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A RICH INVITATION

“W hen once again a blue dragon is seen in the skies, all of Hestia shall die.” ~Moire, the prophetess

In anticipation of sunrise, the Redstone Canyon was slow to come alive. What little dew had accumulated in the night lingered on the ground and kept the orange-red dust from stirring. Loathe to invite the heat of the day, creatures of all sorts kept still and silent, holding on to that last cool breath of dawn.

As usual, Demius forced me to wake long before I was ready, speaking to me as if I were fully alert. I hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about. By the time I figured it out, sleep was out of reach, which was exactly what he’d intended. But this morning, he’d pulled me from a pleasant dream. So, to show my irritation, I declined to answer when he asked if I’d moved his shoes.

“Asper?”

I refused to look at him. I grabbed my clean robes, marched out of the shelter we generously called our home, and turned to the right, away from the gully. A hundred feet away, a deep depression in the rock floor made for a shallow bath, perpetually refilled by a dripping overhang at the base of the hillside. It was the one place he wouldn’t follow.

And to torture my master just a bit longer, I took my time in the chilled water, washed the sand from my stiff white hair until it was soft again, and waited for the morning sunshine to peek down the ravine and dry it.

When I returned to the house, the ancient man had no attention for me. Instead, his focus was on the open tome on the table before him. His head swayed back and forth as he read the lines, as if consuming the words was much more urgent than the first meal of the day. My absence hadn’t tortured him in the least.

No matter. It was time for my speech.

My lungs filled with anticipation and dread. With him tucked in behind the table and me standing in the doorway, he was my temporary captive. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Demius,” I began.

“This is not the time,” he said, cutting me off with the wave of his hand. “We’ve been invited to the keep tonight.”

I huffed. “That’s not even slightly amusing…”

He'd forgotten me already, his lips moving in an attempt to concentrate on the sentence beneath his finger. It was then I realized which book lay open. The thickest, oldest—the one book he could recite without opening the cover. He'd said so himself a dozen times. So why did his memory need refreshing today, when I was just about to win our years-long argument?

"Demius," I began again.

He grunted with impatience, which was unlike him. "I did not say it to amuse you. We have been invited. You are about to have your wish without the need to travel into the city. Fresh faces await. New conversations. Friends. Everything you wish for will be there." Without lifting his head, he reached up to gesture in the general direction of the keep that rested near the top of the hillside. A place we hadn’t visited for nearly a year.

"What did you do, invite yourself to dinner?" I'd been trained never to raise my voice, but I was outraged. He might have been reading my thoughts for days, might have known an argument was imminent. “A little diversion to put me off? How humiliating!”

He closed his eyes and exhaled completely, allowing his shoulders to deflate as well. Then he turned his head to look me in the eye—something he hadn't done for days. "In the time it took you to bathe, you suppose I ran up the hillside without your notice? Do I seem out of breath? Or do you suppose I stood outside and bellowed up to the woman while you had your head underwater?"

"The woman? You’re saying she came here ?” I took a dreaded look around our humble, dust-covered abode and refused to imagine Mother Semel standing inside. “I don’t believe you. I would have noticed her."

I’d called him a liar, yes, but I would worry about the consequences later. I was getting the fight I’d been looking for. I wouldn’t back down until it was all said. To gather my courage again would take weeks.

"A servant brought the invitation,” he said. “In days gone by, servants were taught to keep out of sight. I suspect little has changed. I only hope she didn’t see you at the pool." He turned back to his book, but hovered, as if waiting for my promise that I wouldn't interrupt him again.

I still couldn’t believe it. There was nothing on the table but the book.

"Where is this invitation? Did you toss it in the fire? Or did it turn into a bird and fly away? Don’t tell me—it was verbal, so there is no proof."

Demius’ old hand stretched out of his sleeve to gesture toward the wall where a paper note had been impaled on the nub of a metal nail protruding from the wood. If I hadn't been consumed by my much-practiced speech, I would have noticed the paper the instant I came through the door.

I felt his old eyes upon me again as I stomped over to collect the proof I’d demanded. I turned away to hide my expression while I read the words.

My dear friend, we are celebrating tonight, and our party wouldn't be complete without you. Viggo has graduated from the Guardian Academy and will be flying a dragon home for the occasion. Since your counsel made his success possible, it is only right that you join us. Bring Asper as well. It has been too long since we have spoken.

Absently, I smoothed out the holes made by the metal, then tossed the invitation into the fire. Had I kept it, Demius would infer the occasion was important enough to make me forget what I truly wanted.

"Well? Does that not please you?"

"Of course," I said. "I assume there will be food—food I won’t be expected to prepare."

"Naturally."

"But it makes no difference. I still intend?—"

" Faodaan will be coming up in a matter of weeks. You would like to celebrate it in the city."

I hated him reading my thoughts, finishing my sentences. "I intend to."

"Then you shall. Give me...eight days to prepare."

The shock of those words nearly stopped my heart. Obviously, he believed he needed eight days to convince me to stay, but there was something in his voice that allowed me the dimmest glimmer of hope.

Though I was foolish to press him for the truth, I couldn't help myself. "Then you intend to come with me?" I believed the chances of him ever physically leaving the canyon were no better than my own escape.

"I...would like nothing better." His voice weakened at the end, as his attention was already caught on the words at his fingertips.

I hurried back outside where I could unleash my joy in private. Even if it weren't true, if he never really intended to allow me out of the canyon—ever—I could pretend for eight days. And at the end of those eight days, when he would have found reasons to rescind his permission, only then would I fight him with his own words. But for now, I danced upon the dust, singing barely above a whisper. "You promised. You promised. You promised!"

I stopped suddenly and lifted my chin to stare at the bastion looming on the hill. I could only imagine the commotion going on behind the large slabs of glass that stared down at the gully like flat watchful eyes. And since my glorified shack and I were the only things in the gully besides waves of red rock, they were looking at me.

“And tonight, I’ll be on the inside, looking out.”

If I had fancy clothes to wear, I would wear them. I would defy Demius and allow the whole family to learn I was a woman. I'd imagined it a thousand times, but Demius forbade it, just as he'd forbidden me to visit the city of Sunbasin. Did that mean he was softening on all sides?

I was far too excited to sit, but I slipped under the ledge of the roof, out of the sun, to shift my weight back and forth. If I sat still, my adrenaline would ignite in my blood. Every minute or so, I would look up the hill again, to imagine the preparations happening inside those walls and to sniff the air, looking for hints of what their servants might be preparing.

Demius said most celebrations called for sweet cake. And just imagining such a smell in the canyon made my mouth water. Or maybe it watered at the thought of what an older, fully mature Viggo Semel might look like…