Free The Chosen of Anthros by Travis Simmons

asked and grinned at the purple-eyed elf.
    A smile split his face, and Abagail felt her stomach do flips. She grunted a little, wishing his presence didn’t have that kind of effect on her. At one time, Rorick had that same effect on me, she reminded herself.
    And that jerk knew he was coming! Abagail shot a glare at her sister and Leona only smiled back as if she didn’t know why Abagail was glaring at her.
    “Well, who wouldn’t want my company?” he asked Leona, shutting the door behind him.
    “Probably Rorick,” Leona responded.
    “Would you like something to drink?” Abagail asked.
    Skye frowned. “What is it?” He looked over Leona’s shoulder at the steaming pot.
    “Hot cocoa,” she said. “But we have herbal tea as well.”
    “That should be fine.”
    “Another custom you can’t ignore?” Leona asked. “Can’t drink milk like you can’t eat meat?”
    Skye laughed, and itched the back of his neck. He sat down at the table.
    “Lucky for you I saw you coming and figured you’d want tea.”
    “What do you normally drink?” Abagail wondered, ignoring her sister.
    “Normally wine.”
    “That’s all?” Abagail wondered.
    “Here you go,” Leona said, setting the hot cocoa before Abagail and a cup of hot water before the elf. She placed a tin of loose tea leaves beside it.
    Abagail inhaled the cocoa deeply. It reminded her of home when her father would make cocoa for them on snowy afternoons and they would read by the fire.
    Leona took that moment to disappear up the stairs with her cocoa, but not before she shot her sister a wink.
    Abagail blushed. Was she really that obvious?
    “Elves don’t tend to get drunk like humans think of it.”
    “So how do elves get drunk?” she asked, setting the mug before him and taking a seat beside him. Even from that distance she could feel the energy radiating from him, playing across her skin like heat.
    “Is this an opening line of a joke?” Skye asked.
    Abagail smiled at him and looked to her hands. “No!” she laughed. “It’s a real question.”
    “Not something stupid like, ‘how do elves get drunk? By sipping sap from the five fingered grass.’”
    “Do you guys smoke that?” Abagail wondered. “I’d heard rumors.”
    Skye started laughing. “Our ancestors did. Some of our shamans still do, but not generally, no.”
    “So how do elves get drunk?” Abagail insisted. She took a sip of her cocoa. The heat and the sweetness were perfect and seemed to infuse every muscle, relaxing her from head to toe.
    “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Probably poor choice of words. We don’t get drunk. Wine is to elves like juice would be to you.”
    “Oh,” Abagail said. “I like the taste of wine. I wish it had little effect on me.”
    “If you like wine, then you have to try elvish wine,” Skye told her.
    “Yea? I’m assuming it’s not like juice?” Abagail asked.
    “Well, it is pretty sweet, but you probably wouldn’t make it through one glass.”
    “Is that a dare?” Abagail wondered.
    “Would that make it more inviting if it were?”
    “Maybe…”
    “Well, come hang out in New Landanten some night,” he told her. Skye smiled slyly at her.
    “I might have to do that,” she told him. Having him invite her to New Landanten reminded her of the meeting with Fen earlier in the day. It was a sobering thought.
    “You should. The sooner the better.”
    “So where is Celeste?” Abagail asked.
    “What, I can’t stop by to see how you’re settling in?” Skye asked. He winked at her. Abagail felt her face flush and she looked down at her hands on the table. She couldn’t help but stare at her right hand, covered in a glove, proclaiming to all that she was marred; imperfect. Skye laughed. “She’s on assignment.”
    “Another harbinger?” Abagail asked, trying to calm the emotions running through her body.
    He shrugged and took a sip of the tea. “Might be that, or we might have found where more harbingers of darkness are