“I didn’t help make it,” Briony points out.
“I know, dear,” she says, resting a hand on my mate’s shoulder, “but you’re our guest.”
She shoos Briony away from the sink and announces, “But no cleaning up yet. Pudding first. Mervin, surely these kids are gasping for a drink.” I think she means water, but Mr. Tudor leaves the table and returns a moment later with two stone bottles that he places on the center of the table, turning back to a cupboard and fishing out several clouded glasses. He slides one to each of us and then encourages us to help ourselves.
Dray reaches for the bottle and pours it into his glass. It’s not clear liquid. It’s an amber color that smells like cheap wine.
“Should we be drinking considering our circumstances?” Thorne asks.
“Considering our circumstances,” Dray says, “I think we should definitely be drinking. In fact, I think we should get fucking wasted.”
He tips the alcohol straight down his throat, coughing and spluttering afterward.
“Fuck, that’s strong.”
Mr. Tudor laughs and pours himself a large measure. “Maybe for you folk from Onyx and the like, but here in Slate this stuff’s pretty weak.”
Mrs. Tudor returns to the table. The dessert is something simple, made with fruit, flour, and eggs, no sugar, which I think is an expensive commodity out here in Slate. She slices everyone a piece and passes around plates.
Dray hands me the bottle of alcohol and I pour myself a large measure, and then Briony, a much smaller one. She raises aneyebrow at me, but I ignore her and pass the bottle along to Fly next. He also fills his glass, although Clare shakes her head when he offers her some.
“I tend to do really stupid things when I’m drunk,” Clare tells everyone.
“Like dancing with Dray,” I chuckle.
“That wasn’t stupid,” Dray says. “We were fucking amazing.”
“You were,” Briony agrees.
“I think I really embarrassed myself that night,” Clare says, rubbing her head.
“No, you didn’t,” Briony argues. “Did she, Fly?”
“I honestly don’t remember. I was otherwise engaged,” Fly says with a smug little smile.
“If the girl doesn’t want to drink, don’t bully her,” Mrs. Tudor says.
“Well, maybe just a little,” Clare says. “Might help calm my nerves.”
“You’re nervous, dear?” Mrs. Tudor says.
“The elite guards could come looking for us at any moment,” she says. “And this might be the first place they search.”
“It’s all right,” Mr. Tudor tells her. “We’ve got lookouts. If anyone arrives in Slate unexpectedly, we’ll know about it before they’ve taken their first step.”
“Lookouts?”
“Yes, people look after their own out here in Slate. We’re that kind of community. We don’t shop our kind in. Not without very good reason.” He lifts his cup. “It’s okay. We’re going to take good care of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Briony
After dinner we find ourselves back in the front room with more bottles of Mr. Tudor’s home-brewed alcohol, Barney bagging a spot in front of the fire and Mrs. Tudor attempting to encourage us all to drink water and stay hydrated.
“I’m all for you having a good time,” she says, “but I think Thorne is right.” She smiles at my quiet, stoic mate, who’s attempting to maintain his quiet and stoic persona despite the fact I’m balancing on his knee and probably embarrassing the heck out of him. “Have fun. But keep a clear head too. You never know what might happen.”
Both Fox’s parents have a lot more questions about the academy, Onyx Quarter, the palace, about my sister, the trials, and my magic. They also want to know about the demon wastelands, Madame Bardin, and what we discovered in that secret room in the library. Mrs. Tudor keeps shaking her head in disbelief and muttering under her breath, “My oh my, who would believe it?”
