All too soon, the evening had flown and everyone said farewell. Reluctantly Anvar hung the borrowed guitar back on the wall. It took several attempts, because he couldn’t see which of the two nails was the real one and couldn’t hit, either. He and Forral made their unsteady way back to the Academy through the crisp new snow, leaning against each other at an acute angle with their arms draped round one another’s shoulders. They each carried a large bottle of wine in their free hands and sang as they went on their way, trading rude folk ballads for scurrilous soldiers’ songs, and threatening to awaken the entire city with their noise. Anvar didn’t care. Tonight, for once, he was truly enjoying himself.
Meiriel was not enjoying the Mages’ Feast. She swirled the meager ration of wine around in the bottom of her cup and took a chaste sip, glowering across at the merry group who occupied the opposite table.
“Finbarr seems happy tonight.” Eliseth slid into the empty chair beside the Healer.
Meiriel frowned. She could have done without the Weather-Mage and her sly insinuations. She shrugged, forcing the appearance of nonchalance. “It’s a rare occasion when Finbarr can be dragged out of his Archives to a celebration. He isn’t used to all this wine,” Despite her efforts to hide it, her anger broke through. “It’s all very well for Aurian—she’s accustomed to carousing all hours with those low-born Mortal scum from the Garrison.”
“Don’t we all know it!” Eliseth said sympathetically, “Believe me, Meiriel, we can see the shape of things to come. Why, that wretched swordsman of hers already spends half his time here, profaning our halls with his presence. Before long, she’ll be inviting the rest of her Mortal friends, and our peace and seclusion will be gone forever. Why does Miathan not put a stop to it?”
“You know why,” Meiriel said sourly. “Aurian has the Archmage wrapped around her little finger!”
“And not only the Archmage, it seems.” Eliseth indicated the next table, where Finbarr and D’arvan were laughing and drinking with Aurian. The gibe hit home.
Meiriel, her emotions already inflamed by the wine, felt her face flush hot with rage. “You mind your own business, you bitch!”
Eliseth’s sympathetic expression did not alter. “I simply wished to warn you,” she said smoothly, “but if you’ve noticed ...” She left the thought hanging, the more powerful to Meiriel for being unstated. “Have you thought,” she went on, “that if Aurian should abandon her Mortal lover for ambition’s sake—for she could never be the next Archmage with such a scandalous encumbrance—she would need to seek a mate among the Magefolk?”
Meiriel stared at her. “Just what are you trying to say?”
Eliseth shrugged. “Only that the possibilities are limited. She hates Davorshan and Bragar, D’arvan is next to useless, and it’s rumored that she has already rejected Miathan, fool that she is.”
“Finbarr would never leave me!” It hardly sounded convincing, even to herself. Meiriel had been harboring jealous thoughts of late, since Finbarr had taken Aurian’s side over the disgraceful business with that Mortal,
“Well, that’s all right, then. You have nothing to worry about,” Eliseth said heartily. “I was about to offer a small suggestion that might be to your interest, but—”
“What?” It came out more sharply than Meiriel had intended, and she cursed the slip as she saw the Weather-Mage smile.
Eliseth leaned close. “You know Miathan’s abhorrence for half-breeds. If Aurian were to bear the swordsman’s brat, then the Archmage would surely exile her for good.” She drew back, looking closely into Meiriel’s face.
“But Aurian would never let that happen—and her control of such matters is too good—A taught her myself.”
“But you are the Healer, Meiriel. You must have the power to undo what you’ve taught—that is, if you want to. Just think —one small counterspell would rid us of Aurian and her unsavory influence for good. Really, it would be a favor to everyone concerned. Aurian’s loyalties are pulling her more and more toward the Mortals, unthinkable though it is. With the decision made for her, she’d be happier elsewhere, and she and Forral could be together in peace.” Eliseth shrugged. “And what better opportunity could you have than tonight? Aurian has already drunk a good deal—she is enjoying herself too much to notice your interference. Why, she’ll think she has made the slip herself—when she finds out. She would never suspect you.”
As she rejoined Davorshan and Bragar, Eliseth was smiling. “Well?” Bragar asked her. “How did it go?” The man would never learn subtlety.
“It could scarcely be better.” The Weather-Mage seated herself, smoothing her skirts with fastidious care, and poured herself a goblet of wine. “As I thought, it was no trouble at all to make Meiriel’s ridiculous jealousy work in our favor. Oh, she protested of course, and said she could never contemplate such a thing—but the seed has been sown. She’ll do it, never fear.”
She turned to Davorshan with a dazzling smile, smugly noting the anger on Bragar’s face. While the fools were at each other’s throats vying for her favors, she could easily control them both. “Well, Davorshan,” she purred, “now that Aurian is taken care of, we can turn to the business of removing your unfortunate brother. Why don’t you fetch some more wine? Suddenly I feel like celebrating!”
When they got back to the Academy, having been sternly “shushed” by the guards at the gate, Anvar and Forral came to an unsteady halt outside Aurian’s rooms. “Come in, lad,” Forral said gaily if somewhat indistinctly. “Come and have a drink with Aurian. You haven’t had a drink with Aurian yet, and she’ll get mad if you don’t. And we don’t want to make her mad,” he added in an exaggerated whisper, making such a face that Anvar had to prop himself weakly against the wall, he was laughing so much. Forral opened the door and the two of them practically fell into the room,
Aurian had been doing a fair amount of celebrating herself, judging by her flushed face and the brilliance of her sparkling green eyes. She’d discarded the somber Mage’s robes or practical warrior’s garb that she usually wore, and was instead dressed in holiday finery—a tawny gold gown of velvet with a deep neckline and long flowing sleeves. Her -wealth of fiery hair was caught back in a loose web of gold, and she glowed like a living flame in the soft candlelight. Anvar felt his heart give a couple of unsteady thumps. He had never realized that she was so beautiful.
Forral swooped down on her and, totally unembarrassed by Anvar’s presence, covered her face with kisses. She laughed, and flinging her arms around him, kissed him back,
“You look as though you’ve been having a good time,” Aurian said ’with a smile,
“Me an’ Anvar have been down to the Unicorn with the lads and lasses,” Forral informed her, “but we missed you.”
“And I missed you two—ah—too.” Aurian laughed. “I’ve been pining for my SoTstice kiss all night.” She made a doleful face, and Forral kissed her again. Then she discovered the bottle of wine that he held. “You love! Is that for me?”
“We couldn’t celebrate without you,” Forral declared grandly. “I’ll open it.” Divesting Anvar of cloak and bottle, he poured wine for the three of them and they stood in front of the fire and lifted their glasses to each other.