles through the lyrics of the song once, then twice. Nothing seems to fit. And then I almost panic when I realize I'm not sure how long I've been silently staring at her. "You will have to explain that to me. Please."

"You are my happiness at the end of the sadness. I know that no matter what storm I weather, you will always be my light waiting for me. You will never let me drown."

She's almost on top of me now, close enough I have to tilt my head down to look her in her blue eyes. "That is my job, isn't it?" I say in a quiet panic. "To always be there for you, to keep you safe above all else."

"Is it also your job to keep me smiling with jokes and secrets about party guests?" she presses. "Are you paid to share whiskey and cigars with me during the nights I can't sleep? Did my father order you to treat me as an equal, and to become someone I dare not think of ever losing?"

"No, but that is what a friend should do. And that is what I am to you… Aren't I?" I ask, doubting myself. I can't think of any reason why I'm suddenly unsure of her answer, just like I can't understand why her closeness is making me anxious and relaxed all at once.

"You are. You are my best friend, Corvo," she whispers.

"Just as you are mine, Jessamine." Somewhere in those shared words, I began leaning toward her. When or why, I don't care.

She smiles and brings herself even closer. One of her hands takes my cigar, then drops both of them into the glass of melting ice. A part of me realizes I can feel her heart beating against my chest, and that its rhythm matches mine. Both the relief and uneasiness amplify in my mind, almost making me dizzy in their war for control.

"Have you ever thought those words do not perfectly fit how you feel about me?" she asks gently.

I try to answer, but cannot find the words. Every time my mind latches onto something tangible, it gets lost in her eyes. Lost in the oceans of gorgeous blue ice I've seen a thousand times but am always amazed by. The pleading emotion I saw in them before is still there, still strong, and 'pleading' is still not quite the perfect word to describe what I see.

"They don't, not to me," she says. "'Best friend' does not fully convey what I want to say."

I still can't find the answer I'm looking for in my mind. But in her eyes, I see what she's searching for. The response she wants from me. And the response I want to give her, damn every shred of logic telling me not to.

Her lips reach mine faster than I expected. I press harder in the kiss while some part of me realizes she must've leaned toward me when I closed my eyes. It doesn't matter: her warmth does. The sweet smoke and bitter liquor pale compared to her natural taste. She breathes into my mouth as her lips part. Her tongue is just behind her perfect teeth, ready to leap past them to explore.

I hug her tightly. She shudders, a silent vibration working through her body and reverberating through mine. Her arms slide around my chest, desperately pulling me toward her. A moan, whimper, and grunt compete to sound in my throat, and a hybrid of all three escapes into her mouth. I almost expect to feel her smile at my weakness, but it doesn't come. All I get is more pressure in the kiss. More amazing pressure.

She pulls her head back to breathe seemingly hours later. I take my own break, opening my eyes to look at her. An intoxicating, faint smile is on her lips. The urge to lick and kiss them further is barely weak enough for me to hold at bay. Instead, I focus on looking into her eyes again. There's no more pleading or desperation in there. Replacing it is surprise, relief… and happiness.

"I believe that sums it up properly," she laughs breathlessly.

My brain continues to argue that my lips should be doing something other than exploring Jessamine further. Eventually it triumphs and I stammer out, "Even if it didn't involve the words you were looking for?"

She shrugs with a thin smile. "Showing always works better than telling, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does."

The lock in the door turns. If I had been holding Jessamine against the wall like a part of me wanted, I would've dropped her in my panic. When Amata enters the room, there is still less than a meter between us, but it's more than there was a moment ago.

"Your allotted time for privacy is over, Lord Attano," she says cheerfully. "I trust it was worth the chores you will be performing for me next week?"

"It was," I say quickly with a nod. "Thank you for trading, Amata."

She examines me for a moment before turning to Jessamine. "And I trust he was a perfect gentleman while you were unsupervised?"

"Of course, as always," she says with only the slightest blush in her cheeks.

If Amata knows what she almost interrupted, she's hiding it very well. "Perfect. Now, we have an early morning ahead of us. Let's not meet it without a proper night's sleep, shall we?"

"Agreed. Good night, m'lady," I say to Jessamine in my customary goodbye. The urge to make a joke is weaker than the concern of Amata catching on.

Jessamine shows less worry. She gives me a small wink as she says, "Sleep well, Corvo. I am quite sure I will."

I excuse myself and push past Amata. It takes most of my self restraint to only walk to the end of the hallway. After a quick check that none of the other guards can see me, I stop and breathe to get control of my trembling. The rush of nerves that came with the near-miss fade away slowly, leaving only that infuriating combination of unease and serenity again.

My mind is still trying to make sense of what happened. A part of me is beyond relieved, happy to have had that wonderful moment with Jessamine. Another wants to go back in there and pin her to the wall. The rest is screaming at me for ignoring all logic and reason to kiss her in the first place.

Is that where the persistent unease around her has been coming from for the last month or three? Have I been unconsciously wanting to hold her against my lips? Is that why I felt relieved when I finally did? Did she feel the same, some quiet urge that drove her to kiss me tonight? Or was one of us just reacting to the other? Did I hold her only because I wanted to give her what she wanted? Did she take me in her arms only because she thought I wanted her to?

I shake my head and stop by the kitchen's liquor supply on the way to bed. The answer has to be simpler than my mind is making it. But I know I won't figure it out now, not while I'm still shaking. My best choice is to get enough whiskey in me to sleep, and then tackle this problem in the morning. Maybe a hangover will provide an easy answer.

Getting the draft of this one: piece of cake, just came together like it was nothing. Editing it to make it readable... Well, Tylenol and caffeine are a wonderful combination. But I'm happy with how this one came out in the end, and I hope the same applies to you guys!

And yes, the song referenced is the same as before, the same cover. Of course that had to become a recurring thing. ~MGA