The Changeling

18

The next morning, Cetlali absolutely felt like stomped shit, just as Lovou had predicted.

Whatever else he said or how she replied was a bit of a jumbled mess, though. She recalled most of the night before that, at least. Things only got blurry when Xocthl came into play.

The irresponsible wretch was a horrible example, enabling Cetlali while she chugged so much ale. Xocthl didn't even try to stop her once, the coward.

Cetlali groaned and rolled over. She spotted the cup of water and the pitcher next to it, chilled by the room. It wasn't too cold out, even being so early, but it was brisk enough to keep the water at a decent temperature. She didn't feel suffocated by the heaps of blankets she woke up under.

She chugged several cups, threw up once, and drank some more. Only then was she able to convince herself to stuff her aching body into

one of her embellished outfits. Give her patterns to make sturdy pants or simple dresses and she'd get right to it. Ask her to embroider a flower or put together an intricate gown? It was akin to telling her to pull down the stars one by one with her bare hands.

Cetlali shoved herself into something dour, a set of black split skirts over her usual brown boots and a deep maroon, long-sleeved tunic.

She hastened to Ezren's quarters and knocked on the door. Lovou opened it, still in full Ranger black and looking like a proper threat.

She frowned at him in response to his face, stern as stone. He stepped back, eyes drifting away from her, disinterested. Ezren was sitting in his solar, at his table, with breakfast already laid out around him.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Vassour Elect," she muttered. The hands at her back strayed to the hem of her shirt. It was soothing to rub the soft material between her fingers.

Ezren gave her half a grin and sat up straighter, placing a page of parchment down

on the table. "You're on time, Cetlali, no need to worry. Come. Sit." His appreciative gaze concentrated as she approached, raking over her, at least until it reached her hair. He then frowned and motioned for her to be seated across from him. She obeyed without pause.

He began speaking as she started preparing his plate. "How was your evening?"

Cetlali tried not to react. She forced a nervous smile as she arranged things to his particular tastes. A serious effort got spent on not clearing her throat and hope her voice came out level. "Very nice. I spent some time with Vae Masha and Vae Athua, snacking, talking, and sipping on ale. Aside from the sisters, Imperator Caran and Zhi Xocthl asked me to dance." She quieted a chuckle. Her eyes trailed to Xocthl who stood on the opposite side of the door to Lovou, looking smug out of Ezren's field of view. Cetlali's eyes trailed to Lovou and his face was in its usual impassive scowl, staring out at nothing like he despised it.

She looked back at Ezren with a small smile.

"I appreciate the opportunity to experience the feast, Vassour Elect. I had a wonderful time."

Ezren sniffed. Cetlali's chest caved with the way her heart thrummed at the sound of it.

She'd neglected to mention Ovar and his lechery. She forgot about all that, and how she'd drawn a blade and had been pretty intent on killing a man in cold — but pretty justified —

blood. Thanks to Lovou showing up with some dedicated impulse control, she didn't end up as a smear across the dance floor. She had to fight a heinous desire to glance at Lovou and instead waited for Ezren to speak. He didn't. He just watched her, assessing, always assessing. She fought the urge to widen her eyes by blinking.