Curse of the Crimson Queen

Chapter 5. The Vinedresser

'I don't understand. If white is your specialty, why did you name your winery "The Bloodred Bottle"?'

'It wasn't me.' Vardille found lying by giving half-truths exceptionally hard but entertaining at the same time. 'I believe red could have been more popular in my uncle's time.'

'He must have had lots of dark grapes in his vineyard. Those... purplish-reddish ones.' Idamin gave the impression of a wise sage, someone who was quite learnt and educated for being born in the unforgiving land of the North, especially in the field of mysticism and the ways of the arcane. In other matters, however, she turned out to be mildly... ludicrous.

'Yes. Blue ones. We call them blue grapes.'

'Apologies. My clan does not cultivate grapes.' Ida walked beside him quietly for a couple of moments. 'But if you inherited his land, how can you make white wine from red... blue grapes?'

'Oh, well, you see,' Vardille made a note in his mind to remember thanking an unsolicited lesson in vinification to Lorne Avellan, 'the juice you press from blue grapes is also clear, mostly. The difference lies in the method of fermentation. When you make white wine, you press the juice from the grapes, what we also call must, then ferment it. In the case of red wine, you first crush the grapes into a mess of juice and pulp, and then comes the fermentation, for the colorants are in the skin of the fruit. Only after fermentation do we press this mash. So, we can talk about must fermentation and mash fermentation, respectively.'

'Gods fuck me, you might be a damned vinedresser after all.' Mjelgralah approached from the back of the line. Vardille nodded in welcome; the chief was not in a delightful state.

'I am not in the habit of lying, Chief.'

'Unless it serves your purpose. I hate to break it down on you, vinedresser, but that's precisely how lies work.'

Idamin turned to the tall woman. 'I see it wasn't easy with Draggan?'

'I made him see reason,' she answered sternly, then covered herself in defiant silence as she walked to the head of their group.

They rose as soon as dawn broke and were travelling for the better part of the day, following a route Vardille thought would bypass the Ghatra's immediate surroundings. He spent the rest of the night in the makeshift tent he and Mjelgralah pitched after their encounter, and soon the woman's warriors brought Bryne in. Vardille often inspected his King's condition until exhaustion took him to a dreamless sleep. Bryne had been unconscious ever since, occasionally twitching and talking in his sleep. Vardille insisted his companion be let to rest. He was the only caretaker, although Idamin helped a lot, and Vardille, for the first time since long forgotten years had prayed, prayed that the King would not mumble anything in his sleep that could compromise his story.

The Velardhari group had been marching for long hours now, with every one of them taking part in carrying the tools and items they needed for pitching a temporary camp. Bryne was travelling on a battered cart, haphazardly built by the northerners which greatly surmounted Vardille's expectations in all manners.

'She's like that sometimes,' Idamin told him as she was following Mjelgralah with her gaze. 'But she has a pure heart, even if she herself can't always see it.'

'I don't doubt it. How long have you two known each other?'

'Saint, probably since childhood. I remember her from my earliest memories.'

'Are you two related?'

'No. Harak is her cousin, though. The little boy. She cares for him greatly. Another ordeal she is facing day by day.'

'I see.' Although he wanted to know his fellow companions better, Vardille opted for remaining silent. He thought it wise not to push matters too hard. Idamin had proved to be a pleasant partner so far, he feared risking her newly gained trust.