Closed Midnight in the Garden of Glory and Shame (Sahreni)

[Subira]

Season of Fall, Day 34, 512 AV It was two bells to midnight on the eve of the West Winds' harvest celebration. The autumn evening was cool and dewy, and tenuous rays of silvery starlight streamed through the fluttering linen curtains of the wide-open windows into Subira's room, augmenting the warm lamplight that filled the small, cozy chamber. A damp breeze poured into the room, heavy with deep, penetrating scents, redolent of the freshness of the bay's waters, of the salt tang off the sea beyond, and of tar, pitch, and smoke from the Souths' workshops. Through the window Subira could see hundreds of stars shining in the cloudless sky, illuminating the night with a radiance that not even the rarest gemstones could equal. Stirred by the breeze, the rippling, shimmering waters of the bay reflected the glory of the stars and multiplied it in ever-changing patterns of light and darkness. Such an evening would normally beckon Subira to climb to the rooftop, that long-standing sanctuary of South Winds women, and drink in the wonders of the night sky and the bay. This evening, though, while she had the inclination, she lacked the time. On her bed lay a watered-silk robe of deep blue and amber, rich with intricate narrow pleating and bound with a pearl-encrusted belt, that her mother had "gifted" to her. Seldom-worn necklaces and bracelets hung out of drawers like glittering tongues. Subira stood in the center of it all, looking dejected and irritable, but resigned to donning the unaccustomed finery and attending the midnight dinner to which the half-breed West Wind, Sahreni, had invited her. She had already dismissed the handful of slaves assigned to assist her, stubbornly insisting on getting ready by herself. Only her mother's personal attendant, a flinty older woman who had come with Sitra from the East Winds, stood guard at the door and kept a watchful eye on Subira. Under that piercing gaze, she bathed and entwined her hair in its usual braid, woven with gold chains and pearls. Repressing a sigh, Subira turned her back on the open window and began to dress. A bell later, after her clumsy attempts prompted the attendant to snatch the robe out of her hands in exasperation and again to take charge halfway through the process of applying her cosmetics, Subira finally gazed into the mirror. Gold dust lined her eyelids, bringing out the golden-brown hue of her eyes, while kohl lent them definition and mystery. The pristine whiteness of the pearls in her collar and belt -- those pearls, always those damnable pearls, Subira thought ruefully -- accentuated the dark blue and amber of her silk robe, an artful mingling of the South and West Winds' colors. A musky perfume clung to her, making her sneeze. "What is that smell?" she asked, uncertain if she liked the pungent fragrance. "Sandalwood," her mother's attendant replied shortly. "Of course," Subira mumbled. She couldn't possibly waft into the West Wind's fabled villa smelling of sea spray and smoke. There was a knock at the door, and the collar around the attendant woman's neck glinted as she turned and went to answer it. In the lull between her attentions, Subira quietly reached for her oceanite brooch and pinned it to her breast. It had rested over her heart every day since she was a child, and at the West Winds' midnight dinner, she would doubtless need every reminder of the sea that she could get. Though Subira must needs enter unknown waters with neither map nor chart to guide her, at least the oceanite would remind her why she was there. The door opened, and her mother stood at the threshold, her expression inscrutable. Her eyes straying to the brooch, Sitra declared, "I see you are ready, Subi. The palanquin is waiting for you outside." The attendant gave the belt around Subira's waist a final straightening, and the robe slithered around her legs with a whisper of finespun silk. She looked levelly at her mother, knowing Sitra could read her daughter's mien like a book and sense how ridiculous she felt, fussing over herself like this and taking part in this business of courtship and alliance. "You're to be on your best behavior tonight, Subi," her mother said finally. Then she was gone. With one last look out her window, Subira drew a deep breath and headed outside, with the stern-faced attendant following at her heels. The woman coughed as she swung up into the palanquin in carelessly unladylike fashion. Subira was too deep in her own thoughts to hear it, hoping against hope that the slaves would collapse between the poles or a bolt of lightning would strike down and doom the entire excursion. It didn't happen. The palanquin started moving, with Subira within. *** As the palanquin bore her down the road past the outskirts of Ahnatep, Subira felt a pang of trepidation as she watched the West Winds' estates nearing with every step the bearers took. Though she of course had attended a function or two in her time, she felt unaccountably nervous. Compared to the horse race tomorrow, a race in which she was terribly ill-equipped to compete, a quiet gathering should hardly feel so difficult. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but not difficult. Yet, it was difficult, for every step forward led Subira closer to a fate she never would have chosen for herself. For years, she had fended off prospective suitors and alliances without qualms, but this time half of her actually wanted the match to succeed even while the other half deplored it utterly. Having her own ship, serving as navigator again, she couldn't say no to those things so easily, even if the price was marriage to some noble-born stranger and, in this case, an Eysh-na to boot. Besides, Sahreni hadn't seemed quite as bad as some of the others. He had been, though she hesitated to admit it even to herself, rather…charming. As the West Winds villa reared its gracious and dignified façade before her, Subira briefly closed her eyes and steeled herself for the gathering. Natural or not, her trepidation would avail her nothing here. She must show no signs of her nervousness, but display only the pride and resilience of the Souths in her demeanor. Though she need not encourage Sahreni too much, she couldn't afford to discourage him either, not if she wanted to sail the ship to which he was her key. With a little more decorum than she'd shown climbing in, Subira descended from the palanquin at the entrance to the villa and nodded curtly to the bearers, dismissing them. A house slave bowed low to her, and absentmindedly she removed her cloak and gave it to him to take away. As he scurried off, Subira looked around apprehensively for Sahreni, of two minds whether she wanted to find him or not. If he wasn't here, perhaps then she could return to the Souths' rooftop and the contemplation of the night sky. And if he was here, well… Subira touched her oceanite brooch for luck and waited, calling upon the patience and strength of the deeps, amid a garden of fragrant flowers and fruitful earth.

[Sahreni]

During this time of year, the nocturnal songs of the local wildlife were exceptionally loud. The croaking of frogs in the Eye of Syna could be heard for at least a mile, carrying all the way to Villa. In the West Winds courtyard, the noise mingled with fragments of a quiet conversation happening deeper in the garden. Sahreni sat in this relative silence, alone and waiting in the cool air, barely lit by the flickering light of an oil lamp sconce. Something small glimmered in one hand as he rolled it between his fingers, catching light from the lantern. It was his family ring, a symbol of his noble heritage, granted to him by his father. It was a not a guarantee of his privileges, but a reminder that he must fight to keep them. It was either that, or deign to live the life of his mother. Although he loved her dearly, he knew in the greater scheme of things that she was a meaningless, lowborn pauper. If and when she died, Sahreni would be the only one to mourn her. He was sure that, by now, whatever affection his father might have once held for her had been firmly extinguished. In order to secure his future, Sahreni had to marry well. Subira was as much an opportunity for him as she was the promise of a new and uncertain lifestyle (the latter of which he would gladly take, even if it broke him, if it would lead to his success in life). It seemed unlikely that, if this betrothal arrangement fell through, he would ever be offered another Eypharian noblewoman. On some level it galled him to know that in order to obtain the right credentials to impress, Sahreni had to rely on others rather than his own merit. His blood betrayed him. That was not to say Subira was in any way a burden. She was… unique, for certain. He had told her as much, and she dismissed it. It was clear to see why she was at her age and still unmarried. But if he could find redeeming values in his mother, a former concubine, he could certainly find shining qualities in an obstinate noble. 'Nobility' was more than a title, after all; she possessed a more perfect nature by divine heritage. He only needed the fortitude to bring it out of her. She deserved to be appreciated for the person she was, rather than the way people saw her. Sahreni knew this well. And he would grant her that, and more, if she could be convinced to love him. All he had to do was work out her rhythms and preferences so he could discover how best to appeal to her. She was not like other women. A new sound rose above the mumbling silence, and Sahreni lifted his head. Subira had arrived by the grace of servant hands, filling the bastard with a sense of relief. She had come. Every moment with her was pivotal, and every rejection brought him closer to failure. Subira's acceptance of his invitation filled him with cautious optimism. He stood at once and began making his way through the pavilion corridor along the border of the garden. "As these occasions go…" The halfblood's familiar voice sounded from the dark shape that could be seen moving beneath the shadowy overhang, between the halos of burning lanterns. "I believe I would be expected to say something mundane and complimentary." In the span of time it took him to complete his sentence, Sahreni brought himself in view of the lantern light closest to Subira. As one could expect, he was in fine form, dressed in black and yellowy gold, this time without the weapon at his side. Instead, a shoulder cape fashioned from wolf's fur was attached to his left side. He smiled at her warmly and gave a shallow bow, pleased to see her again. Despite Subira's questionable reputation, she was as lovely as they came. "You look ravishing. I'm so glad you came. I hope you had no trouble in getting here. Every one of these statements is true, but I'm sure you've heard them all. I wouldn't want you to think me unimaginative." Reaching into his coat, he drew out a bit of folded red cloth, but held it in his hands. "I meant what I said before, when I said you were unique. I'm so used to putting on a smile and charming my way through social occasions, but you see through it. I'm seldom surprised by anything, but you surprise me, Subira. Thank you for coming." He glanced over his shoulder. "These midnight dinners have always been a family tradition. I enjoy the dark, when the moonlight mingles with lanternlight. It creates a balance of sorts. I've always found it poignant."

[Subira]

Though she had visited the West Winds' villa many times in her youth and a few times in adulthood, the tranquil, oasis-like beauty of the place always took Subira by surprise every time she stepped foot in its airy halls and luxuriant garden. The very air seemed sweeter-smelling out here, and the night was alive, not with the distant rumbling of the sea, but with the gentler music of frog calls, nocturnal birdsong and women's laughter. It was startlingly easy to forget that outside the Villa lay the burning desert where even cacti failed to flourish. Amid these charming, slow-paced surroundings, Subira always felt abrupt and crude in comparison, an ill-bred creature that hurried and rushed instead of sauntering elegantly. She tensed reflexively when she heard the half-breed's voice emerging from the darkness between the fairy-like glow cast by the hanging lanterns. The sight of Sahreni as he stepped into the lantern light took her slightly aback once more. She could not get used to him possessing only two arms instead of four or more. As he greeted her with graceful compliments, but in the playful, self-deprecating fashion of a man admitting unalterable truths rather than in the florid, fawning tones of a man paying tribute, though, a flush rose inexplicably to Subira's cheeks. Was she blushing? Why was she blushing? No, she couldn't be blushing. Her face just turned red because…because she felt out of place here. That must be it. Hoping to keep Sahreni from seeing her heightened color, Subira averted her face from the lantern light. Somehow, being on dry land made everything so much more complicated than they were aboard a ship. She fumbled for something to say as Sahreni expressed his appreciation both for her coming and for the tradition of the midnight dinners. "Thank you for having me," she managed at last, stiffly. "I look forward to enjoying the famed hospitality of the West Winds." The words came out as though she were reciting a formula. She glanced back toward Sahreni, eyeing the folded red cloth in his two hands with apprehension. "As for your other comments, well, you are very kind. I dare say I must be quite in your debt, with all these compliments you've been paying me, even if they are the mundane sort," she added, sounding somewhat more natural, though also more ungracious, than before. Looking him up and down, she continued, "Hopefully, I can even the difference a little by telling you the truth too. You are also looking very well, and I'm honored to be here." Belatedly, she responded to his shallow bow with a brief half-curtsey. "You surprised me too, by inviting me here," she admitted, trying to recapture the easy candor they had shared aboard the khnor. "Not to mention to the horse race. But then, I'm not like you. People rarely are what I expect them to be, in my experience." Her hands fluttered uncertainly, as though searching for the proper undermode to enrich the simple phrase, but Subira had long since resigned herself to only knowing how to express things like "Please," "Thank you," and "Sorry" in High Arumenic. Instead, she babbled hastily, "Then again, I suppose the noblewomen you know best are your gorgeous, flower-like West Winds, all smiles and sweetness. It's no wonder I seem different to you. Still, even the West Winds ladies have their thorns, they say. Like Izdihar. The prettiest spinster in the world, she is. She must be one of your cousins. Or a half-cousin, in your case." If Subira was being rude, she was blissfully oblivious. Instead, the mention of kinship prompted her to glance dolefully in the direction of the quiet conversation deeper in the garden. "Now that I've arrived, I suppose it's time to be formally introduced to your family, isn't it?" she queried, with a gusty sigh. "It'd be the proper thing to do, as a guest." Nodding toward the garden's depths, she extended her hand to Sahreni. "Shall we, then? I promise not to blurt out something terrible before any more of your family members."

[Sahreni]

Complimented, Sahreni smiled modestly. For an Eysh-na, he added in his head. Still, it was a marked improvement from their first meeting, when she had openly insulted him outright. She must have been warming up to him. "Thank you." Sahreni began unraveling the crimson cloth in his hands while Subira made her observations about the West Winds. It was always interesting to hear an honest, outside opinion of his family, however disingenuous and polite it might be. They had a reputation for their gentility and charm. It was a warmer light, Sahreni thought, than the other Houses. Better, in his opinion. 'Half-cousin?' For half a moment, his brow creased ever so slightly. Everything had to be 'half' with him, didn't it? Both amused and bitter, he managed to resist smirking, but could not keep himself from politely correcting her error. "A cousin on my father's side, yes." Sahreni paused thoughtfully, considering her remarks about the West Winds women. "And perhaps. Though cordiality is a virtue which sometimes lacks forthrightness." Unfolded, the cloth didn't become anything more glamorous than simple crimson cloth. It was a long, hemmed strip, like a tiny scarf or a broad ribbon. Sahreni gave the item no special regard, and nothing on his features told of its purpose. He was more intent on listening to her. When she sighed at the prospect of meeting his family, he did smirk then. What refreshing honesty. "I can give you a tour of the Villa before we make the rounds, if you prefer." Sahreni took Subira's hand in his, but probably not in the way she was expecting. He held it steady, then raised his second as he began to tie the red cloth gently around Subira's wrist. "This is your invitation," he clarified, releasing her hand so she could inspect her new makeshift bracelet. "These dinners tend to be very private with specially picked guests. Only a fraction of my family is here tonight. We Wests enjoy the small things. Like exclusivity." Sahreni glanced up at Subira, punctuating his joke with a smile. Sahreni reached into his coat for another stop of cloth. Surprisingly resourceful with his limited number of hands, he employed a creative use of his fingers as he tied the ribbon around his own left wrist. Perhaps it was true what he said—he had mastered the use of only two hands. "The invitations are always unique. I recall, the last dinner I was invited to—" It was several years ago, and on the same date as his birth. When this occurred to the hostess, Sahreni was hastily brought in as a gift. Otherwise, he was not often asked to attend. "—all the guests were required to wear furs. It was early fall, and the weather was unseasonably hot that night. It was a disaster." Sahreni offered his arm. It may have been the lanternlight, or the flattering shade, but his features seemed unusually warm. During their last meeting at the khnor, he wasn't nearly so candid. He treated her like a lady then. Tonight, he was looking at her like a prize. "Come. I can show you the rest of the garden, or the brewery if you like. Or if you're hungry, we can join the others."

[Subira]

Subira caught her breath, feeling the band of crimson cloth tighten around her wrist as Sahreni tied it in place with a simple, graceful knot. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced sidelong at the half-breed as he fastened his own ribbon with admirable dexterity, given that he had only the two hands to work with. That mask of poised, kindly courtesy never once slipped from his features; looking up at his face, Subira wondered if he had ever stopped smiling since her arrival. She rather doubted he had. He's a West Wind indeed, whoever his mother was, she thought wryly. You could never tell what a West Wind was thinking. They would smile and smile, bearing with well-bred silence whatever the world might cast at them and never allowing anyone to know their true hearts. Sahreni had smiled after her shameful initial outburst when they first met, she remembered suddenly. Was it the same smile as the one he'd worn just now, repeating "Half-cousin?" in that calm, cool voice? How would she ever know? While his jest about exclusivity coaxed only a smile, Sahreni's description of the last midnight supper he had attended provoked a heartier laugh from the South. Taking his proffered arm, her fingertips resting lightly against his forearm, Subira chuckled at the image of all those sweltering, stuffy nobles. "I'm very thankful that you invited me to a gathering with such a simple invitation, then," she remarked, looking at the red cloth trailing from her wrist. "This is so much more elegant. I never would've passed muster at your last supper." She laughed again. "Why, I don't even own a single fur!" Subira closed her mouth with a snap. This was the same sort of outburst as when she'd called him a two-armed foysha--perhaps not so hurtful, but just as thoughtless. This time, she stopped herself before she went too far and made Sahreni smile again, that smile that made all the warmth disappear from his face. Instead, graciously as ever, Sahreni offered her a choice between a treacherous whirlpool teeming with sharks and a quiet harbor with a risk of shoals. The way he gazed at her made her heart flutter strangely, even though she knew all he wanted from her was a change in status, a rise in rank. Just like all she wanted from him was another chance to be a ship's navigator. But why did he look at her like that? The flush rose and fell in Subira's cheeks as she quickly answered, "I would love to see the rest of the garden and the brewery. You've seen me in my element, after all, aboard the khnor. I'd like to see what you do and where you work. What plants you raise, what processes you run. I'd like to hear you tell me what you think about as you work." And may the harbor shelter us safely, she thought with a faint smile, and may its shoals not cut us too deep.

[Sahreni]

Subira's unexpected exclamation was enough to make Sahreni tilt his head in bemusement. Certainly excitable, wasn't she? Almost like a child, belying her age. This aspect was written onto an internal list, kept in Sahreni's head, as one of the South Wind woman's quirks. It was always a good idea to remember these things about people. They were often useful tools in later situations. It was unusual, but Sahreni was put at ease by her candid nature. The West Winds were clever liars—most nobles were—and this put him on guard more often than he could feel relaxed. Even the conversations between Sehebre and his wife were laden with subtle messages, hidden between spoken words. If Subira was always this forthright and readable, then Sahreni would have nothing to fear from her. An excellent quality in a wife. "You make it sound so interesting," Sahreni countered with a laugh. Allowing Subira to take his arm if she wished, he began to lead her through the garden pathway. The stone pathway was lined with attractive lanterns, hanging from black posts, lit at this hour only to enrich the atmosphere for this clandestine gathering. Still, the garden was more shallow than color, giving it a mysterious, almost dangerous quality. In certain perspectives, that was almost as lovely. "This is the second time you've asked of my trade." Sahreni led her to the pathway that would bring them to the dinner guests, then moved her beyond it. Instead, they approached the garden's center. "Truly then, your interest is not feigned. I'll satisfy your request, but I hope you are prepared for disappointment." They approached the fountain, decorated by the party hostess with dozens of small candles lined around the fountain's rim. Most of them were still lit, but light splashing from the flowing water had doused one or two of them. Sahreni released Subira so that he could stoop at the fountain's edge, plucking a plant stem from the ground. "This is where I stood when my father called me inside, to tell me of you." He held the plant stem over the flame of one candle. It took time to burn out the water in the stem, but eventually it grew a flame of its own. He used the weak flame to relight two of the doused candles. "I never thought my family would think me worthy of another noble's hand. But then, I've also never put much stock into what they think of me." The lie passed from his lips as easily and cleanly as water. The plant stem was dipped to extinguish the flame, then dropped at his feet. Sahreni turned his eyes to Subira. "You're the only one I need to impress." He began to drift away from the fountain. Again, Sahreni's arm was free for her to take. "Come. I'll show you the stills. The crops are grown not far from them." He laughed softly. "Nothing ever happens there, though I've heard stories of people falling into the stills. It's a terrible tragedy, entire batches of beer ruined." There was a sly wink. "I suppose sailors are very fond of our work."

[Subira]

Subira once more averted her face, this time to hide her wrinkling her nose at the politeness and pliancy in Sahreni's response. She knew full well that if someone were ever foolhardy enough to ask her about her work and what she thought of it, she would immediately blather and lecture about navigation and sailing until her listeners' ears were ringing with phrases and concepts like "dead reckoning," "finding longitude," or the positions and movements of more stars and constellations than they ever wanted to hear about. The knowledge brought Subira no shame; it simply indicated that she was passionate about her vocation, as every South should be. In fact, she had been half-hoping that Sahreni would display a similar level of passion for his brewing. Somewhere in the eddying depths of her mind, Subira had been thinking that even if she married this Sahreni fellow, this Eysh-na, it might not change her life as drastically as she feared. If he stayed home at his brewery while she voyaged abroad aboard the new khnor, why, what a splendid arrangement that would make! A husband on the same ship with her every day would naturally insist on imposing his will upon her--men were like that, Subira figured--but a husband from whom she was separated for two or three seasons out of a year would hardly tether her down at all. Thus, she rather hoped that he would bore her to death about brewing beer now if it meant presaging good things in their future, assuming they were forced to share it together. However, Sahreni's well-mannered response foretold no such future, as far as Subira could see. Though he smilingly told her to be prepared to be disappointed by his answer, so far the only disappointment was his seemingly offhand, carefree attitude toward his brewery. Where was the pride, the passion, the complete unconcern for his audience's comfort? Did he have it? She couldn't tell. Subira couldn't help grinning, though, at his passing remarks about sailors loving beer and people falling into stills, though she hadn't the faintest idea what a "still" was. "I wouldn't be surprised if our sailors were your best customers," she chuckled. "Why, the distribution of fine West Winds brews on our ships is a centuries-old tradition of privilege and reward. I've even heard stories--only stories, mind you, always involving some vague individual like 'my grandfather's best friend' or 'the captain of a famous kersha'--about crews mutinying if the beer ran out. Or just refusing outright to set sail until they knew the hold was packed with kegs of good barley beer." The corner of Subira's mouth turned up as she glanced briefly toward the fountain in the courtyard. The warm glow of the many candles lining the rim was reflected in the pearls at her throat and in her eyes, twinkling with humor. "Such is the power of the West Winds," she quipped, "both charming and cunning at once." She hadn't taken Sahreni's arm at first when he began drifting away from the fountain, but now she did tuck her upper right hand into the crook of his singular left arm. The red cloth fastened to her left hand fluttered freely in the air as she gestured lightly. "By the way," Subira went on, "I'd forgotten that I'd already asked about your business before. It must have been aboard the khnor, of course? Let me know if my questions grow tedious. Everyone always says I try to know too much and never know when to stop asking questions." Her tone sharpened as she added, "And let me remind you of something that I said aboard ship. I've never been in the habit of feigning anything. My time's too valuable to waste pretending interest in things that I don't care about. Wouldn't you agree?" She tilted her head at him, as if daring Sahreni to contradict her--not that she expected he would--after talking about seeking her hand and needing to impress her. "I truly am interested in your work," Subira concluded. Her free hands attempted to echo the sentiment by curling emphatically into raised fists. She cast about her mind for a suitably intelligent question to start him talking. "Tell me, how did the great storm in the spring affect your crops? I hope it hasn't been too poor a harvest. Otherwise, you might truly have a mutiny on your hands next season, if we Shuuda beer lovers don't get to drink our fill." Hopefully, that would prompt Sahreni to discuss his brewing more freely, and would let her judge just how attached he was to his work. She smiled encouragingly at him, her three hands uncurling into open, welcoming palms.

[Sahreni]

Outside the protective walls of the Villa's garden, Sahreni and Subira were subject to the cool winds sweeping in from somewhere deeper in the Eyktolian desert. Thin, dusty clouds of sand were summoned up and sent to assail them, washing tiny grains across their faces. The fur cape on Sahreni's left shoulder ruffled, and his loose hair teased gently around his face. They were both desert creatures, he and Subira. The sand was paid little mind. Like any other form of grit, it was a fact of life. "Perhaps it is, but some do it frequently." Sahreni said to Subira with the hint of a laugh. She was quick to agitate. It almost fondly reminded him of himself when he was younger. In childhood, one word about Sahreni's mother could send him into berating or even attacking the offender. Evidently, Subira's trigger was presumption. This was duly noted. "I have done little business with the South Winds in the past, and I forget your merits lie in honesty and personal integrity. I'll do well to keep that in mind, Tira Subira." By now, much of the crops had been cut down for harvest, leaving vast, empty fields of tilled earth, laid in rows and littered with shorn leaves. The moonlight caught it all, the distant sands, the fields, and the pair of nobles moving along outside the wall of the Villa. Sahreni began to explain, as simply as possible, the process of fermenting wheat, barley, and hops into a drinkable brew. The West Winds would experiment with different flavors, adding in fruits, honey, or even meat. Occasionally an exciting new spice would be brought in from abroad, allowing the Wests to come up with a unique, limited batch of beer enlivened with vanilla or cinnamon. A new structure came into view, once they passed the Villa. It was the same elaborate architecture, but the rooftop opened into several chimneys to allow smoke to escape. Sahreni led Subira into the building's shadow, out of the moonlight, and up to the door. "The storm was particularly devastating, of course." Sahreni took his arm back and reached beneath his shoulder cape into the interior of his vest. A brass key glittered dully in the filtered moonlight as he moved to unlock the door. "Not only to our crops, but our workers. Several were killed in the floods." The heavy door was pushed open, though only blackness lied beyond. Sahreni stepped into the shadow without a remote sign of hesitation. There was the sound of metal striking metal, accompanied by the flash of sparks, until finally a lantern caught light and filled the surrounding air with a warm, yellow glow. "Come inside." The quiet, lonesome structure smelled thickly of fermented wheat, reminiscent of baking bread. It was a surprisingly pleasant aroma, and the room was humid with it—even warm. From the light of Sahreni's hooded lantern, which he now he held in one hand, two large wooden vats could be seen taking up the majority of the building's space. Nearby, odd contraptions that looked like oversized misshapen metal stoves reflected points of light from the lantern's flame. "The vats, and the stills. And here." Sahreni moved passed one of the vats, bringing his halo of light across the room. It was discovered that the far wall was lined with countless stacked barrels, reinforced with steel rims. "The harvest was not good, but we keep plenty on reserve. Beer has to age before it can be considered quality. Much of this is last year's work. Some is from the year before. I believe there are sampling glasses around here…" After performing a cursory inspection of the immediate area, he smirked. "Taste testing is part of quality control after all. Ah, there." Setting the lantern on the floor near Subira, Sahreni stepped into the shadows toward a cabinet. It was clear he was intimately familiar with the room's layout. He barely needed any light to move around. "Ordinarily, only West Winds are allowed in here. I'd appreciate if you avoided mentioning this to my father. He would not be pleased." The halfblood returned, wearing a mischievous smile. It told of how little he cared about the risk. "May I pour you a drink?"

[Subira]

Subira's mouth formed a round, contemplative "O" as she followed Sahreni and listened gravely to his explanations on crops, fermentation, and flavoring. The half-breed's descriptions managed to be clear and comprehensible enough to the agriculturally clueless Subira to give her some idea of how a stalk of wheat turned into a sip of beer, without sounding too terribly patronizing. Indeed, his openness regarding these hithero mysterious procedures was oddly refreshing. More than once, she half-expected him to stop short in the midst of talking about honey or cloves and say, "I'm sorry, Tira, but this recipe is a carefully guarded House secret," or some such, but he spoke on without the least sign of guardedness. In a way, Subira found it more flattering than all his prettily worded compliments about her looks or personality. There was something pleasant about the thought that Sahreni was making an exception for her. Before she could feel too pleased, though, rebellion rose in her just as quickly. Of course he was making an exception for her--because Subira was the only noblewoman making an exception for him in grudgingly tolerating his courtship. Still, his words lent new dimension and significance to the sight of the great, level fields of earth that stretched before her, limned in silver and shadow by the moonlight. Subira caught her breath, reminded of the endless reach of the sea toward the horizon. Just as she saw hidden currents and depths where others saw only water, Sahreni clearly saw far more than empty soil and shorn plants in these fields. Very admirable, Subira thought. Now and then she made a few polite murmurs during the pauses in his explanations, but for the most part she was content to follow and listen. Warmed by the certainty that she had detected that authentic note of passion she'd been hoping to hear, Subira hardly noticed as he led her inside a smaller, solitary building some distance from the West Winds Villa. She gasped softly as a lantern flared to life in the darkness, illuminating a large room with two huge wooden vats and the stove-like contraptions that she realized were the "stills" that Sahreni had referred to earlier. Though she appreciatively inhaled the surprisingly bakery-like aromas in the air, she couldn't help feeling bewildered in these unfamiliar surroundings through which Sahreni moved so easily and comfortably. As the half-breed disappeared briefly from sight into the shadows, Subira couldn't restrain an apprehensive frown. The frown quickly disappeared, though, when he returned with a question that brought a broad grin to her face. "I was hoping you'd ask that!" she exclaimed, beaming. "Listening to you talk about all those delectable beers was making me thirsty. I would love a drink, thank you." Her eyes twinkled in the lantern light as she added laughingly, "And I solemnly promise I won't tell a soul. Your secret is safe with me." Proudly, Subira produced her personal drinking straw, a slender tube of polished brass with a filter at the bottom and delicate carving along its length, and inserted the filtered end into the sampling glass he held out before her. Disregarding all conventions of beer tasting, she slurped loudly through her straw and drained the glass in a few noisy, violent sips. "Ahhhh," she sighed happily, smacking her lips and wiping foam from them with the back of her hand. "Delicious! Now that's what I call good beer." Her eyes darted to Sahreni's face, and she coughed and drew herself up in an attempt at dignity. "That is, I believe I…tasted a subtle hint of…I think it was lotus? It gave the beer a, uh, refreshing, crisp flavor that I found quite satisfying. And, um, I also tasted undercurrents of dates. Or perhaps figs. Or perhaps pomegranates?" Hearing how preposterous her own words sounded, even to her ears, Subira yanked her drinking straw out of the sampling cup with a metallic clink. "Oh, I give up," she grumbled. "Just give me another drink, please. Perhaps something you brewed up yourself, if you can find any of your own brews lying around."

[Sahreni]

The lantern was set onto the floor, illuminating a bright patch of ground and casting a dim glow on everything else. Long, black shadows drew out behind each structure in the distillery, as well as the nobles' moving forms. There were more lanterns and torches elsewhere in the room, but a single light provided an intimate, intriguing atmosphere that Sahreni rather liked. He propped himself against a wooden post as he watched Subira enjoy her drink. An eyebrow lifted before he could stop it. The stark lack of concern for etiquette and decency caught him completely unaware. Subira was a sailor without a doubt, her capacity for femininity thoroughly disappearing in the brief seconds there had been beer in her cup. For a fleeting moment, Sahreni was mildly horrified. Unique, indeed. Relying on the poor lighting to hide his short-lived look of dismay, Sahreni remembered himself and stood straight, offering one hand forward to take back her cup. Twenty-eight and unmarried. Who would have thought? A diamond in the rough, Sahreni told himself. Subira was still nobility, after all. A product of excellent breeding. Her want of refinement was merely a flaw in her cut. Blame could be assigned to her upbringing. As long as she was a daughter of the Houses of the Four Winds, she was worth marrying. Besides, he had not yet seen her in her element. Perhaps this was a case of taking a fish out of water. Subira's efforts to deduct the makeup of the beer were at least amusing. "I'm pleased you approve," the halfblood said smoothly, not missing a beat. "There actually are dates and pomegranates in that brew. It belongs to one of my first cousins. She is partial to fruit ales." It was unclear whether or not he was lying, but that was a universal fact that could be said of Sahreni at any point in time. Taking Subira's cup deeper into the shadow, Sahreni's voice cut through the still, cool silence housed inside the structure. "Never mind the straw. Those are for polite dinner parties. This is the brewery." There was a muted thud as the stopper was pulled from one of the kegs. Subira could hear liquid spilling into her cup, and then another. "Virgin beer is best when tasted directly, as it provides a more pure appreciation for all of the subtle flavors. Better to judge when it is ready to sell." Sahreni returned to their halo of light, a cup in either hand. One cup was set atop a keg, balanced carefully on crest of its sloped surface, while he brought the other to Subira. "Brewing is collaborative process. None of these batches were made by a single person. This recipe, however, was my idea. It's a stout made with oats and a bit of milk. It's quite dark and bitter, but you'll notice an uncommon smoothness." When Subira reached to take the cup, Sahreni did not let go. She would drink this properly if it killed him. Instead—barring any attempt to break from his grasp—he assisted in lifting the cup to her lips. "I know it's difficult in here, but take a moment to appreciate the aroma. Now, a small sip, just to sample the flavors." Perhaps overstepping his bounds, he took the liberty of tipping the cup for her. "Different, isn't it? Now, feel free to down it at your leisure as it was meant to be." Finally, Sahreni withdrew and returned to his own cup. Perhaps borrowing from Subira's lack of grace, he hoisted himself up onto the keg and casually reclined back against another keg behind him. After taking a drink from his cup, he was silent for a moment to consider his own work. "My uncle is usually first to stake claims on any reported shipments of oats from the northern climes. He has more clout than I do." Despite his precarious place within the House of the West Winds, he was indebted to his family for the accommodations made for him. "I hope for that to change, someday." Sahreni tipped his glass to Subira. "If that drink is too bitter, I can find a lighter ale for you." He paused to sip from his cup. In her company, he did feel slightly uncultured for not using his own straw. The concern was erased with a quiet laugh. "I wonder how long we can dally before someone comes looking for us. We're expected, after all."