Hermes blinked hard as the clay jar was tilted again, the liquid sloshing into his cup.
His throat burned with every swallow, but he refused to cough. Glasán was already flushed pink from head to toe, giggling between gulps, his hair sticking to his damp forehead.
"Yer lookin' fair wobbly there, lad," Glasán teased, leaning in and lightly tapping Hermes on the nose. "That all ye've got in ye?"
Hermes gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going. His head lolled to the side. The tavern was spinning, voices turning to muffled hums.
He laid his head down on the table for just a moment… just to rest his eyes…
Glasán watched him with a sudden glint of curiosity. He wondered, just for a second….
If his voice could command outside the battlefield.
What harm could a small test do? He leaned forward, close enough that Hermes could smell the salt and smoke in his clothes.
"Kiss me."
