Pepha seemed to sag with relief, taking the bottle at the center of the table and refilling everyone’s cups. Instead of falling back into his silent watch, Mezhimar got up and came to sit at Iryana’s other side. She watched him suspiciously.
“Do the guardians worship any of the gods?” he asked, watching her earnestly.
Iryana swallowed uncomfortably. “You can’t worship something that’s been dead for over half a millennium.”
Mezhimar waved his hand as if brushing her protest aside. “You know what I mean.”
It was obvious from the way he watched her that Mezhimar wouldn’t leave until he got his answer.
She sighed. “The guardians teach lessons from stories of all the gods.”
“What are they?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t.” He shrugged. “Humor me.”
Iryana hesitated. The lessons and ways of guardians were closely kept secrets, but she didn’t think it would hurt to share one of their earliest lessons as children.
“As children, we are taught the following: to fight without end or mercy for those you are sworn to protect, as Noshtiz the metal-god did. To persist and never give in, like Thelbiz the air-god. To forever hold on to the passion of duty, without letting the pull of revenge or hate guide you, as Mhakiza the fire-god does. To think of the future, of the consequences of our actions, and do what is necessary, like Voordiza the water-god. And to remember that we must all maintain the balance between our people, our clan, and our land, as does Limhiz the earth-god. To be a guardian is to embody the lessons of all the gods.”
“Hmm,” Mezhimar trailed off. “Most guardians were metal-forged though, right? Like the military.”
“Back when they had access to metal wells.” She tried to keep her voice casual and unaffected, but her heart was pounding nervously. “War and battle are the domain of Noshtiz after all.” And his weapons were strongest against more than just the dakii.
“So maybe soldiers and guardians have more in common than some think,” he pointed out, softly enough so the others couldn’t hear.
“Perhaps.”
She took a long drink and looked down at her hands, remembering the lessons she sat through with her sisters and cousins. Her family was noble and just, bound to oaths and values that set them apart from common people. They held themselves to a higher standard for the benefit of all. Iryana didn’t have much experience with soldiers from before the dakii came; she had only been four, after all. But the idea that these soldiers were anything like a guardian was an insult.
Mezhimar got up from the table smoothly, not bothering to say goodbye, and began weaving between the tables toward the back of the hall. Iryana watchedhim carefully, wondering what the most withdrawn member of their team was up to.
The others seemed to be paying attention to him too, although they were clearly trying to hide it, and that made her even more curious.
His hand slipped into his pocket briefly as he passed by one of the tables, something she couldn’t see quickly flicked out of his pocket. Chaos followed. One man leaped from his seat with a loud yelp, and Iryana realized it was the man who had elbowed Mezhimar earlier. The others at the table followed the bully with a series of shrieks. Iryana craned her neck to see, but they looked just as confused as she did.
Mezhimar just kept walking, ducking down at another table to talk to someone, not sparing more than a single curious look back at the panicked table.
What had he done?
Vaneshta chuckled into her glass, the cocky bully shouting at the tables behind him, not seeming to suspect Mezhimar at all. Was that some form of revenge? She hoped someone would explain, but the others returned to their discussion and Iryana wasn’t going to ask.
Iryana glanced at Vabihn and his wife to find them kissing again and sighed. They looked close to moving somewhere more private, and she couldn’t let him leave with her share.
“I need to go to sleep, Vabihn,” Iryana said, catching his eyes when he came up for air and trying to show him how serious she was.
“I don’t know, Gyena,” he tapped his chin, face twisted with mischief.
She wanted to yell at him, but something drew her eyes over his shoulder to one of the groups at a far table. There was something off about them. She couldn’t look away.
One woman was facing her direction, and even in the shadows Iryana could see the flush across her face. There was a vacant bliss in her features, jaw slack and eyes drooping. The men across the bench were equally slumped.
Her fingers dug into the edges of her seat, and Iryana had to force a shaking breath. If the Beast’s Poppy wasn’t allowed, surely nobody would use something so publicly.
She was halfway to convincing herself they were just high on something non-magical, but then she saw the rope tying each of them to the bench. A hint of black veins peeking out of the woman’s collar.
They were high on the Beast’s Poppy.
