And then he sent in Alison’s reassurance. The relief of her presence. The comfort of her touch.
The magic released for him. It was his magic, not Alison’s, and though he felt her love and support through their bond, he felt that the power was his alone to control.
Slowly, carefully, he threaded an invisible needle in his mind. Even more slowly, he stitched the tear in Julian’s ankle together. The magic had made it visible to him somehow, not as an image but as a feeling. He could feel when it was made whole.
“Gods, it doesn’t hurt at all,” said Julian. “Look, the swelling is gone. Unbelievable.”
“Amazing,” said Alison, kissing Keir on the cheek. “You’re a healer.”
“You’re going to be the most popular doctor in Wilderise,” said Charlotte. “Thanks for the help.”
“Be careful on it for a few days,” called Keir, but Julian was already practically running to his shop, with Charlotte close behind him. “I don’t know if it will last.”
“I don’t think they care,” said Alison.
“What was that about?” said Idris, coming out of the inn. “You were supposed to be getting ready for the party. The carriage is heading to Fossholm any minute now.”
“I’m so proud of you,” said Alison. “I’ll see you tonight when you get back?”
“IfI get back,” said Keir.
Idris had an entire route planned out for Keir’s stag night. They started at a distillery just outside of Fossholm. The elf who owned it was thrilled to share his pride and joy with the prince, a 250-year single malt whiskey.
“None of the fire, all of the warmth,” said the elf.
“We need a bit of fire too,” said Idris, although he didn’t decline the ancient drink. “In fact, I prefer it.”
“Of course, your highness. How about a trip through time? We can start with our youngest, the twelve-year. She’s a feisty lass.”
Keir worried about drinking so much the night before his wedding, but he knew if he mentioned it to Idris, the prince would make sure he drank even more. He took only a sip from each glass, tipping out the remainder into a potted plant when no one was looking.
Even from just a sip, Keir found he had a taste for the oldest, most expensive whiskies that they tried. But he was in luck: in honor of the patronage of Prince Idris and his upcoming nuptials, he was gifted a 100-year bottle that cost a ludicrous 500 gold ordinarily.
The next stop was the inn in Fossholm, the one they’d frequented in the summer when they were scheming to stop the construction of the dam. There, they shared several pitchers of beer and a dinner of roasted meats and hearty vegetables, all of it dripping with butter. It was by no means a healthy meal, but Keir was grateful to have something in his belly to soak up all the booze.
Then they went to a new establishment up the High Street: a public house that had recently opened in hopes of capitalizing on the king’s investment in Wilderise. Its specialty was gins; Keir found them more dangerous than the whiskies as they were fareasier to drink. At least the addition of tonic water made them marginally healthier, although they were unlikely to encounter malaria this far north.
By the time they boarded the carriages back to Wilderise to visit the inn there as the last stop, Keir was well and truly off his gourd despite his best efforts to moderate his drinking. He wasn’t alone: Leo was singing Gallic songs entirely by himself that Yordin was dancing to; Duncan and Nigel were kissing, heavily; and Brytak and Idris were throwing coins out of the carriage for the “fairies,” which were nowhere to be seen. Only Weyland seemed to have retained any sense, possibly due to his size advantage on the rest of them, but even he belched loudly a few times.
When they arrived at the inn in Herot’s Hollow, Julian was just arriving.
“Wedding cakes down?” said Keir. He was impressed by how sober he sounded. Maybe he wasn’t as bad off as he’d thought.
“Down?” asked Julian. “Oh, you meant ‘done.’ Yes, for the most part. The last bits of decorating will be done in the morning.”
“Join us!” yelled Idris. He put his arm around Julian’s neck. “This one is getting hitched,” he said, grabbing Keir by the neck with his other arm.
Julian laughed. “I know. I’ve spent the last several hours making his cake with his sister.”
“Oh, right,” said Idris. “Well, you’ve earned a drink. Cheers!”
Keir had no idea what Idris thought he was toasting with: his hand was empty.
“Come on,” said Keir. “Let’s get inside before they throw us out of town.”
“Who’s gonna do that?” slurred Idris. “I’m—hic—the prince.”
“Maybe him,” said Leo, pointing to a squat dwarf running their way in a constable’s uniform.
