Sarabande: River of Falcons Book 4

35. Waking Zibellina

"Shh," Sasha warned. "She probably booby-trapped the door. Do you see anything?"

"Nonsense," Summer said. "She was drinking port. She's no doubt fallen asleep at the table, poor thing."

"You don't know Zibellina," Sasha replied, hesitating with his hand over the big bronze knob on the front door of Eagle's Rest. "Last time, she greeted us with an exploding pot."

"Doesn't sound like she's much of a cook," Summer replied. "Here, let me." She muttered an undoing to remove Thistle's wardspell, then turned the knob and walked boldly into the front hall. Sasha rushed after her, half drawing his sword, his eyes darting around.

"Just be careful," he said, sheathing the sword. "She's not very hospitable."

"Nor is she properly cautious," Summer replied. "I'll have to show her how to set up an alarm spell. Have you got a brass bell I can link it to?"

Sasha nodded. "Over there. Hanging in the living room."

"Very good. We'll set up a protective circle for her so that the bell will ring if anyone comes near, and she can sleep without risk of being snuck up on. Now, which way is the kitchen? Over there?"

"Yes, but she's probably in my, um, her, bedroom. It's pretty late and she said she was going to go to sleep."

"She probably fell asleep at the table, poor thing. Doesn't understand about wine. Come on."

Summer was right. They found Zibellina asleep on her folded arms, snoring softly at the kitchen table. Her hair had fallen over her face and the bottle of port was broken and on its side in a pool of green glass shards and dark red liquid.

"Oh dear," Summer said as she pushed a thick strand of hair out of the puddle. "She's going to feel terrible."

"We could use a revitalizing charm on her so she won't feel bad when she wakes up," Sasha suggested.

"We could, but then she'd probably drink another bottle. Better to let her learn." She leaned over and shook Zibellina by the shoulder. "Wake up, my dear! We've arrived."

"Urrg. Urrrrrrr. Go w'y."

"Zibellina, wake up. We need your help," Sasha said.

"Go a-way." She shifted slightly and started to snore again. Several broken bits of the port bottle tipped over the side of the table and tinkled onto the flag floor, breaking into even smaller bits. Sasha cursed.

Summer looked around the kitchen, spotted a row of saucepans hanging on an iron bar above the stove, and took a big one down. She grabbed a metal spoon and banged the pan next to Zibellina's ear.

Zibellina jumped, her eyes opening wide and her hair flying. In a blur of movement she had leapt up and crouched on the table, a sharp knife held out in one hand and a glowing ball of blue light in the other.

"Only us!" Sasha said as they backed away from her.

Zibellina groaned and put the knife away. The blue light winked out abruptly. She climbed slowly off the table, holding her head. "I'm sick," she said. "I'm going to die. Spring, can you do my burial ceremony? My grandmother died, and now I don't have any relatives left to bury me."

"I'm Summer, my dear, and you're not going to die. But you shouldn't drink wine. This is how it makes you feel. Besides, you didn't notice that we had walked right up to you. If we were sorcerers, you'd be dead."

"I am dead. Or nearly," she complained. "Don't talk so loud. It hurts my head."

Summer found the bucket of well-water and ladled some into a small bowl. "Drink this," she said. "You'll feel better tomorrow."