The Blessed Curse (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #4)(80)

Neph had to fight back a laugh at the thought of it. The mental image of tiny little Jala punching someone was too much for his wine sodden brain. Perhaps if they had stopped with the first bottle he could have kept the stupid grin off his face right now, but with three bottles drained it was all but impossible. He had never really found interest in drinking to excess, but he had to admit Valor was onto something. After the first bottle, things had seemed bad, but not horrible. After the second, things were looking up, and by the time they had finished the third he really didn’t care if they were good or bad.

“Would you please stop giggling, Neph? God damn it, I have enough on my plate to deal with. I don’t need the added burden of Valor’s drinking and I truly didn’t need you drunk,” Jala railed as she whirled on him.

Neph did his best to wipe the grin off his face, but by her expression it wasn’t good enough. “So sorry,” he mumbled as he raised a hand to his face and tried desperately to wipe the grin off. By her expression, it still wasn’t working. Her violet eyes were stormy and her glare was getting more intense. “I was against the drinking right up until he told me about his dead sister money and Micah boffing a Blight. Wine sounded good then,” he slurred. The room began to spin around him and he fell back against a wall to brace himself. To his amazement, Jala didn’t seem the slightest bit alarmed. He gazed toward the window intently trying to remember what sort of spell one used to spin a house. It had to be an attack.

“Neph, let go of the magic you are drawing or I will knock you out,” Jala warned.

He turned back to her to explain why he had called on his power, but lost track of his words as he noticed the candlestick gripped in her hand. He fought back a snort of laughter as he stared at her make-shift weapon. He wasn’t even sure when she had picked it up. “Sorry,” Neph choked through his muffled laughter and she glared at him even more fiercely.

“First off, you are not allowed to use magic until you no longer have the desire to giggle. Understood?” Jala’s voice had taken on a parental tone and she was thumping the candlestick in her hand to emphasize each word.

“Understood,” Neph managed, though the demand seemed entirely unreasonable to him. Surely she would realize magic would be the easiest way for him to navigate the stairs unless they could somehow nullify the spell that was moving the house.

“Second, you will not speak to anyone until you have slept. If you do happen to speak with anyone you will not under any circumstance utter the phrase ‘Micah boffed a Blight’ or anything of similar meaning. If you do, I will castrate you with a dull rusty knife. Understood?” Jala continued in a quieter voice that somehow managed to be more threatening.

“Understood and not at all appreciated,” Neph said as he took a step back from Jala.

“Third, if I ever find you drunk with my fiancé again, I will lobotomize you, turn you into a woman, and leave you in Madren’s care with the suggestion that you might be his perfect match. I have no problem allowing him to romance you for the rest of eternity. Are we clear on everything?” Jala finished with a glower that could make plants wither.

“Crystal, and I’m terrified of you right now,” Neph muttered as he stared at her with new-found respect. After the mention of castration and Madren’s romance he had lost all desire to giggle. Of course, by her rules, that meant magic was allowed now so he could at least get up the stairs to his room to hide.

“By the Divine, Neph!” Jala snarled as he pulled on his power once more. A flash of movement caught his eye as he was beginning the transport spell and he looked up just in time to see the glint of silver as the candlestick connected solidly with his head.





*





Pain lanced through his skull in rhythmic waves. Each beat of his pulse was like thunder. Groaning, Neph sat up slowly and started to rub his face but paused instantly as a fresh wave of pain erupted from the side of his head. Gingerly, he brushed his fingers over the swollen flesh near his temple and frowned in confusion.

“Jala walloped you.” Zoelyn’s voice rose from the side of his bed and Neph spun toward the noise.

His stomach roiled with the quick movement and the pain in his head intensified. With another groan, he slumped back to his pillow and turned slowly to look at her. He had thought he was alone in his room. It was dark and had been dead silent when he woke. He couldn’t think of a single reason that she there. No one ever disturbed him in his room. “Why are you here?” he asked in the softest voice he could manage. Despite his efforts, the words seemed to echo through his skull with the volume of battle drums. He cringed and rolled onto his side, partially burying his face in the feather pillow.

“Rather pathetic when you have a hangover, aren’t you,” Zoelyn observed quietly with no trace of sympathy in her tone at all. Her dark hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail giving her a stern demeanor that suited her voice perfectly. He was still adjusting to her new appearance and he didn’t like it at all at the moment.

Neph gazed up at her with one eye, his face still turned into the pillow, and did his best to glare despite his position. “Why?” he repeated in a partially muffled voice.

“Jala told me to wait for you to wake up. She says, since you wasted part of her day with your idiocy, that you could help her by helping me. She knows you won’t train anyone so don’t bother objecting. I’m not learning magic. I’m tasting it. All you have to do is craft mage stones,” Zoelyn explained as she leaned closer to get a better look at the bruise on his head. “You can almost see the trace of the filigree from the candlestick on your bruise. Kind of a darker flower shape near the center,” she informed him.