An Affinity For Fire

17. Tarragon

Getting Clover to go to bed had been no easy feat. She was hard enough to tell what to do while sober. It took asking, commanding, carrying, reasoning and finally begging to get her to listen.

Once she finally obliged, he considered going straight to bed himself, but he thought it best, out of courtesy, to tell Leo first.

On his way back to the throne room, he tugged at the black shirt Prince Innis had given him. The boy may only have been an inch shorter, if that, but he was much slighter. Even his largest shirt chafed and constricted Tarragon unbearably.

He had been an odd boy. Tarragon had gathered, through an attempt to make polite conversation, that he was fifteen, four years younger than Calio. When Tarragon had asked if he and his sister got on, the prince had simply answered "Sometimes". After that, he had given up trying to get anything out of the boy. Conversation wasn't his own strong suit, anyway.

In one of the many corridors, Tarragon spotted Lord Dallas leaning against a wall with a servant sucking at his neck like a leech.

"How about we find somewhere a little less public?" The woman suggested. Dallas grinned and pulled her in for a kiss. Then, in a clumsy, jerking movement, he pushed her off.

"Stop," he moaned.

"Not a chance," she laughed, leaning back in.

"No seriously, stop," he insisted, pulling himself away to lean over a nearby plant pot. Tarragon pulled his eyes away as the man wretched.

Repulsed, the woman stepped back. "Charming" she said, before strutting off down the corridor.

"Wait, Loria," Dallas called after her. "Loria, please, I'm sorry."

He slumped against the wall, pulling his knees into his chest and pressing a palm to his forehead.

Tarragon strolled over to the young man. He stood squarely in front of him, looking down it him with a cold scowl.

"Oh, hey," Dallas said, looking up with tired, miserable eyes. "Like what you see? As of ten seconds ago, I'm free for the night."

 All of the beauty and charm he'd radiated just hours before had seeped out of him. His pale skin had turned a sickly shade of yellow and his chin was smeared with bile. His signature smugness was gone, replaced with the weary, disdainful glare given to nobles by starving villagers who resented being pitied.

"You're severely drunk," Tarragon said.

"Oh, you noticed," Dallas replied.

"What's worse is that you got Clover drunk."

"She got herself drunk. Do I look even remotely responsible enough to moniter other people's sobriety?" He winced, swallowing back what must have been another wave of nausea. "She said you don't drink. I suppose this is why."

"Actually, it isn't," he said.

A slight hint of amusement returned to Dallas's face. "Oh? Do elaborate."

Tarragon's jaw set. He glared down at the man.

"What?" Dallas said, raising his eyebrows. "Look at me. You really think I'm in any position to judge you right now? Come on, indulge me."

Tarragon felt his stomach tighten in anger. "Fine. You want to know why? I'll tell you why. My father was a soldier. He fought in the war of the Black River. It destroyed him. When he came home, he couldn't keep himself away from wine. I watched him get angry again and again, I watched him break furniture and hurt my mother. I watched him falling over and throwing up for three years. Then I watched his body being hauled out of a river. He got drunk and he fell in and he died."

Tarragon began to march away down the corridor.

"So did mine," Dallas shouted after him.

Tarragon stopped and turned around. "What?"

"My father," Dallas said. "Died, I mean. Not like that, though. He never made it back from the war. It was my mother who turned to the wine." He paused, gazing apathetically at the wall. "I don't really remember any of it that well. They told me she couldn't look after herself anymore, let alone me. That's why I got sent to this Goddess-forsaken castle to be fostered by Romira - so I wouldn't be influenced by my mother's irresponsible behaviour. As you can see, that worked out tremendously." He allowed himself a grunt of a laugh and turned back to Tarragon. "Anyway, is Clover alright? Oh, Mausshykae Maella, she's not still drinking, is she?" He shuffled as if he was trying and failing to stand up.

"She's fine," Tarragon reassured him. "I think she had a lot less than you. I took her back to her room."

"Ah, you Ortusians." Dallas smiled. "So compassionate."

Tarragon tensed. "You think compassion is a bad thing?"

"Oh, not at all. I think it's adorable. Aestasans aren't half as nice as you people, what with your looking after each other and whatnot."

"It's called basic human decency," Tarragon said, "Although I wouldn't expect someone like you to know anything about that."

"Oh, I see, because you've got me all figured out, having known me for a grand sum of twelve hours."

"I think I can make a fair assessment based on the fact that you allow young women to become intoxicated before abandoning them in a room full of strangers."

Dallas rolled his eyes. "first of all," he slurred, holding up a wavy finger, "I did not abandon her. she left to find you. Secondly," he raised another finger, squinting to make sure he was holding up two, "I thought we'd established I was equally incapacitated. And lastly, she's clearly a fierce girl with a taste for rum. I might have considered taking her cup away if I hadn't been afraid she'd stab me for trying."

Tarragon clenched his fists, struggling to suppress the swell of anger surging within him. "I don't care how much you both had or how much she was enjoying it. As the one who encouraged her to join that stupid game, it was your responsibility to make sure no harm came to her. Alright, so maybe you didn't force the drinks down her throat, but you also didn't stop her, so don't act like you're completely unaccountable, you entitled prick."

"What did you just call him?" a woman's voice asked from further down the corridor.

Tarragon winced, turning slowly in the direction of the voice. His insides churned at the sight of the Queen Regent walking towards him.

Dallas turned to face her too. "Cal, don't, he's just angry about his friend."

Tarragon didn't dare to move or speak. When Calio stopped beside him, she gave him a quick, cold glare before turning her eyes to Dallas. "What in all the Fates' names are you doing on the floor?"

"Ah, well, Loria was helping me stand up, but she's not here anymore, so, you know. Oh, also, you might want to get someone to clean out the inside of that plant pot."

Calio glanced at the pot in question, wrinkling her nose at the acidic smell. "Perhaps I'll get Loria to do it. That should teach her not to abandon people on the floors of corridors."

Dallas groaned. "Honestly, what is it with the two of you and abandonment? Nobody abandoned anyone. She just went to her room and ... left me to throw up in a pot on my own."

"I think we may need to re-evaluate your understanding of the term 'abandon'," Calio said. She looked up at Tarragon. "Listen to me, Versenna. You're going to go to your room and you're going to pretend you never saw Lord Dallas in such a compromising state. You're also going to learn some courtesy. If I ever hear you speaking ill of my second cousin again, I will have you arrested for treason."

"Oh, Cal, don't. It's not worth it," Dallas protested, still on the floor.

"I don't care!" Calio said, not taking her burning eyes from Tarragon. "I am the damn Regent, for all it's worth, which means what I say goes. Do you understand me, Lord Versenna?"

Tarragon swallowed. "Of course, your highness. My deepest apologies." he turned stiffly and walked away, resisting the urge to run.

So he's not just a member of court, he thought to himself. He's family. That made insulting him altogether worse.