"Six times," Kerra supplies helpfully. "And he couldn't eat breakfast."
"Traitor," Ursik mutters, though without any real heat. He presses a hand to his temple and grimaces. "Why does Drogath keep making these festivals involve drinking?"
"Because you're an idiot who can't pace yourself," Falla says mildly. "I literally told you yesterday to slow down."
"I was celebrating."
"You were showing off for your partner and now you're paying for it." The assessment comes completely dry, clinical observation without judgment. "Drink water. Lots of it. And stop whining."
Kai's smirk widens into an actual grin. "Remember when you said you could drink anyone under the table? That you had legendary tolerance?"
"I remember regretting many life choices, yes."
Saela appears at Kai's side, her expression soft with fondness as she watches the exchange. She looks completely fine—clear-eyed and steady, no visible effects from yesterday's drinking. When her gaze finds mine, she offers a small smile that I manage to return despite my pounding head.
She's been a good friend throughout all of this. Patient with my healing, understanding when I can't handle crowds, never pushing me past what I can manage. I feel bad for the way I've shut her out.
"At least you're suffering with dignity," she tells Ursik. "Bronn looks ready to die."
I follow her glance toward where Bronn stands with Shae. The massive orc chieftain does indeed look distinctly unwell—his green skin pale and carrying a slight sheen of sweat, his usual intimidating presence undercut by the way he's very carefully not moving too quickly.
Shae circles him with obvious amusement, her warm green eyes dancing with laughter. "My strong, fearless mate. Brought low by ceremonial brew."
"I'm fine," Bronn manages, though his voice lacks its usual commanding edge.
"You're sweating through your shirt."
"It's warm today."
"It's barely above freezing." Shae pats his arm with exaggerated gentleness. "Should I get you some water? Maybe a bucket for later?"
"I don't need—" Bronn cuts himself off and swallows hard, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Water would be acceptable."
The gathering erupts in low laughter. Even with my headache, watching the stoic clan leader reduced to hungover misery while his mate teases him mercilessly brings a smile to my face.
There's something oddly comforting about this—seeing everyone brought together by shared suffering, the easy teasing between partners, the way even the most intimidating orcs can't escape the consequences of drinking too much. It feels normal in ways I haven't experienced since before everything fell apart.
Before the Stonevein. Before captivity. Before my entire world narrowed to survival and fear.
This week has been strange. Challenging. But also... good. Being part of something communal, watching relationships play out, slowly finding moments where anxiety doesn't consume everything.
And Falla. Having him as my partner has made it possible to participate at all.
I glance at him again. He's still watching Ursik with that same dry amusement, arms crossed over his chest. The morning light catches in his black hair, highlights the strong line of his jaw, the subtle warmth in his expression when someone says something particularly ridiculous.
He's attractive. Once I thought it, I couldn't stop. Lean but muscular build, the kind of controlled strength that comes from precision rather than brute force. Sharp eyes that notice everything but judge nothing. The rare smile that transforms his usually neutral expression into something softer.
And yesterday I probably told him all of that while drunk and mortifying myself completely.
Heat crawls up my neck at the thought. I definitely said things I shouldn't have. Admitted things I normally keep carefully hidden. The fragments I remember involve trusting him, feeling safe, maybe something about how he smells?
I want the ground to open and swallow me whole.
Drogath emerges from the main longhouse with his usual dramatic flair, arms spread wide and voice booming acrossthe clearing. "Partners! Gather close for the most sacred of St. Padraig's rituals!"
The dramatic announcement makes several hungover orcs wince. Ursik actually closes his eyes like the sound physically pained him.
"Day Five," Drogath continues, either oblivious to or uncaring about his audience's collective suffering. "The Rainbow Vigil! When couples demonstrate their ability to create prosperity together through the ancient art of rainbow manifestation!"
