Shadowguard

At twenty-four winters, Everna had the sense and maturity to know drinking herself into a stupor with Shroud lurking about was not the brightest idea. At twenty-four, she also had enough adolescent impulse left to throw all caution to the wind and down the first bottle she got her hands on. That was the intention, at least. She made it halfway through before an elderly woman stumbled past her and knocked the bottle from her hand.

Damn that old coot; that was the last bottle of whiskey.

The festival was in full swing despite the bone-numbing chill and sudden snow flurry that tumbled from the starless heavens. A pair of bards stumbled through several local folksongs, drunk and swaying wildly in their chairs as their fingers fumbled with their instruments. Children ran through the square, hollering and shrieking in delight, green streamers and flowered garlands trailing behind them. On the far side of the square, her mother sat perched on the keg table, cackling at the tangled heap of drunken men laid out before her. Her father wasn't far from joining them. He leaned heavily against the table, his head cradled in his hands.

Her mother won the drinking contest every year, yet people still insisted on challenging her.

As Everna pulled a mug of ale from the table in front of her, Lazy Eye Earl waltzed past with an entire turkey cradled in his arms, muttering and cursing under his breath. A pair of guards hurried after him, laughing as they tried to convince him to relinquish his stolen prize. Every year, Earl liberated a fowl or hog from its plate and tried to scurry off with it before the Guard noticed. During the last festival she attended, he nearly made it halfway across town with half a boar shoved down his shirt before the Guard apprehended him.

"It never ceases to amaze me how some towns can hold such large gatherings with so few issues," Wil said from beside her, the corners of his lips quirked slightly as he watched Earl stumble out of reach of his pursuers, the turkey held high above his head. "In the capital, there'd be three dead in a back alley and far too many fights breaking out."

He'd understated it. The last time the capital held a major event — a Yuletide festival in the central market square — they called it off three hours after it started. Three buildings caught fire after someone, in their drunken stupor, had gotten ahold of a wand and lobbed motes of fire into the air in celebration. It came as no surprise when the capital announced that not only would there be no more festivals, but that all artifacts not of the mundane variety were no longer permitted within the city limits.

That was the fourth year in a row that something of that nature had happened.

"Welcome to civilization that's actually civilized," Everna said, shoving a mug into his hands. "The worst you'll see tonight is a couple scuffles over a girl who isn't worth the hassle and a tugging match over a turkey no one wants anymore because the gods know Earl's probably going to shove it down his pants so the Guard won't reach for it. If you're really unfortunate and wander too far in the wrong direction, you'll see the depravity going on in the back alleys. Stick to the main streets tonight or you'll see things you can't unsee."

Wil eyed the nearest alley, then turned his attention to the mug, frowning. "Seeing as how you're drinking yourself stupid, I'll pass. Someone has to—"

"Ew. Gods, since when were you Mr. Responsible? Trust me, sweetheart, the longer the night drags on, the drunker you'll wish you were.” The ground suddenly tilted, and she wobbled into him, nearly spilling her drink down the front of her dress. "Besides, we're in the middle of the square, and there's no less than an army of guards keeping watch."

"That's still not—"

She reached out to shush him, though she missed his mouth completely and instead shoved her entire hand in his face. "Loosen up, would you? Your face is too pretty for all that frowning. You're going to get lines and then you'll really look like a gremlin."

Wil rolled his eyes, muttering as he brought the mug to his lips. Satisfied with her achievement, she threw back her own drink. The ale tasted like water as it slid down her throat. Pursing her lips, she peered into the empty mug. Either the quality left more to be desired or she was intoxicated enough that everything tasted the same; she wasn't sure, and as she reached for a second mug, she found she didn't care.

The night turned out to be much better than she expected. She was properly drunk, her fingers tingling, and her worries were a distant concern buried beneath half a bottle of quality whiskey and whatever dish water they filled the mugs with. Even better, she had a rather attractive man practically pressed against her — though not by either of their designs. There were so many people packed into the square that personal space was a luxury.

She'd take what she could get.

Adela streaked past with a small ball clutched under her arms, laughing, as a gaggle of children trailed after her. Halfway across the square, she spun on her heels and lobbed the ball at the boy closest to her. He tried to catch it, but it slipped through his fingers, bouncing once before it fell into his hands. The children immediately changed targets and tore off after him.

Everna gave it another ten minutes before they came flying past with an angry drunk on their tail. That always happened to her and Corden. It was usually their father, as Corden had a terrible habit of throwing the ball in his face for the sake of being impish.

"I see you're enjoying yourself."

She turned, nearly stumbling into the table, to find Witt and Andryll behind her. They were an odd pair, a human and a full-blooded elf.

Andryll hummed and glanced past her. Beside her, Wil tensed; the hand holding her steady tightened on her waist. Witt sighed.

"Andryll, stop staring at him. You're making him uncomfortable," he said.

"I'm just curious," Andryll defended. He squinted further. "Half-elves usually bear clear signs of their elvish parent, but this one's quite the conundrum."

"I wouldn't know," Wil snapped. "I've never met my mother."

Everna glanced between them — as much as she could as her gaze kept drifting. Though Andryll was unusually open and forthcoming for an elf, his presence clearly set Wil on edge. Given the prevalent tensions between their races, it wasn't surprising. Wil didn't know Andryll; he likely expected something other than genuine curiosity. Had it been any other elf, he might have gotten anything but.

Andryll, not at all bothered by his hostility, shrugged. "I don't suppose you would've." He turned his attention back to her and said, "I doubt you'd remember, but you haven't seen Lyra about, have you? Gyles said she went to check on something earlier in the night and he hasn't seen her since."

"Last I saw her, she and Gyles were on their way to the festival," Everna said, staggering a bit. "It's odd that I haven't seen her, now that you mention it. I thought for sure she'd have sought me out to complain by now."

"Even more odd is that Gyles is completely sober tonight," Witt said. He crossed his arms and leaned against the liquor table, his brows drawn. "He said Lyra's been acting strange since you returned. She keeps disappearing without warning. No one knows where she is, and when she comes back, she won't say where she's gone."