Chapter 36: 42. The Mouse & Lion Inn

Rorri

 

Rorri was deaf to the doorknob’s tiny click and to the bare feet padding across the carpet. He was blind to the shadow inching towards him, numb to its gaze on his neck. Though its breath brushed his ear, he did not seem to notice, even as it drew closer, hovering, hungry. He was lost in a daydream, far away from that room, his consciousness skipping pebbles across the night sky. So when the sound hit, it hit like a flash of fire across his face.

“Hi.”

Rorri jerked and threw up his arms.

“Dear god,” he gasped, clutching his chest, as Shacia doubled over with laughter. “It’s like you want m-my heart to give out!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” she said, fanning herself. “I just can’t help myself with you.”

Her infectious smile quickly tempered the initial prickle of irritation. He chuckled with her, the tension giving way to the nervous flutter he knew so well in her presence. As their laughter settled, she hummed softly, regarding him with a tilted head.

“I see you found your clothes,” she said, absently poking her lip.

“I did,” Rorri said bashfully. For the first time, he saw her naked feet, toenails painted a soft shade of purple, but her attire was otherwise the same as always: comfortable pants, soft pink shirt. “I might be b-better dressed than you, tonight,” he joked.

“You might be right,” she said with a smirk. “Stand up then, let me be the judge of that.”

He complied, taking a few swaggering steps towards the room’s center, and spun a slow circle, holding his arms out with a flourish.

“W-what do you think?” he asked, bold enough to look her in the eye before her gaze sent his scurrying away.

“Honestly?” She scanned him from head to toe, her expression inscrutable, as he waited with apprehension. She took a step forward, then another, lingering just a half step away. He swallowed, ears hot, breath faltering and shallow, as she smoothed out his collar, then sighed.

“…Honestly?” he coaxed, unable to tolerate the suspense any longer.

She squeezed her lips together, eyes starting to crinkle.

“Why do you smell like you’ve been frolicking through a meadow?” she said, snickering. Rorri dropped his head, smiling in spite of himself.

“W-would you judge me if I was?”

“Not at all. Frankly, I’d be disappointed you didn’t invite me.”

“I’ll remember that before I go on my next f-frolic,” he said with a chuckle as Shacia waltzed towards the wine table. “But, erm… W-what do you think about the clothes?”

She uncorked one of the bottles without discretion and eyed him from the side. “They’re perfect,” she finally said. “Better than I imagined.”

“I really d-do feel different in them,” he said, beaming. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“No need to thank me,” Shacia said as she poured her wine. “My motivations were selfish.”

“What do you m-mean?”

“There aren’t many selfless gifts…” She gave him a coy look, then tipped the bottle over the glass across from hers, filling it nearly to its brim. “Even if you give someone something because you want them to be happy, it’s still what you want, isn’t it? What if they don’t want to be happy?”

She sank into the chair by the window and nudged the curtain back. The moonlight illuminated her shoulder’s gentle slope through the nearly-sheer sleeve, its shape catching the artist’s eye. His gaze lingered there…

“W-well, then,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts to stumble into his seat. “What were your m-motivations?”

“I already told you,” she said. “I wanted to see you in them. You always look so uncomfortable in your old clothes, so I thought you might relax a bit in clothes that fit you properly.”

“Oh…” He paused, twiddling his thumbs. “Do I s-seem more relaxed?”

“I mean… not really?” She halted a giggle. “But that’s okay. I’m sure there are mitigating factors—”

“Oh!” Without warning, Rorri jumped up from his chair and beelined for his coat. “I almost forgot, I got you s-something…”

He wrapped his fist around the gift, keeping it hidden as he faced her, but her sparkling, curious gaze froze him in place.

“What is it?” she prodded.

“Um…”

He hesitated, his face burning. A deep sense of inadequacy gripped his throat. She kept her eyes trained on him.

“Well?”

“I-it’s a rock,” he said in a small, quick voice. “A pretty rock, I think? I thought it was a g-good idea at the time, but—”

“Dear god, Rorri, just shut up and let me see it!”

“R-right, of course,” he said. “Just, um, close your eyes and h-hold out your hand, please?”

She did, and Rorri shakily dropped the gemstone into her outstretched palm. He reclaimed his seat, leaned over his overfull wine glass, and sipped at its brim, his hands far too unsteady to hold it without risking the periwinkle shirt. For some time, Shacia didn’t make a sound. When he glanced up, she was staring into her lap, where her hands rested, and he couldn’t see her expression. Every silent passing second kicked up a stormy new thought. What sort of idiot would give a rock to a noblewoman? It wasn’t as if she could do anything with it. It was just a hard chunk of dirt that looked pretty in a particular light—

“It’s beautiful…”

Rorri’s heart skipped. He looked up just as she did, meeting her lopsided gaze, the veins in her eyelids pulsing a little brighter.

“I love it,” she said with a toothy grin. “Thank you.”

“It’s, erm…” Rorri’s face flushed. “The lady told me it’s called Catseye, so… I don’t know, it just reminded m-me of you, f-for some reason.”

“It’s the best rock anyone has ever given me,” she teased, nudging his leg with her foot. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for it?”

His mind drifted back to that strange encounter…

“N-no, not at all,” he said.

“I think I’ll have it put in a necklace…” She idly tossed the stone in the air, magically suspending it just above her palm where it slowly spun in place. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course,” Rorri said.

“Why did you come to the manor unannounced like that?”

“H-ha!”

Rorri covered his mouth following the painfully high-pitched giggle. Shacia chortled, dropping the stone into her hand.

“I-is it enough to say I was just having a m-m-moment?” he said. Shacia hummed.

“No,” she said.

“Shit,” Rorri breathed, running his fingers through his hair. “Can I ask y-you a question, then, before I make an ass of myself?”

She smirked. “Sure, why not?” she said as she drained the rest of her glass.

He squinted, considering his words carefully. The question had pressed on his mind for some time, but he hadn’t found the right time to ask. But with the alcohol loosening his lips already, it seemed as good a time as any.

“W-what do nobles really think about people who live on the Wall?”

Shacia’s eyes flashed wide. “Oh! That’s not at all where I thought that was going,” she said, promptly topping off her drink. Rorri sat back in his chair, watching her unease with a strange sense of accomplishment.

“I can’t speak for everyone, of course,” she started, her gaze shifting to the window. “To my parents, they don’t exist. It’s just the family, the servants, and… society.” She waved her hand vaguely towards the sky, eclipsed, as always, by the Plateau.

“But they know w-we exist.”

“Obviously,” she said. “They just choose not to think about… about the, um, less fortunate – not unless it comes up in conversation, in which case they might pretend like they care, or they might make terribly mean jokes, depending on their audience that day.”

“So…” Rorri pursed his lips. “The, erm, ‘community outreach,’ – that’s them p-pretending to care, then?”

Shacia stiffened. “That’s how I sold the idea to the Madam,” she said, swirling her glass.

“Oh!” Rorri froze mid-sip. “S-sorry, I didn’t realize it was your idea.”

“It’s alright,” she said, shaking her head. “My motivations were selfish there, too.”

His shoulders relaxed. “How so?”

“I was bored.” She gave a light sigh. “I thought teaching magic might be interesting.”

“You could have taught other nobles, though.”

“Ha!” Shacia threw back her head. “No, they wouldn’t let me, and I wouldn’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t they—”

“Why don’t you answer my question now, Mr. Tipón?” she interrupted.

“…Right,” Rorri mumbled. “W-what was the question…?”

Shacia rolled her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

“Th-that’s true. I, erm…” He scratched his head with an airy chuckle. “I’m an idiot…”

“Also true,” she said, “but we’ve discussed that already, haven’t we?”

Rorri sat silently, trying to recall his intentions. The whole thing was like a strange fever dream, like it hadn’t really happened, though his present circumstances proved otherwise.

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“I was t-talking to my friend about how long it had been, since the fitting, and… He asked why I hadn’t just t-talked to you directly about… things.”

Rorri cleared his throat and fanned out his collar, suddenly hot around his neck.

“Anyway, my other housemate had t-told me – this was a while ago, before I started lessons – He told me that, if I’m ever around nobility, I should just act like a nice p-pet dog, so, you know, so I don’t offend anyone. W-which I guess is why I haven’t said anything… about… things.”

He paused to drain the rest of his glass. Shacia held up her chin, running her thumb along the Catseye’s smooth surface.

“So you came to the manor to talk about… things?”

“I doubt I w-would have actually said anything, even if you hadn’t told me to p-piss off.” Shacia laughed, and Rorri risked a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean, you know what a b-bumbling mess I am. I swear, I’m not usually like this, either – It’s just when I’m around you, I get all…”

“Bumbly?” she suggested. Rorri gave a pitiable nod. “I understand,” she sighed. “My whole life, people have told me I’m… intimidating. I’ve sort of resigned myself to frightening everyone I meet.”

Shacia finished her second glass, then sank into her chair, lolling her head back, as though it had suddenly grown quite heavy. Rorri leaned forward as she pulled away, watching her as her gaze drifted.

“I don’t think it’s a b-bad thing,” he said.

“Yes, well, you’re not the one scaring everyone off.”

“You haven’t s-scared me off.”

Shacia scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve seen far more frightening things than any of the precious twats on the Plateau have,” she said. “And anyway, you’ve always struck me as… different. Not just for your skin or your homeland, either. I don’t really know what it is.”

“I know what you m-mean,” Rorri said. She glanced towards him, eyes barely parting into slits. “I’ve had the same s-sense about you…” He flushed, drumming the stem of the glass. “Can I ask another question?”

She fluttered one eye open, then the other, and sat upright. “Only if I get one after,” she said, reaching for the bottle.

“That’s fair,” Rorri agreed. “Erm… W-what happened before I showed up at the manor? You just seemed upset,” he added hastily, seeing her face darken.

“There was an argument.” She filled his glass without asking, then emptied the rest of the bottle into hers. “Silly noble nonsense things. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

“It isn’t the n-nonsense I’m concerned over—”

“Did you show my little invitation to your friends?” Shacia interrupted, her tone suggesting the end of that conversation.

“…I did,” he said. “I had to be sure it wasn’t just… w-wishful thinking.”

She chuckled. “What did it look like to them, then?”

“A grocery list. Adar said it shimmered when he looked at it closely, but Bilge – he’s human, if it m-matters – he couldn’t see anything weird about it.”

“Fascinating…” Shacia said. “It’s not very well researched, but I have heard that humans are often less apt with magic.”

“So, why was I the only one who could r-read it?” Rorri asked.

She hummed, her half-closed gaze drifting like dust in the soft light. “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?”

“You’re the tutor,” Rorri shrugged.

She nodded, squinting. “Well, it starts with enchanted ink, of course. The illusion wouldn’t hold with mundane ink.” She took another sip, then set the glass down. “And you don’t really write with it, so much as you command it.” She leaned back and lifted her arms to undo the ribbon that held up her hair. Rorri watched her, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes elevated.

“So, you tell it to look like a grocery list, except when the handsome r-redhead is watching?” he quipped.

“You are cheeky, aren’t you?” she chuckled. “But yes, that’s about the gist of it. It’s not infallible, of course, which is why your friend could see it shimmer. It would take blood magic to make it truly impossible for anyone else to read, but, that’s a different lesson entirely.”

“Blood magic? That sounds s-sinister.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said as she fanned out her hair. “It’s not really, though. It can be, but any magic can be sinister if used for sinister purposes.”

“That makes sense,” Rorri said, though his words rang hollow. Her movement had captured every shred of his attention.

Her hair just passed her collarbone, betraying her age for the first time, assuming she’d never cut it, though Rorri had never known an elf who would. She was younger than him – not by much, but he’d always assumed she was older. It didn’t matter, of course – they were both adults – and yet, he sensed some sudden, ineffable shift in their dynamic, as if he should be wiser than he was.

“Is something wrong?” Shacia asked. He flinched and looked away.

“Yes – no, I mean, no, there’s nothing wrong,” he stammered, reaching for his wine. Seconds ticked by. He felt pressured to be the next to speak, to change the subject before he made a fool of himself. Perhaps he should call her pretty, or compliment her hair, or say how lovely the night has been, but that all seemed so contrived, unnatural, even removed from the truth.

“Do you have any pets?” he asked.

“Oh!” Shacia’s eyes lit up. “You haven’t met my Poppy yet, have you?”

“Not yet, no,” he said. “Is she a dog, or a cat, or…?”

“He is cat, and the sweetest boy I’ve ever known.” She kicked out her feet, crossing her ankles together. “That’s why he’s the only one allowed in my room,” she added with a wink.

“He sounds like a lucky boy.”

“I’m the lucky one,” Shacia said, looking towards the stars.

The heat in Rorri’s chest began to settle into a comfortable warmth, his heart quieting. It still raced, but he could finally ignore it and enjoy the night’s tranquility.

“Do you like cats?”

There was a delay before he really heard her. He blinked, then took a hefty sip, returning with a gentle smile.

“I love cats,” he said, setting his glass down with a heavy hand. “If I could live out the rest of my life as a cat…”

“It would be a good life, wouldn’t it?” Shacia mused. “It’s silly, but I’m sort of relieved to hear you say that.”

Rorri’s gaze settled on her ghostly fingers. “Why is that?”

“I read somewhere… Mm.” She paused for a long drag of wine, then delicately wiped its residue from her lip. “People who don’t like cats don’t like them because they can’t… They can’t control them. Does that make sense to you?”

Rorri’s eyes blurred. The air around him seemed to liquefy, as if he’d been dunked in a warm, breathable ocean.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he said, his voice swimming through the current.

“You know what it’s like, then?”

Her eager lilt lifted his gaze to hers. Looking at her directly always shocked him, at first – he’d never get used to seeing the blood pulse beneath her thin white skin – but this time, he couldn’t look away. Her blood didn’t scare him at all. She pulled him in, like the blue moon pulling the tide, tugging without intent. Fishes of thought wriggled by Rorri’s ears—

 

…useless…

 

—mere echoes of the past, but they gently reminded him of what it was like…

“I do, actually…”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “That’s why people like us go sneaking around so much, isn’t it?” she whispered. Rorri knitted his brow and nodded. Shacia let her eyes sink into her wine.

“I hope you know… you don’t have to act like a nice pet dog around me,” she said, her shadow swaying with her voice, cast in all directions. “I’ve never been a dog person, anyway.”

Rorri snorted. “Me neither…”

She closed her eyes, looking like she might drift off into the twilight realm.

“And I hope you know…”

His voice nudged her awake. He paused, fighting to stay tethered to his body, when all his mind wanted was to float away…

“Yes?” she coaxed.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said, drinking in every inch of her weird, uneven face.

“…About what?”

Rorri smiled. “About me… trying to control you.”

It was true. He knew all too well how wrong it was to keep a cat inside a cage.

 

The web of veins that patterned her face thrummed with the beat of her heart, but her heart seemed to freeze for a moment. He watched her blood come to a stop. Tears filled her eyes as she stood, and she stumbled, and nearly knocked over the wine. She collapsed into his lap, held his face in her hands—

“Same to you, Mr. Tipón.”

—and pressed his lips to her wine-flavored smile.

 

Without breaking their kiss, Shacia pulled the curtain shut and extinguished every candle with a magical gust. Their bodies melted into the dark, licked by a sliver of moonlight. By the time they made it to the bed, their thoughts had fled for the night. They closed the gap where doubt and fear of consequence hid, sealing it shut with the friction between them.

And so the doubt and fear was kept at bay, even as they slept, cuddled flush with each other like two cats keeping warm in the late autumn chill.

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