The woman’s eyes narrowed again. “Well, the people in Briarwyke didn’t kill her. They have their own problems to deal with, and they don’t need another witch around. Though I would gather you’re…not that. Witches don’t normally cry so much.”
She shook her head because it was true: she wasn’t awitchregardless of how often she wept. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
Sucking her teeth, the woman took a step back. “We’ll see.” And like that, she was gone.
Celeste blinked up and down the forested path, but there was only that arcane shadow slipping into the trees. It took skill to disappear in the dark and even more to do it in the dying lights of the day, a skill she’d seen before, but it couldn’t be the same—it just couldn’t. She shivered, shaking off memories of the last time she’d encountered such magic, memories of abduction and being nothing more than a pawn in her sister’s games, and set herself toward the town again.
The sun was nearly set when she arrived. A boarded-up well marked the village center, surrounded by cobbles that had been worn into the dirt over many decades. The well’s roof was caving in on one side, and thorny vines that had dried out in the winter winds clung on stiffly. Those thorns sprawled at the edges of a well-traveled path circling the center, connecting the northern and southern-bound roads out of the village and an east-west road as well.
Thankfully, the circle was empty of villagers save for a lone chicken pecking at the cobbles. A chilly wind blew up from the south and whistled through the gnarled brambles. Four looming buildings, much larger than the sprinkling of darkened cottages she’d passed on her way in, marked the circle’s edges.
Just to her left stood the largest, a set of double doors and a hanging sign above that read Dew Drop Inn. Much too large for the town, empty stables ran along one side, but warm light poured from its windows. The building rose to a second story with many more windows that remained dark. A few of the shutters were hanging at sad angles, and a stack of shingles were piled in its side yard, presumably for the patches the roof needed, but the multiple, crooked chimneys puffed out big plumes of smoke, and Celeste could smell something delicious enough to give her the courage to approach.
When she tugged open one of the doors, a set of children sprinted by, a playful shriek cutting through the heady air of the tavern. Such a contrast to the grey outdoors, the interior glowed with warm, orange firelight. The space was large, a massive hearth along the back wall with a set of elk antlers hung up over it, and the murmuring of voices and a stringed instrument were layered over the fire’s crackling. Most of the tables were empty, though, and one of those chairs was knocked into by the sprinting children to clatter across the wooden floor.
“Pick it up!” barked a voice that made Celeste jump to attention and go straight for the chair. As she lifted it upright, the two came skidding up to her.
“She meant us,” said a little girl with a giggle, a tooth missing when she grinned, and the slightly older boy at her side tugged the chair from Celeste’s hands.
Celeste backed toward the door when the eyes in the tavern fell on her.Crickets, I should have worn my cloak.
“Oh, is this her now?” A woman in an apron carrying a set of mugs swept past, a ladle securing her auburn curls in a messy bundle. She set the steins down at one of the occupied tables and gave a wave with the linen she had tucked into a pocket. It took Celeste a long moment to realize she wasn’t being shooed out but beckoned toward the bar lining the side wall.
Happy to scurry away from the light by the door, she followed the direction eagerly. The woman swept behind the counter with a graceful ease, using her hip to knock a drawer shut as she went. There were six stools, but only one was occupied at the very end, and Celeste was surprised to see it was the woman from the roadway, a stein to her lips, dark eyes sharp, daggers still on full display.
“Um, hello,” Celeste began, taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar, a hitch to her voice as she tried to recall the things she had planned to say. “I was wondering if I, um…”
“Charlie, a meal,” the woman called over her shoulder as she pulled a clean stein from beneath the bar. “Ale will cost you coin, or you can have a cup of grog, but I’ll be honest: the grog is disgusting.”
“Oh, um, ale, I guess then?”
“Good choice.” She poured from the tap on a massive barrel fit into the wall and gestured with an elbow to the smaller woman sitting a few stools down. “Kori tells us you’ve taken up in the old Valcordian Temple, eh?”
“I’m not here for vengeance!” Celeste held up empty palms, eyes darting over to the shrewd woman.
The filled stein was set before her, foam sloshing but not spilling out. “There’s not much you can do to this place that hasn’t already been done in the past forty years.” When the woman smiled, she too was missing a tooth like the little girl, the skin around her eyes crinkling. Silvery strands hid amongst the auburn along her temple, highlighting the weariness in her features. She wiggled the fingers of her free hand.
Celeste pulled a gold from her skirt’s pocket and pushed it across the bar.
“I’ll start you a tab. What’s your name, honey?”
“Celeste,” came out quietly, the woman nodding as she tucked the coin away.
A girl of maybe thirteen came through the door behind the bar and delivered up a plate and a cagey stare as she called into the tavern, “Willow, Eliot, come help!” She backed through the door, holding it open until the other two children bound in, and all three were shut up in the kitchen. Celeste could still feel the girl’s dark, wary eyes even after the door was shut.
“Don’t mind Charlie, better she’s cold than comfortable—cold means she knows not to mess with you.” The woman slapped a spoon down beside the plate and settled in directly across from Celeste. “Now, tell me what you think, and don’t hold back.”
Before her sat some sort of baked square, golden and crispy atop a white sauce, a pile of buttered, wilted greens beside, and a huge hunk of bread. It smelled of chicken and peas, and when she sliced through the crispy square with her spoon, found it was soft in its middle. Under the woman’s expectant watch, she brought it to her mouth, and her eyes widened with the starchy, savory goodness. Celeste tried to say how delicious it was, but shoveled in another bite around a jumble of complimentary words.
“Halfrida has another happy belly!” The woman slapped the bar with both hands and made Celeste jump but didn’t deter her munching. “Now, you can come in here anytime to be fed from sunup to torch out, and all it will cost you is a little of your time. We can consider you square for this one since you tried to tidy the place,”—she snorted—“but the next meal comes with a side of chores.”
Celeste nodded, unable to stop chewing. She’d do a hundred chores for something so warm and delicious.
The keeper bustled away to tend to other patrons, and Celeste was left with her food. She ate quickly, taking in the wooden sign hanging up behind the bar,It Be Sundown Sumwear,and the other beside it of a broken sundial and slightly worse Key below that read,Ayl O’Cloq.
She was happy enough until she felt eyes on her. Kori, the woman had been called, was eating her own meal, and though she was staring, didnotlook like she wanted to be spoken to which was fine, really, since Celeste would probably only mess up whatever good will she’d curiously earned with the woman.
“Well, hello there.” A man inserted himself between the two, flashing Celeste a brilliant smile. He was devastatingly handsome, and from the way he draped himself over the bar, he was well aware of that fact. “It isn’t often we get newcomers, so I must ask,”—his brows rose high and his grin widened—“you wouldn’t happen to be my daughter, would you?”
