That one hurts. It hurts because it’s so close to home. Haven’t I traded being David’s nursemaid for being Kalos’s?
But…I loved David. I took care of him because he needed me. Because if you can’t depend on family, who can you depend on? I don’t love Kalos. At this moment, I don’t even particularly like him.
I get to the bottom of the stairs, and some of the despair and sadness I’m feeling washes away from me. The music is loud here, coming through the walls of the inn, and I can hear cheery drumbeats and cymbals and what sounds like a horn of some kind. The windows of the inn have been thrown open, and outside I can see people everywhere in the streets, waving colorful ribbons and dancing about. It looks like a parade.
Why shouldn’t I join them? I can have fun for once.
I briefly think about going upstairs and retrieving Dingle. Retrieving Kalos, too. Making them both come with me.
Instead, I’m drawn to the door, to the fun they’re having outside. A vendor dances past with a tall pole, round loaves of bread spitted upon it, bobbing through the air above his head. Behind him, a woman with a tambourine twirls in a pink skirt, her hair done up with flowers. She tosses a handful of flower petals into the wind, and they drift, fluttering in the sky.
I step outside and join the revelers.
Perhaps it’s the sunlight,or the fact that there’s not a single mosquito or black fly or swamp anything in this town. Perhaps it’s the music or the flowers, or the friendliness of the people, but I’m having the absolutebesttime.
Someone hands me a mug full of beer and I drink it without a second thought. I eat everything I see, some of it handed to me by revelers sharing the wealth, and some of it purchased from wandering vendors, of which there are dozens. I dance and I sing, even though I don’t know the songs, and the streets are filled with hundreds just like me, who want to do nothing more than to celebrate and have an amazing time.
I love it, and I toss my hair and flick my wrinkled skirts, dancing carefree and wild. I feel good. Beautiful. Sexy. Happier than I’ve been in who knows how long.
A man comes up to my side and slides an arm around my waist, and I don’t hate it. “Look at this pretty thing,” he coos in my ear, his hands roaming all over me. “Having a good time, love?”
“The best time,” I agree.
He not an attractive man. He’s about my age, but he’s greasy and his teeth are terrible, his skin full of pockmarks, like he’s never taken care of himself. But he’s having fun, and he leans in like he’s going to kiss me, and I figure, what the hell? Why not?
The man pauses, looks like he’s going to say more, and turns his head to the side and pukes in the gutter near my feet.
Laughing, I skitter back, clutching my half-full mug to my chest. “Seems like someone’s been partying too much!”
He recovers, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and manages another smile at me. “As I was saying, I…”
He sneezes.
Violently.
I take another step back, and, suspicious, I look around at the crowd of revelers near me. My thoughts are muddy and full of chaos—and the need to eat more, drink more, flirt more—but I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to stay close to Kalos or else I’m going to get a nasty tug that will force me back to his side. The fact that I haven’t felt that means he’s lurking nearby.
A family ushers their children past, following a jester, and as they move down the street, I see a tall man with stark silver hair and a wrinkled tunic. Kalos is holding the goat’s lead, and he looks miserable, staring at me with a thoughtful frown. A sunbeam seems to frame his head perfectly, cascading aroundhim like he’s a glorious saint, and for a moment I’m struck by the beauty of him.
How are people not falling to Kalos’s feet in worship? Do they not realize he’s a god?
The man at my side touches my arm and sneezes violently once more.
Uh oh. That’s not a coincidence.
I duck away from the sneezing man and storm over to Kalos’s side. “I thought you were staying in.”
“I thought you weremyAnchor.”
God, this man is so transparent when he’s in a pissy mood about something. Instead of getting angry about it, though, I’m oddly amused. “Are you mad that he’s flirting with me?”
“You’re supposed to be with me.” He frowns as if I’ve disappointed him mightily. “Remember?”
Oh, I remember. I’m feeling light and free and having a good time, though, so I lean in and tap the end of his regal, regal nose. “You’re gonna flirt with me, then?”
One silver brow shoots up. “Are you drunk?”
I loop my arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close as if giving a confession. “Let me tell you a secret, babe. I have drunk maybe five or six beers, and they’ve done nothing for me. Not a single thing. I don’t think I can get drunk anymore. But nothing says I can’t have a good time.”
