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Teigra gave Zosime a pleading expression. “I didn’t... I wasn’t...”
Without breaking eye contact, the princess grabbed two cups, filling them to the brim. “And yet, here we are.”
She slammed her drink in a single gulp, giving an overdramatic ahhh! to the masses.
Teigra stared at her own blood-red liquid. She’d never drunk before. Not a drop.
She’d seen what it did to people: Aurelius after a big night, being a wreck the next day; respectable men at the hippodrome, turned into beasts after a few glasses; and worst of all, Mother’s behavior at feasts and symposiums, cackling and flirting and making a total fool of herself.
In the distance, she caught a glimpse of Aurelius walking up the hillside, being followed by Calix. Her throat tightened as Ms. Securia’s instruction rang in her head. She had to stop him, or else her whole family would be ruined!
Even if Ms. Securia didn’t hear about Aurelius and Calix wandering off together—a big “if,” given how many spies the woman surely had—she would definitely hear about the low envoy from Mestibes starting a drinking a contest with the princess, bringing in almost every single attendant at the festival! And Ms. Securia was smart enough to draw her own conclusions from that.
Teigra’s apprehension was reflected back in the crimson mirror. She didn’t want to drink it any more than she actually wanted to stop Aurelius. But she had no more warnings left with Ms. Securia. And the quicker she got this over with, the quicker she could try to undo what had been done.
She winced as the thick liquid hit her throat—the taste like rotten fruit, with a cloying sweetness and an unpleasant burn. She coughed reflexively, splashing the awful brew up her nose, but somehow forced the rest of it down.
Zosime watched her with a sick grin, leaning in close. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for what you did back at Palaestra Xiphos—coming over to my new potentials like that. Some people might have convinced themselves that their precious cargo had just been misplaced. But you knew!” Zosime licked her lips, relishing her dominance. “And do you know what would have happened if you’d called me out? Those papers would have turned up on your doorstep. Your cousin figured that out. He called my bluff. But you didn’t do shit, did you?”
Zosime leaned back, smacked her cup against the table and downed it. “Your turn, Tiggy.”
The mugs came and went. Each time, Teigra fought the urge to gag. The crowd was spinning now. She gripped the bench for a stability that wouldn’t come.
At the sixth or seventh cup, Zosime leaned in again. Her breath stank red, even though she seemed in full control. “You know, you Mestibians think you’re all so superior. That you know everything about everything? But I got some of my people to do a little digging on the two of you.”
She snorted at Teigra’s discomfort.
“Oh, your cousin was easy. He just tells people that he’s a bent stick.” Zosime waggled the wine cup with a tut. “But you? I heard the most interesting story about you. Perhaps you can tell me if it’s true?”
The wine churned in her stomach.
There was only one story of her life worth telling.
One that she hoped to never hear again.
“Three years ago, there was an incredible race down in Mestibes—the final run of the relay season. A young prodigy had joined the Cosmin family team only a few years prior. Just fifteen years old, but already blitzing the field.”
“Stop it,” whispered Teigra.
“But then, race day comes. And it’s raining! Raining like it never does down there. A proper monsoon—wind and hail and drops hammering down so hard you can’t see a foot in front of you. The officials come to the riders and ask if they want to call the race off. There’s some murmuring. But the little prodigy? Not a bar of it. Let us race, she said. And all the big men had to go along with that, didn’t they? Couldn’t be outdone by a little girl.”
“Stop it,” she repeated, clenching her eyes shut.
“And so they race. The centaurs around first, barely able to grip the sand. Then the hippocamps, doing their laps in channels so churned the riders almost drown. And then it comes to the pegasus jockeys to take it all home. The racing is hard and fast, the closest one of the season. The little prodigy is leading, but the others are close by. So she tries something crazy. She takes the final corner at full pace—so fast it would snap the wings of any other steed! No one thinks she can make it!”
“Stop it!” Teigra hissed, tears welling.
“And they were right. The steed can’t hold it. So girl and beast go tumbling through the air. Round and round and round and round until crack!” Zosime slammed her cup down, the clay smashing across the bench. She grabbed a handful of the earthen shards, dripping as red as blood. “The steed sweeps a marking pillar, which collapses into a hail of stone, right into the crowd! And against all odds, it only takes out one person—the little rider’s own fucking father!”
Tears streamed down Teigra’s cheeks. The sound of the crowd faded to nothing but the roar of the gale and the scream that she could never unhear.
Teigra flung herself back—pushing through the onlookers, desperate to get away, desperate to be anywhere else but here!
The world was a blur of flags and flowers and people!
Then came the sensation of falling and a wet, cold crash.
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