“Quite a party, is it not?” Lachlan queries as he blows into his scotch. The brown liquid ripples in the small glass. I raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles. “An old trick. It’s supposed to quell the burn.” He pours a small dollop onto his tongue and immediately spits it out. “No, no,” he says in coughs. “It doesn’t work. The trick is a myth.”

“I could’ve told you that, friend,” I say, laughing and slapping his shoulder.

He nods tightly, then presses the glass firmly to his lips. With his eyes squeezed shut, he downs half of it.

“I never drink,” he hisses, his lips curled in distaste. “If that isn’t obvious enough. Twice a year, I make an exception. The Aeradian Festival is one of them.”

“I’m sure your people are grateful for your sacrifice.” I raise my drink to salute him, but he doesn’t join me. He’s far too vexed, still battling his drink’s aftertaste.

I lean in as if to share some advice. “You’d do well to gain some tolerance. After Idalia moves in, she’ll want wine all the time. Make sure she stays away from ale, though.” I shudder at the memory of her bile coating the grass. “It doesn’t sit well with her.”

Lachlan nods and dumps more drink down his throat. After his body involuntarily bucks, he cocks his head.

“Wait. What do you mean?”

I flag down the rosy-cheeked barkeep, who isn't too busy considering everyone in here is on their last legs. I gesture for a mug of water, and she nods.

“I mean, she may not drink as much as I do, but Idalia knows how to put back a couple of bottles,” I explain.

“No, not about her drinking habits.” Lachlan lifts a finger, and mouth closed, discreetly burps before finishing. “Which I advise both of you to exercise better self-control over. I meant the ‘moving in’ part. Is Idalia moving in?”

My head jerks back, and I wonder how much he’s truly had to drink. The barkeep sets a clay cup of water in front of me, and I slide it towards him, but he waves it away, opting for another swash of scotch.

“Well, I’m not too versed in the Aeradian way, but in my world, when a couple gets married, they usually live together,” I say.

“Idalia is getting married?! How wonderful!”

Oh, gods, he’s past drunk. I let out a rough laugh and place my hand against his back in case I need to stabilize him.

“Wonderful indeed,” I nod. “To you, no less. When you’re sober, I’m sure you’ll remember that.”

His body leans back heavily onto my hand and then thrusts forward.

“I’m not marrying Idalia! Guard and Sword, Braizen. I might be boozed up, but I’m not that boozed up. I think I’d remember proposing to someone tonight!”