Rowan’s hand closed on her leg just above the knee. He leaned in close. “Take his words for the compliment they’re meant to be, my dear,” he said, and pulled his hand away.
Rixxis squirmed in her chair, her face heating. An involuntary warm flush spread through her whole body at such an intimate touch. She told herself that it meant nothing, just a brush of his hand done in passing, but even she couldn’t believe her own attempts. Rowan had been a shameless flirt in Trinta. There was no reason to assume that would change in Greymark.
He probably treats every woman he meets that way, she thought, and took up her glass to cool the creeping heat in her face.I’m nothing special.
Yet as Rowan turned back to his conversation with Ewan and the room moved on around her, she couldn’t shake it, the memory of the weight of his hand on her, how right it had felt, how it had made her want more of the same.
“Are you okay?” Ieduin whispered on her other side.
Rixxis cleared her throat. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you just chugged that cider like you’d never get another.” He nodded to the empty cup in her hand.
Rixxis frowned and put the cup down. “I’mfine.”
They brought in the last course, a tray containing a decanter of some alcoholic drink, a red juice, and enough shot glasses to accompany both.
Rixxis’s eyes stung when Rowan opened the decanter. “That smells rather strong. Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Of course it is,” Rowan said, gathering the glasses and pouring one shot for each of them at the head table. “Old Greymark tradition for greeting guests.”
Ieduin reached for one of the full glasses, only to have Rowan slap his hands away.
Rowan wagged his finger at Ieduin. “You don’t just down a good Greymark whiskey at the end of a harvest meal. There’s a method to it. Here, I’ll teach you.” He took up the pitcher of red, sweet-smelling juice and poured several shot glasses. “This is pomegranate juice. Have you ever had a pomegranate, Rixxis?”
“Once or twice,” she admitted. She couldn’t imagine the sour, earthy berries or their juice would taste good when paired with another drink of any sort.
“Well, you’re having them today. Whiskey first.” He lifted a shot glass of the whiskey, placing it in front of her, followed by the juice. “Then immediately follow with the pomegranate juice.”
Rixxis sighed and took up the shot of whiskey. She’d had plenty before. There was little about any drink that could impress her. The one Rowan had her drink was strong, though. Strong enough, it nearly brought her to tears when it burned the back of her throat.
“Now the juice,” Rowan prompted excitedly. “Quickly, Rixxis! Quickly!”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” she insisted and tipped the juice into her mouth.
She hadn’t expected much, especially as she wasn’t the biggest fan of pomegranates. Yet there was something to be said for the mix of flavors coating her tongue. The two drinks together created a wholly unique flavor, something bittersweet and full of spice that reminded her of sitting by the fire on a cold winter day.
“How is it?” Ieduin pressed.
“It may be the best drink I’ve ever had,” Rixxis said and presented Ieduin with a shot glass of each.
Ieduin downed them one after another, eyes widening as the pomegranate hit. “Holy shit,” he said once he swallowed. “That’s good. Where’d you come up with that?”
Rowan began passing out drinks to the others at the table. “I didn’t. It’s been a Greymark tradition to serve honored guests that for generations. A welcome gift and soft introduction to life here. You’ll find every household and homestead in Greymark keeps both drinks in stock to offer guests.”
“Aye, but he forgot to tell you the best part. You know what they call that drink? They call it Sionna’s kiss,” Ewan said.
“Why do they call it that?” Rixxis asked.
Ewan turned to his wife and planted a big kiss on her lips. Then he turned back to them, grinning. “Because it’s even better secondhand!”
Then he roared with laughter, along with several others around them. Even Rowan chuckled, but Rixxis wasn’t in on the joke, whatever it was.
Rowan refilled the empty glasses. “Sionna is traditionally believed to be the Thief’s wife. Though you won’t find her in any of the cannon writings about the Eight Divines. It’s a local tradition.”
“Won’t find much of anything written about the Thief in cannon writings,” Rixxis mused. “It’s interesting that you would have such a local tradition. Is there any truth to all these rumors about the witches before your family inherited these lands?”
Rowan offered a restrained smile. “The best rumors are always true, but rarely in the form one would expect.”