She reached for a knife and used a clean towel to pick up one of the loaves. Perhaps cutting one of them wouldn’thurt. It wasn’t as if she would use all three loaves of bread tonight, anyway.
She sliced off the heel, releasing even more of that delicious scent into the air, and her stomach grumbled. She usually ate with Roan after they closed up, and she had already eaten a meal before the evening rush began, but surely she could enjoy one slice of bread without too much chaos unfolding in the tavern.
Reaching for the butter crock in the corner, she spread a generous portion on the bread before taking a bite. She closed her eyes and hummed in satisfaction as she chewed. It was perfect. Her father may not have taught her much, but he had certainly taught her how to make a good loaf of bread. Adapting the recipe to the amount of bread the tavern required instead of two people had been a challenge, but she’d figured it out.
Having stirred her stew and tried her bread, Abigail took a deep breath and prepared to head back out to the bar. It had been a busy evening, and after Roan had tucked himself away with the baker’s invoice in his office, the men had gotten a little more rowdy.
Nothing she couldn’t handle, of course, and if she had asked, Roan would probably have left Beastie with her,
But she wanted to prove to him that she could do it, even if she felt slightly out of her element. She liked this job better than being the washerwoman at the inn she was living at, and if she was going to keep it, she needed to be able to handle herself amongst even the roughest crowds.
She knew she could. She had grown up with worse…so she knew how to handle it, even if she’d rather not.
Now that Roan had cut off Silas and Montgomery and they were gone, perhaps things would get easier—or at least the men would settle down a little, even if the night remained busy.
The spicy-sweet smell of a dragon power-infused magic flooded her senses, and Abigail froze. A blast of rosy light showed through the crack in the kitchen door before everything faded to black for a moment.
Abigail opened her eyes and the light returned, a whisper of the sparkling wind that usually accompanied a curse brushing through her hair.
Who was using magic here, in the Lucky Goat? Magic was illegal in Galamere, and anyone who knew how to use magic would never dare to do so in public—much less inside a tavern full of men.
Though perhaps that was why they felt safe enough to do it. Magic could easily be explained as the drunk ravings of a man who’d had too much.
She forced herself to take a deep breath.
No one knew she knew about magic. No one here, anyway. And if she wasn’t out there while they put to rights whatever had happened…she could pretend she didn’t know anything about it.
Except Roan might need her help.
She hurried to the door, opening it and surveying the room.
There was no one there.
Well, no one she didn’t recognize, that is—only the front door swinging closed behind a dark cloak, with Roan giving chase.
“What happened?” Abigail asked, glancing around the room at the men sitting there. But before they could answer, their heads began nodding to the side, their eyes closing, and those sitting at the bar slumped over, their heads collapsing to the table.
Abigail’s eyes widened in alarm, and she rushed forward to catch Conrad as he began to slip off his stool.
“Steady,” she said, but he was too heavy for her to hold up, so she could only support him as he fell to the floor, holding his head to prevent him from cracking it.
What sort of magic was this? She hadn’t been affected…but this was more than a standard sleeping spell for everyone in the tavern to fall asleep so quickly.
Her stomach churned. Why was she not affected, and where had Roan gone?
There was a yip, and Abigail turned to see Beastie standing over Roan, who was laid out flat on the floor.
Oh. There he was.
Was she the only one awake?
“What happened, Beastie?” Abigail asked as she hurried over.
If only the dog could tell her what was wrong, or what had happened since she stepped into the kitchen.
This was clearly the work of a strong magic user—or someone who had access to a dragon egg.
The thought made bile rise up in her throat. Why would someone with access to a dragon egg be using it against Roan and the tavern? What else were they doing? And how long before they brought attention to the Northlands for illegal magic use?
