“Piret said security was mostly outside the Archives before he took them all; I guess it was easier back then,” Kajja replied. “My question is, how did no one think to do it before him? Or just to make this all public knowledge in the City?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Hendrik said suddenly.
“About what?” Kajja asked.
“The—the why no one told us about all this—this stuff from the Archives. That,” Hendrik replied.
Dagan laughed and slid an arm around his waist. “My dearest Hendrik, are you drunk?”
“Yes. Have been for hours, I think.” Hendrik leaned against him but tried to find the thread of his thought again. “And I think no one told us because—because maybe they tried, but everyone died.”
Innan frowned. “They died trying to tell you?”
“‘Xactly.” Hendrik gestured with his wine, sloshing a little onto his hand. He made a face and licked it off.
Kajja laughed. “This is amazing.”
“I know,” Hendrik said. “Because, the odds of any of this coming to anything are, just, so, so slim. It’s an ass-hair away from impossible, first of all that anyone can get in there, and then that they can get out with anything useful, and then that they can do anything about it once they know what’s going on in that hell-hole up on the mountain.”
“No, I meant, you’re amazing,” Kajja replied. “But go on; I can see you’re on a roll.”
“I’m drunk, not stupid,” Hendrik reminded her, irritated. “And if we allow that the odds have never been more in favor of the Stone City’s people getting free of this thing—that’s what Jessica said, right?”
“Sister Eva, too,” Kajja replied.
“Okay, so, that’s two absolutely disordered old ladies who are used to everyone doing exactly what they tell them to, but we’ll just, maybe set that aside for a minute while I finish my point,” Hendrik said thoughtfully.
“Which is?” Dagan prompted.
Hendrik held up one hand for silence, but unfortunately had forgotten what he meant to say by the time everyone was paying attention. Dagan was laughing out loud, squeezing him and telling him he was adorable, and Kajja was hardly less entertained. Only Innan watched him, with their sharp, clever eyes, serious as a boulder perched on the edge of a cliff.
Fine, at least someone was listening to him. Hendrik focused on Innan. “You see what I mean, though, don’t you? If these are the best odds, it’s no wonder it’s never worked before, even if it’s been tried hundreds of times. Thousands, for all we know.”
“The City hasn’t even existed a thousand years,” Kajja reminded them.
“You know what I mean!” He shot her an annoyed glare and took another drink, which was sadly the last in his cup. He waved for another, but when the server came over, Dagan had the nerve to ask her to bring a carafe of water instead.
“I’m not done,” Hendrik protested.
“That’s fine, darling, just fine, but take a little break at least. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
His smile was so easy, so plump-lipped and delicious, that looking at him left Hendrik breathless for a moment. He leaned in and caught Dagan’s mouth for a brief but extremely serious kiss. He had a momentary pang when the delicious taste of him didn’t immediately lead to a semi-erection.
He’d been toying with the idea of getting fucked tonight, too, but it’d be wasted after so much to drink. He’d hardly feel a thing. “I drank too much,” he admitted into Dagan’s cheek, suddenly more disappointed than he’d ever been in his life, he was certain.
“It’s been a difficult moon.” Dagan’s voice was low and soothing, and he squeezed Hen’s thigh beneath the table. “A difficult year. You’re allowed to spend an evening or two in a winery, my darling little someone.”
“Your hair smells so good,” Hendrik sighed, burying his face in it.
“This is wild. Where is Piret? I have to ask if she’s ever seen him like this.” Kajja stood to glance around the hall.
“Mind your business,” Hendrik mumbled. Insufferable little pests, sisters.
The water arrived, and Dagan gave Hendrik the whole thing, insisting he should finish it. Which seemed impossible, but if Dagan wanted him to, he could at least try.
“When Bartolo arrives, he should talk to Hendrik,” Innan said.
“I don’t want to talk to Bartolo,” Hendrik informed them.
Innan just peered thoughtfully into their cup. “Everyone’s determined to act, which is all well and good. But a skeptical voice will keep everyone from getting sloppy.”
“Innan,” said Kajja with a snort, “look at him.”
“He said it,” they replied with a knowing little smile. “He’s drunk. Not stupid.”
“Thank you!” Hendrik said, too loud. “I just think everyone is going to die, is all.”
“And we may,” Innan replied. “But that paranoia could help our odds.”
“Innan, you know I adore you, but I think this is making you morbid.” Dagan replied.
Even through the fog of elderberry wine, Hendrik noticed the note of fear, or something else dark and creeping, in his normally honeyed voice.
They shook their head, though. “No. No, I'm as hopeful as ever. I can’t help myself. But maybe Hendrik is the missing piece that keeps us from getting carried away with ourselves.”
“Or getting anything done,” Kajja suggested.
“You are seventeen.” Hen pointed at her accusingly. “What do you know?”
