Willa shrugged. “Barbara has the key. I’ll tell her. But no one comes in here, I swear. Bone shards and broken lattices aren’t valuable to anyone.”
“They hold power, still.”
“Maybe, but it’s not power we understand or know how to use. Come, I’ll take you to the Black Eagle.”
Seraphina and Rune followed Willa, who took them through the nave and out into the cold November air. Snowflakes were swirling in the wind, and Seraphina felt them land on her cheeks. She welcomed the fresh air, as freezing as it was, after hours spent in the confined space of the sacristy, and after smelling the odors of dying bodies as they’d crossed between the rows of hospital beds.
As soon as she saw the shape of the tavern, Seraphina felt her heart ache. Her steps faltered, and she fell behind as Willa and Rune entered. Rune held the door for her, and she had to push her grief aside. He didn’t know what the Black Eagle meant to her, and she hadn’t yet decided if she was going to tell him or not. Inside, it smelled of boiled cabbage.
Peter, the tavern keeper, welcomed them and sat them at a table near the fire.
“The meal is meager,” he apologized. “We don’t have much left. Our provisions are dwindling, and what with the war and the weather, harvest season was poor this year. I’m not much of a cook, either. My wife would’ve done better. I pray every daythat God will return her health, so she can come back to me and our sons.”
Seraphina murmured words of compassion, then she and Rune dug into their dinner. They were too famished to care that the cabbage soup was watery, the rye bread was stale, and the cabbage and oat pottage had no taste. The beer was good, at least. They couldn’t complain. They’d survived on less.
Halfway through the meal, Seraphina remembered that they still had food from the White Horse inn. The pouches the innkeeper’s wife had prepared had remained attached to their horses.
“Peter, are your sons still awake?”
“They are, Miss. Should I call them? Do you need anything?”
“Yes, please.”
Peter went out and called for them. He had to call a few times before they appeared from wherever they were, doing whatever they were doing. Seraphina was surprised they weren’t in bed at such a late hour, but she supposed there was a lot of work to do when most of the people left in town were sick and had to be taken care of.
“This is Hans, and this is Kaspar,” Peter said, then quickly added more information, since Seraphina was blind. “Hans is eleven, and Kaspar is ten. They both have their mother’s brown hair and hazel eyes.” Seraphina saw Peter’s shadow ruffle the boys’ hair. “They also need haircuts.”
“Can you boys go to the stable and bring me the pouches that are attached to our horses’ bridles?” Seraphina said.
They nodded and ran through the front door, racing each other. Within minutes, they were back, and Seraphina took the two bundles from them, noticing with satisfaction that they hadn’t been tampered with. She untied them and spread their contents on the table.
“It isn’t much, but I was thinking maybe you’d like to share the little we have with Rune and me.”
Peter tried to refuse, but the boys looked at him pleadingly, and he relented. They pulled up chairs, and for the next half hour, they ate together. Peter told them about his wife and the boys’ mother, and that was how Seraphina and Rune learned that her name was Agatha and she’d been in the hospital for three days with high fever.
When they were done, Hans and Kaspar cleared the table while Peter led them upstairs, where his family’s chambers were. Taverns didn’t have guest rooms, as they were establishments that usually served the town and acted as the place where people came to drink, eat, and have a good time after a long day of work. The family running the tavern usually lived on the floor above, or in another wing of the building.
“Willa brought fresh bed linens,” Peter explained. “This is the boys’ room, so there are two beds.”
“And the boys?” Seraphina asked.
“Don’t worry about them. Hans and Kaspar will sleep with me while you’re here. Willa said you are a weaver,” he said to Rune, looking oddly up at him, trying to see underneath his hood.
“Yes,” Rune said. “And Seraphina is my shard technician.”
Peter clasped a hand over his mouth but recovered quickly. “What luck that you were passing through our town at such a dire time. Or maybe it isn’t luck, and God has finally turned his eyes toward us and is blessing us with his grace.” He crossed himself reverently.
“Indeed,” Seraphina murmured.
Peter bid them goodnight, and Seraphina and Rune found themselves alone in the small room. There was a tiled stove against one of the walls, most likely connected to the stove in Peter’s room, from where he could feed the fire. It was warm andthe bed linens smelled fresh, and all Seraphina wanted was to collapse with her face in a pillow.
“Which bed do you prefer?” Rune asked. There was reluctance in his voice.
“I propose we push them together,” Seraphina said.
He laughed, and her stomach fluttered at how beautiful it sounded. She wanted to hear that laugh all the time. Unfortunately, they didn’t live in a world that offered many cheerful occasions.
As she fell asleep in his familiar arms, Seraphina’s mind drifted one last time to Matteo. Was she betraying him and his memory? She hadn’t thought about it until now. She found herself in a place where she’d been with Matteo before, and she was with another man. She’d done things with this man. She liked this man, desired him, needed him.
