40th of Summer 513
18th Bell
The Scholar's Demise
Rathe surveyed the dining area at the Scholar’s Demise. Several chimes had passed since Dusk Rest had ended and the place was already packed. Only a few of tables scattered farthest from the bar remained empty.
“Are you coming?” Shree asked. His bicep strained the thin wool of his shirt as he waved Rathe forward. Fine patches of blond hair sprinkled the knuckles of Shree’s stubby fingers and not a speck of dirt glared out from beneath his tightly clipped nails.
Rathe chanced a look over his shoulder at the crowd filtering in behind him, then back to his friend’s damp dreadlocks, and shook his head.This wasn't the first time Rathe had been late for something because Shree preened himself more than his cat licked its own backside.
As if reading his mind, Shree's eyes narrowed in on the star fruit stain dribbled down the front of Rathe’s white tunic.
Years. It had been years since they'd met. In all that time, Shree never missed a single detail when it came to Rathe's appearance. If only he was as good at remembering to bring his own kina when they went out.
“I’m coming. Relax.” Rathe crossed his arms in front of him, trying to ignore how far they reached around his slight chest.
“Relaxing in the last thing I’m going to do tonight,” Shree said. He pointed to a table on the far side of the room. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled, but there was nothing innocent in them.
Rathe followed his friend out of the narrow corridor where they’d come in, but the hum of conversations around him drowned out the sound of his footsteps.
The wooden table was pushed up close the wall. A single candle flickered from inside the glass orb on the table.
Shree pulled out one of the ornate chairs and slid down into it.
Rathe did the same, careful not to bump into the couple at the table next to them. He folded his hands on the table and peered out into the crowd until the server finally waded over to them.
“What will you boys have?” she asked.
“What’s the special?” Shree wanted to know.
“Mixed drinks are on special through the first dusk bell.”
“I want a Flame King then,” Shree said.
A Flame King? Rathe shivered. The last time he got one of those, the night ended very, very badly. Not this time. He was on his own tonight.
The server skimmed her way up the stain on Rathe’s shirt before making contact with his eyes.
His jaw tightened. He kept his eyes pinned to her face, refusing to meet the petch-eating-grin he could feel coming from Shree's direction.
“Do you want to see the list of drinks?”
What good would that do him? “No. I’ve got it committed to memory by now." He had to. He couldn’t read worth a petch. “I’ll take a glass of Shiraz,” Rathe said, cutting her off.
She paused. “That it?”
Shree answered for them both. “That’s it.”
“I’ll be right back with your order.” The server left them sitting there as she disappeared back into the sea of patrons.
Shree’s eyes lingered on the tight line of her rear. “We’re off to a good start, but wine? On the first day of rest block? We’re supposed to have fun.”
Rathe snorted. His definition of fun was as different from Shree's as Syna was from Leth. And yet they still managed to enjoy each other’s company—in small doses.
Shree shot another grin Rathe’s way and pounded the table like a drum. The whole thing rattled from the strength of the motion. “Girls next?”
“Uh, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to drink first.”
Shree shook his head. “Is this going to be another slow start? You’ve been full of slow starts all season. It's getting old.”
“A slow start is better than no start.”
Before Shree could argue with him anymore, the server came back and set their drinks down on the table.
Rathe was grateful for the distraction as he circled his fingers around the stem of his glass. He lifted it to his lips and sipped it with one eye on Shree and one eye on the crowd. His friend was in rare form tonight. The liquor wasn’t even in his system yet and he already looking for dessert.
