Page 13 of Bloom
He filled three-quarters of the glass with wine and topped it off with orange juice. That should work. He didn't know how long the tournament would go, so the drink should last Aleric a while. Jaime didn’t feel like going back and forth for him.
When he brought the glass back, Lord Monet appeared a little puzzled, and Aleric raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me trashed so I lose?”
“What?” Jaime held it out.
“That’s mostly wine.”
“So…you want more orange juice in it?”
“You also filled the glass up to the top. Do you see anybody else with that much?”
“Uh…” Jaime glanced at the others in the room who’d barely filled their glass halfway, and everyone was taking dainty sips to make it last. “Consider it two drinks, and don’t chug it.”
“Nobody fills the glass up to the top,” Zacharie declared. “Unless you’re a poor commoner looking to get sloshed before noon.”
“Use more orange juice than wine,” said Aleric.
“Fine. Sorry.” Jaime went back to the sideboard and wasn’t sure what to do with the full glass, so he poured a little over half of it into another and left it. Servants would clean up, and they surely wouldn’t mind it there, not that he was trying to make more work for them. He noticed Aleric at the table giving him a look like he’d fucked up again.
For Elira’s sake. How did he expect Jaime to have the drinking habits of nobility figured out when he didn’t even drink wine? He poured in a little more orange juice.
“If you don’t finish something or need to remake it, you pour it in the bucket against the wall,” Aleric said in a scathing tone when Jaime returned.
Looking back, he noticed the silver bucket to one side and out of the way on the sideboard.
“Pour both glasses out, and if I tell you to remake something, remake it. Don’t half-ass it, and use one of the stirring sticks to properly mix the new drink. Use a little more orange juice than wine, and put it in a fresh glass.”
A couple of ladies heard and giggled. Jaime nearly told him to make his own damn drink and had to bite his tongue before he went back. The bucket held a little liquid that showed someone had decided to dump their drink.
When he returned with a new drink, Aleric didn’t say thank you, and Zacharie sneered at him.
“I can’t believe you’ve got a slave. A stupid one too.”
“He’s technically an aid,” said Lord Monet. Aleric must have already told him who Jaime was. “He’s being paid, and don't call him stupid.”
“He’s a fancy slave because he can’t leave.” Zacharie’s tone grew quite snide. “Alex wouldn’t do that. He’s decent.”
Aleric cut his eyes at him. “He’s an aid. I’m not beating him or making him labor around the Castle all day. He’ll barely do any work while he gets a free roof over his head plus food.”
“But he’s stuck with you,” Zacharie said as if that was the worst imaginable fate.
“Both of you need to be quiet,” said Lord Monet.
Jaime backed up a bit from the table to observe the room. Lord Monet wasn’t going to release him, and if what Aleric said was true, and he tended to side with locals, Jaime would’ve ended up in a prison cell to await a buyer. Blurting out he was innocent wouldn’t matter.
All the servants were in black and white which was pretty typical, and none wore a collar or cuffs. Slaves often wore tunics which made their status pretty clear, and if they tried to escape, they’d stick out. It also allowed for easy access if they were being used for sex.
It seemed the court didn’t approve of slaves. Jaime hadn’t seen much, but nobody in the room had one with them either. It was hard to tell if they didn’t buy slaves because they didn’t like the concept or if because they’d follow whatever Lord Monet did.
Jaime backed up a bit more to use the window seat so he could watch everyone. Aleric wasn’t paying any attention to him, and a couple of men came in with stacks of cases.
Each case held a chessboard and chessmen made from green and pale blue glass. So many must have cost quite a bit. Courtiers hastened to pick a table and flip a coin to decide who would go first. Many sat on the couches and chairs around the edge of the room. Three approached the main table with chairs, and Lord Monet asked a young man if he was ready to get his ass kicked again. The man, who had whitish silver hair and must have been a relative, laughed.
“You won’t get me this time, old man.”
“Old man?!”
The one across from Aleric didn’t look related, and he flipped a coin. When a board was laid between them, he took the lightblue pieces. Zacharie was against an older woman, and a few of those watching appeared to be betting.
