“Thought it was called the Water Court because of the canals.” Cadogan shakes his head. “It’s because the citizens drink like fish.”
Farley presses a hand to his temple. “Not so loud, for the love of the gods.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself for that hangover.” Mabon cracks a grin. “Tried to drink Yara under the table, the fool.”
I grimace. I’d seen Yara down her body weight in Titan gin and remain standing. “If I had some herbs on hand, I would mix you a tonic for the headache. There is a hospital ward near the barracks; I’m sure the healers there have something that will help.”
Farley waves away my words. “It’ll pass as soon as I start drinking again. Hair of the hound that bit, as they say. Hopefully, they’ll serve something strong at the feast.” He pauses. “Will Yara be there, do you think? I am entitled to a rematch. My dignity depends on it.”
My lips twist. “I’m sure she and the other Paexyrian will be in attendance.”
When I left the villa this morning, it was in the full swing of final preparations—flowers being carefully arranged, candlesbeing positioned just so, fine silver being set out beside bone china. The tables in the gardens are set with fifty places, enough to accommodate Alaric and Arwen’s closest friends and family members—a group that, surprisingly, includes me.
The Ember Guild is also to attend. Evidently, Penn’s role as King of Dyved and Remnant of Fire is enough to warrant a place at the table. And where he goes, so do his men.
“When does it start, again?” Mabon asks.
“In two hours,” Cadogan says.
Jac waggles his brows suggestively. “Just enough time to give the newlyweds a chance to consummate.”
I shove him. “Don’t be crass.”
“Just trying to fit in with the Hylians. The things we saw at those pleasure clubs of theirs…”
I hold up a hand to stop his words. “I do not need to hear about it.”
“You’re blushing,” Cadogan informs me.
“So are you,” I retort, noting the stain of pink on his high cheekbones. “Don’t tell me the least romantically inclined member of the Ember Guild finally had his head turned by someone last night?”
Cadogan’s blush increases. “That’s absurd.”
“Your face does not match your words.”
Mabon snorts. “She’s got you there.”
“Let’s just say, we crossed paths with the siren sisters.” Jac is grinning hugely as he elbows Cadogan in the gut. “He’s as hot-blooded as the rest of us under all that stoicism. Who knew?”
“Elbow me again,” Cadogan hisses, still red as a beet, “and you will find yourself taking a swim in the nearest canal.”
Jac appears unconcerned. “Perhaps a siren will pull me out.”
“I think Melité might be more inclined to drag you to the depths,” I warn.
His sigh is dreamy. “But what a way to die…”
“Ah!” Farley cries suddenly, hand flinging out toward the other side of the harbor. “I think I see a tavern over there! If we hurry, we can beat the crowd to the bar.”
“Do you ever think of anything except fucking, feasting, or falling down drunk?”
Farley shoots Cadogan an exasperated look. “Doyouever think of anything except battle formations? We are at a wedding, for gods’ sake. Forgive me if I do not plan to squander this brief reprieve from sleeping on a bedroll, freezing my bollocks off by the North Sea, waiting for Frostlanders to attack in the night.”
“He has a point,” Mabon puts in quietly. “We might as well enjoy our leave. Our ship heads back to Dyved tomorrow.”
My heart sinks at the deadline. I still have not decided whether I will be on board with them.
“Enough of this back-and-forth,” Jac declares. “I’m in charge, and I’ve decided we have time for a round or three before the feast.”