Lucien starts out pounding the rhythm on the floor.Pound, pound, clap, pound, pound, clap, pound, pound, clap.We all pick up the familiar rhythm with ease, although Sevrin’s brows are drawn together, as if he’s not as familiar with the song as the rest of us. Slowly, Lucien increases the rhythm until at last Sevrin messes up. Everyone laughs as he takes a drink, and then we continue. It’s Gareth’s turn to make a rhythm, andhe goes for something more complicated.Pound, Clap, Pound, Pound, Clap, Pound, Clap, Pound Pound, Clap.Lucien misses it first, and we all point. This continues until we’re doing really complicated rhythms, each of us at least three shots in.
Finally, Lucien grins. “Next game!” The sparkle in his eyes makes me a little wary, but the liquor in my belly calms most of my suspicions. “Pass the Gallows!”
I groan, Alaric smiles, Gareth winces, and Sevrin looks confused again.
Leaning toward Sevrin, I explain, “Each of us must tell a story. One detail of the story will be false. If the person who guesses what’s false is wrong, they have to drink. If they get it right, the story teller has to drink.”
Sevrin nods. “I understand.”
“Harper should go first,” Lucien says, lifting a brow.
Fine. Whatever. I can play his game.“There was a farmer’s son who had a thing for me, apparently. Every day at school he’d pull my hair and call me names. I’d yell at him every time, but the teacher would just get me into trouble for yelling. One day, he cut a chunk out of my hair while we were on the playground, so I beat the crap out of him. I pinned him down and pushed his face into the mud until he was crying. Afterwards, my teacher dragged me home by my hair, and my parents spanked me with a belt until my ass bled.”
All of them stare.
“I bet the teacher didn’t get you in trouble for yelling,” Alaric says very matter-of-factly. “Most instructors would figure out who the problem child was and discipline that child.”
“No, I think she fought him, but he beat her up,” Lucien counters, studying my face.
“I don’t think your teacher dragged you home by your hair,” Gareth says, but he doesn’t look very sure of himself.
Sevrin takes the longest to answer before he says, “Your parents never spanked you with a belt. From your stories, they were very kind to you.”
I make sure to leave a very dramatic pause before saying, “Sevrin is right. My mom actually ran after my teacher with a belt, chasing her all the way back to the school house, then made her apologize in front of the class for what she did before cutting a chunk out ofherhair. If it’s not clear, my mom isn’t to be messed with.”
Everyone laughs, and the princes take a drink. It’s nice. I thought they might get mad because Sevrin already knew me best, but spirits stayed high.
“Gareth?” I ask, passing on the story telling responsibility to him.
He thinks for a long moment. “My father worked hard to turn us into powerful warriors. Once, he made us stand in an icy river, and told us we had to remain there. Every time it got to be too much, we’d head for the banks, where soldiers were lined up with whips to whip us back into the water. Another time, he locked us separately into dark boxes for three days when I was around five years old. After we successfully completed any of his challenges, we would have a big dinner together as a family and celebrate our achievements.”
Lucien looks away. “I know which ones are true and which ones aren’t.”
“Me too,” Alaric says, but he won’t make eye contact with anyone else.
Sevrin seems to feel the gravity of the situation and tries to pull them out of their old memories. “Please let it be the icy river and the whips.”
“I’m hoping it’s the dark box,” I say.
Gareth lifts a glass and grins darkly. “You’re both wrong. It was the celebration after. Our father didn’t believe in celebrating anything we accomplished, because it was never good enough.”
I stare at Gareth. “You know that’s sick and wrong, right?”
His brows draw together in confusion. “He was making us into warriors.”
Sevrin looks disturbed. “He could do that without torturing you. Most of our men are warriors, and no one is treated like that.”
Gareth seems troubled. “But it was the only way…”
“He meant well,” Alaric continues, with a small laugh.
Lucien leans away. “It doesn’t matter, it’s done now. Have your drinks, and we’ll go onto the next story.”
Sevrin and I take our drinks, but there isn’t merriment in it. Gareth's story gave a peek into their lives, and it wasn’t a pretty peek. The things that were done to these boys in the name of making them warriors is disgusting.
“When we have sons,” Sevrin begins quietly. “I will not allow that kind of treatment toward them.”
“They’ll be Dravari princes,” Gareth says defensively.
