Free Gatewright by J. M. Blaisus

moment, the height of
the Citadel registered with me.  I could see all of Emor, from the stone
mansions near the Citadel to the distant, smaller adobe homes at the
fringes.  The roads and buildings adapted with surprising care to the
hills and valleys of Anowir, waterways allowed to follow their natural course,
streets twisting around the sharpest inclines.  Scattered trees added
splashes of red wherever they still hung on to their leaves.
    While
I’d anticipated the architecture, and to an extent, the lay of the land, the
sheer number of fey that lived here raised the hair on my arms.  The fey
downplayed their numbers.  Speaking of three clans made it sound as if
they were thriving families, not established ruling houses.
    I
heard movement behind me, and turned to look.  Erikah padded to me on
stocking feet, in penguin pajamas, hair sticking out in odd directions. 
“Isn’t this amazing?” she whispered and joined me at the window.  “I feel
like I’m going to wake up at any second from this dream.”
    I
nodded mutely.  We stood for a long time in companionable, awed silence
before it finally grew light enough for us to function.  Erikah
disappeared back into her room to get dressed, and I settled myself on the
couch with Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.
    Isabel
joined us an hour later, dark circles under her eyes. “I need hot water for coffee,
where do I find it,” she muttered.  Ah, happy, chipper Isabel was caffeinated Isabel.
    We
cast longing glances at the walls, full of bubbling hot water with nary a
spout.  So close, but so far.  Then it occurred to me.  “Riven
is a fire mage.”  The red hair was a dead giveaway.  “He might be
able to do it.”
    Hope
lit up Isabel’s eyes.  “Please.”  As if she was dying of thirst in
the desert.  I bit back a remark along the lines of If you want it, why
don’t you ask him? I hadn’t endeared myself to Riven by maneuvering him
into a vow.  The fact I’d tripped him when he’d walked through the gate
was just the icing on the cake.
    I
dutifully dug out my French press and filled it with ground coffee and
water.  No one else looked brave enough to ask.  “Riven!”  I
called.  Hazel and Riven ought to be awake, and if they weren’t, well, it
was about time.
    Riven
appeared mere seconds later, with Hazel on his heels.  “Is something
amiss?” he asked, cautiously alert.  I probably should have told him we
weren’t in any danger.  But coffee was indeed a critical need.
    “Can
you heat some water for us?”  I tried to smile encouragingly.
    He
gave me a flat look that screamed seriously? The other humans, including
Kim, begged him with puppy-dog eyes.  I hopefully offered him the press. 
    He
visibly relented.  “How hot do you want it?”
    “Boiling,
if you can.”  I had no idea what a fire mage could do with water.
    “If
I can?” he scoffed as he sat on the floor in front of the (aptly-named) coffee
table.  Riven refocused on the press as he set it carefully down.  He
took a breath, his hands glowing orange, and the water erupted.  With a
slight hiss, he yanked his hands back from the glass.  I took note: fire
mages not immune to heat.
    So
far, I’d only heard what magic was capable of, and this subtle but undeniable
demonstration had me grinning like an idiot.Riven’s careful approach to
heating the water, followed by its violent reaction, made me realize that it
wasn’t boiling the water that was the challenge, it was not setting all of us
on fire with it too. Once we filled Isabel’s thermos, we begged Riven to heat
the press two more times.  Our combined effort (and my French press) had
gotten us hot coffee.  We were a team.
    “Want
to try some?”  I offered Riven my thermos.
    He
grasped it hesitantly, then blinked in surprise.  “This object is
remarkable.  I can barely sense the heat from the outside.  Is this a
common human device?”
    Riven’s
legitimate interest heralded a solid fifteen-minute