The Unseen Hand

Ch 21: Seh'nahiel Wine

Mir'kadi, Tenth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

What remained of the afternoon light had dwindled by the time Jarle took the dumplings off the flames to cool. He looked at the charred red kelp and pursed his lips. The food smelled good, but the packets looked burnt. Jarle shrugged. If the girl was half as hungry as he was, she would be content with anything resembling a meal.

"Dinner is served!" Jarle called out. "But don't dress up on my account. What you wore earlier is perfect."

As night fell, darkness enveloped the fringes of the cave. The bats fled in shrieking clouds, leaving behind the sounds of the jungle and the crackling of the fire. Beyond the circumference of the firelight, the moons shed their pearly luster over the pool.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jarle heard the sound of bare feet. "Hope you're hungry," he said in the direction of the sound.

"Smells delicious," came the reply.

As Avaren stepped into view, Jarle's chagrin was replaced by awe. Dressed in a sheer, wine-colored gown that hugged every curve of her body, Avaren was the embodiment of grace. Intertwined in her braided, snow-colored hair were strands of pearls that glistened in the firelight. Her eyes shone with a color beyond what could be found in the natural world. They sparkled like two fire opals—dual flames in an aqua sea.

Jarle wiped his palms on his breeches and extended a hand, beckoning Avaren to sit.

The hint of a smile danced on Avaren's lips. From behind her back, she revealed two goblets and a barnacle-encrusted bottle. "I thought I'd best contribute to the feast," she said, handing Jarle the old bottle.

Jarle took the bottle, unable to tear his eyes away from her. "Much obliged."

Avaren took a seat next to the fire and set the goblets down. "Please, open it."

The soft-spoken demand broke Jarle's reverie. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he was holding a bottle of wine. "Wine! How did you—where did you get this?"

Avaren smoothed the fabric of her dress. "There is more where that came from."

Jarle's eyes grew wide as he studied the bottle. "Mejtress, do you know what this is?"

Avaren knitted her brows. "Wine?"

"No, not just any wine. Look here"—Jarle pointed to a hand-blown mark depicting an eye surrounded by flames—"Sunblood."

Avaren shrugged. "What does it mean?"

Jarle gazed at the bottle with incredulity; his hunger temporarily forgotten. "Tell me, where did you find this?"

"At the bottom of the reef, near a wreck south of Firehill."

"I have only seen two other bottles like this. They sold at auction some five years ago. A merchant by the name Dhalsim purchased them—eccentric man, I am told. He paid a king's ransom. I am no expert when it comes to wine, but the Sunbloods are not known vintners—at least not traditionally, but"—Jarle pointed to the symbol— "there it is. Someone in that cursed family brewed this!"

Avaren crossed her arms. "I imagine someone did brew it, Majster Jadien."

"I know you don't think that highly of me." Jarle eased himself down on the blanket. "Just call me Jarle."

Jarle rolled the neck of the bottle in the heat of the flames until the resin that sealed it grew soft. He produced a small hook from one of his pockets and pushed it down along the inside rim of the bottle. When he felt the hook clear the resin topper, he turned it and pulled.