Free The Queen of Mages by Benjamin Clayborne

I
mean, mother already gave us the important details, but…”
    Liam shrugged as he crunched on another
onion. “Some girls don’t talk much of themselves. Well, a few
girls. Well, before today, I would have said there might be one
somewhere. Look, unless there’s something in particular you’re
concerned about, have a drink and thank your good fortune. You’ll
see her again, no doubt. The countess will want you to meet her at
least once more before the ball.”
    “By all means, let’s repeat today’s
disaster.”
    “You got her to say yes. Hardly a
disaster.”
    “I meant all that came before it. By the
Caretaker, I was nervous.”
    “Look, you don’t have to meet with ladies if
you don’t want to. You are a grown man.”
    “Try telling that to my mother.”
    “Next time you should tell your mother to go
stuff herself.”
    Dardan snorted. “She’s determined to get me
married off. She’s already acting as if I’m deep into a proper
courtship.”
    “Make a good impression on the lady, and
maybe you will be.”
    Dardan just grumbled at that, and took a
drink. Clearly he was going to need several more cups of ale. Liam
signalled to the serving boy.
    With their second round in hand, Liam raised
his cup. “To limited responsibility.”
    “To the Aspect of Courage,” Dardan said.
    “Don’t go all devout on me, Dard,” Liam
chortled. They clinked their cups together and drank.
    Evening turned to night as they drank
through more rounds and plowed through baskets of onions. Lamps
were lit, the crowd grew, and Liam glanced up to see a familiar
face coming toward him. “Gareth!”
    The stocky, red-haired man leaned on their
table, carrying a basket of fried onions. “Liam Howard, you young
bastard,” he crowed in a thick voice. His bulbous nose shone red
from too many cups of ale. That was typical for Gareth Ainsley, valo to Lord Skender Faroa. Usually a valo helped his
drunken master back home after a night at the malthouse, but with
Gareth and Skender it was usually the reverse.
    “Serving boy now, eh?” Liam cracked, eyeing
the basket. “Lord Skender get tired of your nose?”
    “He got tired of your sister first,” Gareth
shot back with a grin. His eyes went to Liam’s boothmate. “Dardan,
ho there.” Dardan mumbled a greeting around a mouthful of onions.
“Come and join us?” Gareth asked.
    “Don’t mind if we do,” Liam said, sliding
out of the booth. Dardan, surprisingly, followed without
objection.
    “What’s with him? Never seen a lord look so
down,” Gareth said as they wove through the crowd.
    “Dardan’s got himself a date for the ball.
He senses wedding bells in his future, whether he likes it or
not.”
    “Poor man,” said Gareth.
    Lord Skender Faroa, heir to the Dukedom of
Blackwall, sat alone in another booth. He had long dark hair pulled
into a queue, and black eyes with irises so wide the whites were
almost invisible. His nose was sharp and his smile always grim.
Liam found him unsettling, but he thought the company would be good
for Dardan.
    At the next table sat two black-coated men,
drinking only water. Their eyes scanned the crowd warily. This
duke’s son isn’t foolish enough to go unprotected, even in the nice
part of town.
    “Good evening, gents,” Skender said, raising
his ale.
    “Skender,” Liam said, sliding in. “How’s
things up north?”
    “Cold.” He smiled thinly. His eyes fixed on
Dardan. “Why so glum?”
    “Lord’s in love,” Gareth snorted as he
shared the onions around.
    “Is that so,” Skender said, his smile
deepening slightly. “Do tell.”
    Dardan shrugged. “Hardly. The widow who
lives next door,” he said. “I’m escorting her to the summer
ball.”
    “Are there so few eligible maidens that one
must chase old women now?” Skender took the tiniest sip of his own
ale.
    “She’s no crone,” Liam put in loudly. “She’s
of an age with m’lord. Just unlucky to be widowed so young.” He
gulped his ale. “Anyway, what of