Page 77 of Ashes of Aether
“What’s he doing?”
“Talking to someone,” she says, turning back to me. “And his workers are all carting out moon-blossom wine. Lots and lots of it.”
“There will probably be none left for us,” I murmur.
“Let’s wait until they’re gone. Then we’ll see how much is left.”
Knowing she won’t leave without first searching her uncle’s warehouse, I don’t bother arguing with her. Hopefully, we won’t get caught for trespassing a warehouse already emptied of moon-blossom wine.
I close my eyes, straining my ears to make out what the muffled voices are saying.
“Alric!” Garon shouts. “Be careful with that! If even a single bottle is broken, I will have to deduct it from your wage.”
“Yes, sir,” comes the meek reply. Rickety wheels roll over the cobblestones. I suppose the sound belongs to the carts which Garon’s workers are using to distribute the moon-blossom wine.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. I lean against the stone wall behind me and fold my arms. It takes an eternity for the voices to quieten and for the footsteps to fade away.
“They just shut the doors,” Eliya says. “We should be good to go now.”
“Is there anyone left?”
“I can only see one of his workers. But we’ll need to be quick. In case they come back.”
“And you’re sure we won’t get caught?”
“Stop worrying so much,” she says, shaking her head at me. “Right, let’s not waste any more time. You deal with the worker. I’ll get the doors open. We’ll grab all the bottles we can and then make a run for it.”
I only nod.
“Conparios,” Eliya says. A dark cloak appears from a cloud of aether. She drapes it over her shoulders and pulls the hood over her crimson hair.
I do the same, and when both our identities are concealed, Eliya dashes beyond the safety of our corner. I hang back a few paces and watch as the worker, who is busy tidying a stack of crates, notices Eliya rushing toward Garon’s storehouse.
He opens his mouth, either to shout for guards or to demand to know what she’s doing, but no words have the chance to escape his lips. Aether swirls in my fingers.
“Somnus,” I mutter, my words barely brushing the evening breeze. Though I speak quietly, it’s loud enough for my magic to answer my call.
Violet light drifts over to the worker. It seeps into his nostrils as he inhales.
He blinks lazily, and his movements slow as my spell tightens its grasp over him. Then his eyes finally close.
In the next breath, he tilts over and falls face-first onto the street, snoring loudly. I pause for a few beats, ensuring he’s definitely fast asleep, and then hurry after Eliya.
How long his slumber will last depends on two factors. Firstly, how much aether I used to fuel the spell. Since I cast it quickly, I didn’t power it with an awful lot. Secondly, it depends on how much aether flows through his blood. The greater his affinity for magic, the more he will resist my spell.
With some luck, he will remain asleep for several minutes. That should be long enough for us to get in and out of the warehouse.
Up ahead, Eliya fiddles with the warehouse’s gigantic lock. She wiggles a thin metal pick inside it. Magic is of no use. The building is heavily fortified with defensive wards, and even the slightest tremor of magic will set off the city’s alarms. That means we can only resort to ordinary methods to break into the storehouse.
Fortunately, Eliya is an expert at lock-picking. Her father keeps his most treasured potions inside large chests with similar locks, offering Eliya plenty of opportunity to practice over the years. Somehow, her father has never caught her breaking into his chests and borrowing his potions.
It takes less than a minute for Eliya to burst the lock open. The internal springs click into place. She glances back and flashes me a smug grin. Then she tears the padlock from the wide wooden doors and shoves them open, revealing the contents of Garon’s storehouse.
Barrels of ale and crates full of rum line the stone walls. We waste no time rummaging through them and head up to the second floor, where Garon keeps his more expensive liquor. The bottles here are from world-famous breweries, indicated by the fancy script on their labels. Many crates of moon-blossom wine lie at the back, and the dusky liquid sparkles in the low light.
“I can’t believe how many bottles he has in here!” I exclaim, sifting through for the most expensive wine. The labels are written in Elvish, and while I can’t read it fluently, I can recognize their alphabet well enough to identify which are from Twilight Hill—the finest winery in all of Lumaria.
Eliya picks up several bottles with the same labels, filling her arms with wine. “Yule is only a few weeks away. I suppose he’s hoping to make a good profit off moon-blossom wine this year.”