Eight hours before Telos had arrived at The Drunken Dragon, Harper had brought up a tray of drinks for Qala and Ylia. Each glass of Daimonwine foamed, still warm from the emulsion process whereby the ataxic liquid was transmuted into a spice without equal. The drink was rare and expensive, which made sense given what Ylia now knew about Qala’s origins. You can take the princess out of her kingdom, but she still remains a princess. The assessment was a little harsh, Ylia knew, but she was still reeling from the revelation.

  Qala took her glass and raised it.

  “To friendship and secrets,” she said.

  Ylia did not take up her glass.

  “Qala…” Ylia paused, wondering how to frame it. “You have kindly shared a secret with me. I must now share one with you. I don’t drink.”

  “You lack constitution? I am the same. Do not worry, we shall only have one.”

  Ylia felt herself burning with shame, but she kept going.

  “No, it’s not that I can’t handle it. Well, it is that. It’s more about how I behave when I have a drink in me.”

  “The purpose of alcohol is to awaken the soul, is it not? That is why we call them ‘spirits’.”

  Ylia forced a smile.

  “I mean it, Qala. I become a different person, a crazy person. I owned a House for ten years. But the only way I could do it was by not touching the stuff. I made ale but I always got friends and colleagues to taste it. In a way, turning it into a business gave me an excuse not to.”

  Qala’s eyes were hard.

  “What I am hearing, Ylia, is that you do not trust me. We all fear making fools of ourselves when drunk, but again, that is the point of alcohol. We make ourselves vulnerable with one another to seal the pact of trust between us. It is a Qi’shathian custom to toast at the beginning of a friendship; bad luck to toast without a true drink in hand. And I am not accustomed to people declining the friendship of one who might one day rule Qi’shath.”

  Ylia looked at the Daimonwine, still smoking alchemically. She looked at Qala—saw the expectation there, the possibility of causing a serious wound.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Alright. For you, Qala, I will face my Daimons.”

  Qala smiled, and it was like the crescent moon appearing from behind a cloud.

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  “To friendship and secrets,” Qala said again.

  Ylia echoed her and the two touched glasses. Ylia drank. The liquor was harsh but sweet at the same time, a warming brother of mellow scents, like fruits baking beneath a summer sun.

  She felt the hit of the alcohol immediately. Daimonwine was no weak ale, but on its way to being a spirit. Unlike most people, Ylia enjoyed the taste of the alcohol itself, the bitterness, the fire, the way her veins seemed to set alight as it passed into the bloodstream. Something tingled at the back of her skull and she let out a sigh. Oh, how I missed this! She knew there was a danger in that thought. Stop now. You’ve toasted, that is enough. But already the cup came to her lips. This time she drained it in one. Even Qala looked shocked.

  “Savour it, Ylia. This is priceless—”

  “ANOTHER, HARPER!” Ylia bellowed, standing up.

  Urgal leapt back from the table and began to hiss.

  “OH SHUT UP, PO-FACE!” Ylia said, pointing a finger in the cat’s face. Urgal flicked his tail and turned his back on Ylia, evidently disgusted.

  Harper poked his face in through the door.

  “Did I hear you call?”

  “Yes, darlin’!” Ylia purred. “Another of those for me and my friend.”

  He grinned. Harper was no fool: he saw an opportunity for a good night of profit.

  “Coming right up!” He hurried off.

  Qala stood.

  “We cannot afford that, Ylia.”

  Ylia turned on her new friend.

  “You’re a fucking princess, aren’t you?”

  “Keep your voice down!”

  “NOOOOOOO!” Ylia sprinted out of the room with all the madness and ferocity of a toddler, running down the hallway, and flinging herself down the stairs. As she reached the bottom floor and clambered onto a nearby table, sending the plates of meat, broth, and vegetables flying. The patrons rose irefully, but quickly restrained themselves when they saw both how beautiful and mad Ylia looked.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” she bellowed, and the whole room—which seconds before had been a devolving chaos of inebriated activity—turned its attention on her. “I just had my first drink in eleven years. I think that’s cause to celebrate, don’t you?”

  A drunken cheer went up.

  “I now declare this night: The Night This Dragon Gets Truly Fucking Drunk!”

  Another cheer.

  Harper ran up to the table. She thought he was going to pull her off and readied her fists for a fight. But then he held out another draught of Daimonwine. She grinned and winked at him. She took and the draught from him and downed the cup, the red liquid spilling, running down over her cheeks and onto her breasts, to the raucous cheers of everyone.

  When she was done she hurled the cup into the crowd.

  “LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” she screamed.

  On the stairwell, Qala put her head in her hands.

  “What in the name of the Way have I done?”