GRP Chapter 16

"I'm not interrupting, I hope?"

"Interrupting! What a frightening thing to say, Anir. Not at all!"

"Just as the drink went down—kkhh-ahhh!—your face began to shimmer before me, Anir. Truly. It hovered there, flickering like a vision in the heat of the liquor."

Not a word of it was sincere. The flattery poured out regardless. The performances were transparent enough that even Mariaeks could see through them. Every one of them was doing their utmost to please Garthe. Whether or not the effort was apparent, Garthe's face, receiving all this flattery, did not change in the slightest. One eyebrow slightly raised, the corner of his mouth turned up just enough—the expression that said, Yes. You are truly excellent at talking nonsense.

Whether someone was flattering him or cursing him, he seemed likely to respond the same way.

"Then carry on enjoying yourselves. Don't stand there looking like you're waiting to throw me out."

They sat down with their utmost effort. They enjoyed themselves with their utmost effort. They crammed food into their mouths with their utmost effort. They drove drink down their throats with their utmost effort.

Garthe passed his gaze over them without expression and took an empty seat. Only then did the people notice Mariaeks's presence, which Garthe's figure had been blocking. Every eye turned to her.

Silence fell again.

Mariaeks carefully read each emotion layered into the flood of stares directed her way. Observing and understanding was the one thing she was good at. Curiosity. Surprise. A vague hostility. A vague goodwill. Their emotions were as unclear as she was to them.

She knew how to make others' emotions and gazes even hazier. Close one's mouth. Suppress breathing until it makes no sound. Keep one's gaze forward while looking at nothing. Reduce movement. Kill one's presence. Kill one's existence.

Once she scattered her presence as if dissolving into the surrounding air, she appeared neither as someone powerful enough to threaten others nor as someone weak enough to be threatened by them. She became a pebble on the street. Existing there, and no one knowing, and no one caring.

The technique she had refined over so many years worked, to some degree. When Mariaeks simply stood there without speaking, several of them—their interest in a stranger already fading—turned to watch Garthe for cues instead. He was someone whose presence commandeered attention just by breathing. It was natural.

In the suffocating silence, Garthe began eating the bread and meat set before him. At that, the people relaxed at last and returned to their drink and food. Humans who couldn't recognize their own faces in a mirror after a few drinks were hardly going to spend the evening worrying about Mariaeks. Their interest had already folded and departed.

They sang. They laughed like fools. They stole food from one another and argued about it. They looked like they were having a fine time.

And yet, though she occupied the same room, Mariaeks felt as though she had fallen into a different world entirely, alone. Her gaze moved to the empty seats scattered around the hall. It was because she found something ridiculous about herself, standing there at a loss.

But it seemed to her that none of those seats were meant for her. The thought of sitting and being told to move—or of Garthe's brow creasing in displeasure—kept her from moving carelessly. Better to keep standing, even with aching legs, than risk it.

"Lady Mariaeks."

Samthyeon entered through the main door. Despite having seen him only a handful of times, Mariaeks found she was rather glad to see him.

"What are you doing standing over there?"

Samthyeon directed the question at Mariaeks while glancing at Garthe.

Garthe shrugged. Don't ask me.

Ah. So she could have sat down.

Mariaeks turned the fur of her cloak over between her fingers for no particular reason.

"Sit, please."

Samthyeon considerately pulled out the chair beside Garthe.

'Why that chair. Did it have to be that one?'

She concealed her dismay and sat down carefully. Contrary to what she had anticipated, no one told her to move, and Garthe went on eating without sparing her a single glance.

With that small relief, Mariaeks was finally able to take in the food laid out before her. Fragrant smells she had never encountered tickled her nose. The ingredients couldn't be so different from what Ullri and Baen brought back—so how did one produce a smell this good?

Unlike the dried meat Ullri and Baen burned to black, the properly roasted brown meat glistened with a gleam of fat. Unlike the black or grayish-brown stew Ullri and Baen concocted from various ingredients, the humans' stew was a deep, inviting reddish-brown.

Her sharpened senses extrapolated the stew's flavor from scent alone. Saliva gathered in her mouth. Her much-shrunken stomach registered its distress. She slipped her hand inside the cloak and pressed her stomach gently.

It seemed, perhaps, slightly better for it.

"It appears nearly everyone is here, save for a few."

Samthyeon surveyed the noisy hall and continued.

"You worked hard in today's battle. I will say a prayer for those who fell."

Samthyeon spread his open hand over his heart and closed his eyes.

Then, in less than a second, he opened his mouth again.

"Thul'Mhoriae."

An ancient phrase meaning in the embrace of the gods. Mariaeks knew the meaning of the words, but she did not know it was used as the closing punctuation of a prayer. The prayer's content and its mourning—everything that should have come between—had been omitted entirely.

People scrambled to place their hands over their hearts and close their eyes in keeping with Samthyeon's pace, then immediately had to open them again.

"Damn it, shouldn't that be at least a minute?"

"A prayer done like that? With no effort at all?"

Samthyeon did not respond to the complaints and continued.

"A distinguished guest has arrived to fill the empty seats. She is the god of Heimdrykze, Mariaeks, who will be assisting my research for a time."

At the words god of Heimdrykze, several people choked. They appeared to have gone down the wrong way.

Their attention converged on Mariaeks once more. Not a welcome situation, from where she stood. Whispering spread through the hall.

So that's it. Something about the way she looked wasn't quite human.

But then...

"I've... never seen a living god of Heimdrykze before."

She had heard this somewhere before. She found herself wondering, as she had before, whether they had seen many dead gods of Heimdrykze.

"She is also the Anir's guest, so please take care not to cause offense. She is also not yet familiar with the fortress's layout, so she may become lost. Should any of you find Mariaeks alone in a corridor, please escort her safely and direct her to the Anir's room."

Mariaeks understood precisely what Samthyeon was communicating. He was telling her, without saying it, not to use the excuse of wandering the corridors to go looking for Ullri and Baen. She curled her fist beneath the table.

So that was why he had brought her here. To announce this to everyone. With so many human eyes now watching, her future movements would be considerably restricted. She suspected the vague emotions directed her way would sharpen into clear-eyed wariness.

"...What?"

But they only stared at her with blank, bewildered expressions.

"The Anir's room?"

The words fell like cold water over the hall that had been so boisterous moments before.

Unable to understand what was happening, Mariaeks moved only her eyes, carefully. The gaze turned on her was of a different quality now than before. Whatever it was, it was not a sharp emotion like hostility. Eyes beginning to soften, pooling with a quiet, tender moisture. Brows pulled heavily downward. Lips at the corners drooping. Some of them closed their eyes as if in prayer.

Mariaeks was accustomed to reading a great deal of information from others' nonverbal behavior. Now, for once, she could not guess at all what it meant.

One hundred and fifty-nine years of living, and this was an emotion she had never encountered before.

A plate slid in front of her empty place at the table—piled high with meat, potatoes, and sausage.

Mariaeks looked at the one who had pushed the plate toward her from across the table. From the short-tied hair to the skin, to the very tips of the fingernails—every part of him was a perfect, absolute black, like jet-black ink. His eyes were closed as well, and had it not been for his bright-colored tunic, finding him in the dark would have been nearly impossible.

"Hello, Mariaeks. I'm Oze—I come from Jimna'an, the cave of the black underground god. Would you like this? Oh, right. You don't eat food, do you. What could I give you, then... Oh, should I sing for you?"

Even as Oze spoke, the man beside him quietly lifted an instrument, while another was already removing his coat and loosening his limbs. He appeared to be preparing to dance. All she had to do was nod. A warmhearted resolve hung about them, saying: give us the word, and we will give you a performance of music and dance such as you have never seen.

They weren't cursing her or trampling on her, so why did it feel so off?

Mariaeks declined their excessive kindness with a shake of her head. The only two who remained entirely unaffected were Garthe and Samthyeon. Samthyeon ignored the peculiar atmosphere and pressed on.

"Yabesa, Oze, Dythsi, Salenoke, Birette."

Samthyeon called out the names. Those in the middle of raising drink or food to their mouths looked up at him.

"Those named will abstain from alcohol tonight."

"What?"

"Why?!"

"No!"

Several shot to their feet in protest.

"By the Anir's order."

"Ha! I was going to quit drinking anyway. This is perfect—perfect, just perfect!"

"What does alcohol even do for you? Nothing but misery the next day! Chasing momentary pleasure—what fools, the lot of them!"

The speed of the reversal was, truly, impressive.

"There has been frequent combat over the past several days, including today. It seems some people need to remain clear-headed. Anyone with objections is welcome to bring them to the Anir. His door is always—wide open—for all of you."

A man whose face was thick with beard muttered under his breath: "Wish it would stay shut forever..."