Page 38 of A Crown of Lies

“I think you’re the one who’s uncomfortable,” she accused.

“Me?” He snorted. “You forget who you’re talking to. Such events were prime hunting for me, once.”

“Wonderful,” Mercia said and approached the table. “Then we agree. We go in there, do what we came to do, and return to Ruith with the information we promised to bring back.”

Aryn’s frown deepened. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of other males putting their hands all over you. There will be dismemberments before the end of the night.”

“Very well, then.” She glanced over the pins, quickly selecting a circle. “I’ll stick with women.”

“Mercia…” Aryn sighed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go any further than a little kissing,” she said with a wink. “I’ll canvas the ladies at the party, see what I can learn. Perhaps Niro has a mistress, or he’s terrible in bed. They would know. Women love to gossip. Meanwhile, you can interrogate the men. Do you think you’ll get more information with a top pin or a bottom one?”

He studied her. “Are you being serious?”

“Of course I am.” She reached for one of the pins.

Aryn caught her hand and held it until she looked up at him. They stared at each other for a long moment, music and laughter filling the night air around them. “Kissing only,” he said at length. “And only the females. We check in every fifteen minutes, and stick to the public rooms. You don’t go with anyone anywhere without talking to me first. And if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, you’re to come find me at once. Promise me, Mercia.”

She smiled, leaned in, and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. “I promise.”

He let out a breath and released her arm, glancing over the array of pins. “Give me that one.”

Mercia lifted an eyebrow, retrieving the pin he indicated. “Versatile? I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

A touch of color warmed his cheeks. “It makes no sense to only canvas half the men here for information when I could talk to them all. We’re here to work, Mercia. Not to play. Remember that.”

She flashed him a wide grin. “Of course, there’s no reason work can’t be a little fun, too.”

They entered the house together and scanned the room. There were a lot more elves than Mercia expected, all of them unrecognizable beneath their masks. Some of them had already gathered in groups of two or three or four, engaged deep in conversation. There was a table overflowing with fine fruits and cheeses that almost no one had touched, but nearly everyone had a drink in hand. She’d look out of place without one.

Mercia quickly decided that was the best place to start and approached the drink table where a bartender was working. She scanned the menu and frowned, realizing everything was written in Elvish. She could make out some of it, but not all.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, also in Elvish.

“I…” Mercia hesitated. After being sober nearly half a year, she didn’t want to ruin that now, but she had no idea what to order. She didn’t even know the correct pronunciation for water, or if they even had that. Surely, they’d have water, wouldn’t they?

“You should try the Starfall Sunrise,” said a voice in the common tongue behind her.

Mercia turned around. The female elf standing behind her was a half a head shorter with delicate features and a slightly upturned nose. Long, silky dark hair fell around a mask of white lace. Her dress was the finest silver silk and glittered in the low light. She smiled, showing dimples and soft, full lips that’d been painted a silvery blue.

The elf stepped forward, leaning against the counter next to Mercia. “It’s lovely. All berries without any of the seeds…or the alcohol.”

Mercia’s jaw fell open. “How…How did you know?”

“One of my uncles was a terrible alcoholic for twenty years before it nearly killed him,” she said and gestured to the barkeep to make two. “He died a sober elf, but it wasn’t easy. I watched him struggle for many years. I know that look.”

Mercia’s face warmed with embarrassment.

The elf put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in. She smelled like cherry and orange blossoms. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The opposite, actually. It takes considerable strength to overcome what you have. You should be proud.”

“Thank you,” Mercia said awkwardly. Eager to shift the conversation in a new direction, she swallowed and grasped for the first thing that came to mind. “You speak the common tongue very well.”

The elf smiled again and it was strangely like watching the sun come out on a cloudy day. “Thank you! Languages and dialects are an interest of mine, and you looked like you could use a friend.”

“I suppose I must stand out.”

“A little,” the elf agreed. “Not many humans come to D’thallanar without chains, Lady Mercia.”

---