Shadowguard

There were only a handful of places Lyra went. As she lived in the farther reaches of the town's farmlands, she only came into town on the days she worked in the tavern. If she wasn't in town, she was back home or at Gyles's family's farmstead.

"If that's not unusual enough," Andryll added, "she was near the prisons this morning. When the Guard questioned her, her reason for being in the area was a bit... lacking, so to speak."

Too muddled beneath the heavenly daze of intoxication, Everna waved them off. "I'm far too drunk for this conversation. You'll have to continue with sober me. In two days when I'm not hungover."

The corner of Witt's lips twitched; it was the closest thing to a smile she'd seen since Mayor Ashburn's death. It was the first time she'd seen him since, now that she thought of it. "Yes, that was quite obvious. If your eyes drifted anymore, they'd leave their sockets. We're talking to your..."

"Friend," she said. "I think. That doesn't matter. Carry on and I'll continue my night free of Shroud's bullshit."

The tiny flicker of reason yet to be snuffed out beneath the thick fog clouding her mind begged attention — she should be concerned about Lyra's recent change in behavior — but the disconnect between rational thought and drunken simplicity was far too wide to overcome. She wanted one night — one damned night — where the Courts, Shroud, and all other unpleasant things weren't her concern.

Maybe if she played her cards right, she could run Andryll and Witt off, then if she got a couple more drinks in him, she could convince Wil to slip off into one of the nearby alleyways with her and —

"You think Lyra killed him?" Wil asked.

Damn it all. Even in her drunken stupor, she couldn't ignore that accusation.

"It's Lyra," she said, again fumbling with her words. "There's no way she killed him, even if she is involved. I killed a rat in the tavern once and she called me a horrible human being and broke down sobbing."

"You crushed its head beneath your heel," Andryll pointed out.

"It bit me!" she cried, flinging her hands up. Her knuckles caught Wil in the chin.

Andryll snorted.

"I have to admit, Lyra is the last person I would think capable, but the more we learn, the more likely it seems," Witt said, bringing the conversation back to the subject at hand. "I'm more surprised you're not outraged. This is your friend we're talking about."

"I'm at the point where I'm just going with the motions," she admitted. "If I stop and try to think about any of this, I'll just stop altogether."

Shroud's assassins nearly killed Pala and her mother. Their assassins killed Windmore. Lyra was possibly involved. Half of what Everna thought she knew about her family and her home was a lie. A prince was babysitting her. Her brother was engaged to Leah.

If she paused long enough to give any of those revelations more than a superficial observation, she'd lose what little will she had left. When it was over, there would be time to make sense of it. For the moment, it was best she shelve her confusion and treat everything as if it were common knowledge.

Alcohol certainly helped with that endeavor.

Andryll threw her a sympathetic look. "I'm more impressed you're it holding together as well as you are."

Was she? Or had the stress of it all numbed her so much she couldn't find it in herself to care as much as she knew she should? Witt was right; she should be outraged, not just by Lyra's suspected involvement, but by the entire situation. Yet any time anyone mentioned it, all she wanted was a drink and a long nap.

"What am I supposed to do? Find a nice dark corner to cry in? That'll get me places."

"Better for your health than tossing back as many drinks as you can before you pass out," Andryll scolded.

"Probably going to get my head lopped off soon enough," she sighed, reaching for another mug. "Might as well indulge while I have the chance."

Andryll muttered something in elvish, then shook his head. "Well, I suppose we should see about locating Lyra. Gyles was getting agitated when we left him. I strongly suggest you head home for the night, preferably before you pass out and make yourself an easier target."

Everna waved him off. They were in the middle of the most crowded place in town on, perhaps, the busiest night of the year. Unless Shroud threw aside all inhibitions and let loose (which wasn't an impossibility), she was in the safest place she could be at the moment.

And there was nothing more liberating than the blissful ignorance of inebriation.

As the night dragged on, the effects of the alcohol became more pronounced. Her coherency slipped further beyond reach. The world spun and her legs wobbled. By the time she finally allowed herself to admit that maybe she had drunk a touch too much, she could barely keep her head up. The slightest movement made her stomach churn. The half of a blueberry pie she'd eaten earlier lingered in the back of her throat.

At some point, emboldened by liquid courage and too far gone to consider the implications of the words as they left her lips, she tried her luck with Wil. She hadn't a clue what she'd said; she'd forgotten the words as they left her lips. His response, however, had been a firm and sobering "No."

She promptly decided she'd never take Lisette's advice again.

Much later, well after midnight, the festival slowed. Most of the elderly and the children shuffled off to bed hours ago, leaving only drunken adults and the odd adolescent who wasn't quite ready to call it a night. Everna hadn't seen hide nor hair of Lyra, though she had spotted Gyles searching for her a few times.

As Wil guided her back to the main street, they passed her parents. Her father was utterly stewed, half bent at the waist and swaying wildly as he struggled to stand. Her mother staggered around him, her drink sloshing over his back as she prodded at him with her foot. She lost her balance and stumbled into the keg table, laughing.

The snow stopped sometime shortly before midnight, the sky overhead dark and starless. The alcohol numbed the bite of winter; though her breath escaped her lips in tufts of white, Everna felt warm — almost too warm. She fumbled with her cloak and nearly pulled it off her shoulders before Wil reached over and yanked it firmly into place.

"Quit babying me," she said, tugging at it once more.

"Fine, save Shroud the trouble and freeze to death."

"Maybe I will," she grumbled, though she retracted her hand and let it fall to her side.

Lamplight bathed the snow-covered streets in a muted orange glow. Every so often, they passed a staggering couple and small clusters of younger men loitering on the street corner as the last of the festival's participants returned home. Morning would be a quiet affair, most too hungover or ill to drag themselves out of bed. It would be the following morning before the town returned to normal. She planned to laze in bed until then. The gods knew she'd have one hell of a hangover come morning.

But plans, as Everna learned, never went as intended.

As if gripped by a sudden spell of exhaustion, Wil faltered. He lifted a hand to his head, his fingers pressing into his temples, as he swayed on his feet. His eyes fluttered. Then, without warning, they slid closed and his head dropped. Everna, who was leaning against him as she could hardly stand on her own, tumbled to the ground after him.

Head spinning, she pushed herself upright just as a robed figure emerged from the side street. This agent was tall, considerably so. In one hand, they held a sleek bow carved of dark wood, an arrow fletched with black feathers hung loosely between their fingers. A flicker of recognition broke through the muddled haze of her mind. She recognized that bow. Landen carried it — or at least one like it.

There were several things she should have said and several questions she should've asked, but only a single question stumbled from her lips.

"I don't suppose there's any way we could talk about this, is there?"

The agent laughed, and she knew suspicions were correct. "Not at the moment."

Something heavy collided with the back of her head, and she was out before she hit the ground.