Page 57 of A Princess, Stolen
“Drink,” Pan translated.
I had no choice, especially if I wanted to find out more about them. So, I put the bottle to my lips and took a big swig. Red-hot magma ran down my throat, and for a few seconds, I could barely breathe.
The men laughed, but Ilias’ expression didn’t change. “Drekka!” His unmoved look challenged me.If you want to be one of us, you have to drink, was how I interpreted it.
The others fell silent and looked expectantly in my direction. The fact was I needed them even if I didn’t want to be one of them. Maybe this was a kind of baptism. I drank again, whereupon Pan patted me on the back in recognition, but so hard that I flinched and choked. I coughed for a few seconds, and when I had quieted down, Ilias sat on his box in front of me, so close that his thighs were wrapped around mine. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his overalls and put one between his lips.
“Meira, prinsessa!” He sounded both stoic and grim as if it were a task that had to be done, so I drank again even though the acrid taste disgusted me. I had never drunk such cheap booze in my life. I was only nineteen anyway and my dad had only allowed me a glass or two of champagne on special occasions.
When I put the liquor down, Ilias shook his head and put his huge hand under the bottle as if to support it for me. “Meira!”
“More,” Pan translated again and then he said something in that standoffish foreign language.
I prayed they wouldn’t let me drink the whole bottle or I might die not at Isaac’s hand but of alcohol poisoning. Someone, I think one of the hobbits, beat a drum roll on his box while another whistled. “More, more, more!” a few men shouted chaotically.
After two gulps, I gagged and turned my head to the side. “What doesenoughmean in your language?” I choked out, my throat on fire.
“Nog!” Pan patted the top of my head, an awkward but well-meaning gesture that made me duck my head anyway.
“Nog!” I said to Ilias.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but at least he took his hand off the bottle.
I felt as if gravity had tripled. “I’ve never drunk liquor before,” I explained miserably. My stomach clenched.Please don’t let me puke on Ilias’ feet!
Most laughed, but Ilias made no move to get up and leave me alone. I saw him as if through a fogbank, but that might not have been my alcohol level, just the bluish smoke from his cigarette.
“Drekka upp!” he said.
“That means drink up,” Troy added. He said it regretfully, but he grinned with mischievous joy.
Oh, yes! This amuses you, of course!
I drank again and heard appreciative applause, but the sharpness of the liquor still brought tears to my eyes. “Nog!” I said again and gave Ilias the bottle. The next sip would definitely make me throw up on his lap and I didn’t like that at all.
Ilias glanced at me and then at the bottle. “Drekka upp!” He held it urgently in front of my face and swished the clear liquid around. It rotated like a centrifuge and I still had the image in my mind of him pressing the neck of the bottle to my lips as if he wanted to help if necessary.
I swallowed, snorted, and spat out some until he laughed. “Nog!” He nodded.
Thank God, he was happy with me! I couldn’t believe my luck. Grinning, he pulled the bottle back and set it aside—it was still quite full, so it wasn’t as much as I had feared. Nevertheless, Ilias wasn’t finished yet. He put his heavy hand on my shoulder and looked at me piercingly. “We drink rest later, prinsessa!”
I didn’t know if it was a threat or a promise, but at least he removed the box and went back to his spot.
I glanced around and felt the effects of the alcohol. Warmth filled my stomach and the tension in my shoulders eased. At the same time, I felt as if I was enveloped in a pleasant fog. A few of them were talking again, but Pan watched my every move. There was something strange in his eyes or maybe they were merely glassy because he had drunk too much.
I gathered up my courage, which was easier than expected thanks to the schnapps. “What language do you and Ilias speak? Is that Finnish?”
“Icelandic,” he grumbled.
I looked at him attentively. “But Coldville isn’t in Iceland, is it?”
Pan drew his shaggy eyebrows together. “You no ask many questions. Not good for you.” He grabbed a flask from the ground that had been standing next to his wooden box andlooked up toward the bridge. “Whiskey. That better. No rat me out to boss, prinsessa. No drink, he say, no drink, keep head clear.”
I nodded and turned an imaginary key in front of my lips.
Pan drank and held out the flask to me, but I shook my head. “Drekka and I say where Coldville is.”
Although I could feel the alcohol more and more, I accepted his offer and took a tiny sip from his bottle even though the smell of onions clung to it. I shuddered—because of the onions and the whiskey. “Tastes like asphalt. Like tar.” I made a face.
