Wishbone: Chapter 18

Wishbone used to dream of attending solstice festivals.

The rumors would drift into the harbor alleys--along with free-spending clients drunk on festival cheer. Acquaintances who worked in kitchens told of platters piled high with roasted geese, candied vegetables, and breads rich with ginger and candied fruit. There were in addition cream soups, vast carafes of wine, and potent, imported cordials. Gifts were exchanged in grand salons: gems and jewelry, furs, bolts of embroidered velvet, hunting hounds and incense. Sold, these gifts could have fed a whore for months.

Now, Wishbone was in the kitchen at Duke Arlefantar's reception, and he wanted to go home.

As member of the Bronlyn merchant community, Sir was invited to all the best events. He had even given a small party of his own, though it was presented by hired servants, and Wishbone and Terefar were free to hide upstairs. But when Wishbone was accompanying Sir as his valet, hiding was not an option. He felt miserably exposed. Worse than that, he had to spend the evening trapped with humans. Perhaps the astonishing part was that he didn't think of them as other humans.

Wishbone had had always felt a distance between himself and his own kind. Now they seemed loud, twitchy, flatulent, careless of each others' boundaries and full of frivolous noises. Many of them smelled like they needed to bathe. They were equally wary of him. He'd arrived in the company of a shih-aan. Rumors swirled around him like a cold draft. The...