I felt the barstool beside mine scoot sideways and turned to find the woman directly beside me. She smelled of Nyana’s herbs—an earthy scent, one much more pleasant than Astraea’s perfume. All natural, I suspected.
“The barkeep asked me to move over a seat,” she said, “so there would be more room for people wanting to sit together as a group.” The woman tipped her head, considering. “Though it really doesn’t seem that busy. Everyone’s dancing.”
My mouth went dry. Maybe not so confident after all. “The bard plays well.”
“The same one comes to our local inn sometimes,” she mused, evidently much more comfortable than I was. “I recognize him.”
There were certainly replies to be given, but they were all lost on me, so I pinched my lips and shifted in my seat. Though I wasn’t one for anxious ticks, I began wiggling the toes of my right foot in my boot. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to stand, to not sit still.To do something.
“Though he says each song is his last, he keeps playing,” the woman continued. “Every time he passes through, it’s the same routine, yet no one seems to tire of it.”
“Do you tire of it?”
The woman shrugged, brought her glass to her lips, and turned her head back. Coughing, she set the glass back down, laughter breaking up her rasps. The sound was light, melodious.The urge to raise her mask, to gaze into her eyes, was nearly strong enough for me to reach out. But I refrained, clenching my fist in my lap instead. “Do you need water?” I queried.
“No.” She waved her hand. “It’s good. Remarkable, actually. Just much stronger than I’m used to.” She tilted her head back, and when her gaze met mine, the light hit just right to catch beneath the eye slits of her mask. Irises of a stunning blue-green sage shone back at me with … was that mischief? She turned her attention back to the stage. “And I prefer storytellers.”
“Someone will be coming to recite the old lore,” I said, recalling the conversation Harlan had overheard. “The night is new, still.”
She hummed, and Sindri came to refill our glasses. I laid out another two canins, having lost track of my tab, and he took them without any further comment. The woman watched the exchange but gave no reply.
The bard played on, as the woman predicted, through another four songs. When he left the stage, a woman with a harp took his place and sat atop a stool. She played with her instrument tucked at her chin, and those dancing either changed their pace or dispersed, replaced by others.
The harp’s song was sweet and rich. It cast an air of romance, reflected in the hooded gazes of the women before the stage, their arms wrapped over their men’s shoulders, bodies pressed close together in a gentle sway.
“Would you like to dance?” I asked the woman, emboldened by the shift in atmosphere.
Her tone soured slightly. “Have you not had enough dancing for one night already?”
Confused, I drew my brows together.
For a moment, she studied me, then turned in her seat and leaned back against the bar, her head tilted up to the sky. “I was hoping the storyteller would be next.”
Unsure how to respond, I made a slight sound of acknowledgement and followed her gaze to the two moons, full on this night. They shone bright, despite the haze in the sky.
“A traveler came to our inn once,” she said, “and told a story of the moon gods. He said that when Ayre and Wyn fought, their anger cast upon the world in strikes of lightning and booms of thunder. And that the rain was their sisters’ tears.”
Unable to resist, I snorted. “Storytellers will make up anything if they believe it will earn them coin and fund their travels.”
“Perhaps. It’s something to consider, though. When my brother and I fight, it sometimes feels as if a storm has broken loose within me.”
The way she let her sentence fall off caught my attention. Something was bothering her, weighing her down, and though it wasn’t my place to press, I couldn’t stop myself. “Brothers can be …” I sighed.
“Pricks?”
Caught off guard by the woman’s candor, I laughed. Again, my heart leapt against my ribs. “Yes, something like that.”
“I’ve not heard Neirin laugh before,” Sindri said, coming to check our glasses. Leaning in close to the woman, he whispered something in her ear, and she giggled.
“What has he told you?” I asked when Sindri left us again, suspicious of the barkeep.
The woman took a sip from her cup, and I resisted the urge to grin at her poor handling of the smooth drink. When she lowered the cup back to the bar, she leaned toward me. She looked up at me through her lashes, her face close enough to mine to feel her breath, to see her eyes behind the slits in the mask. I sucked in my breath, heart pounding, suddenly very aware again of the effect she had on me as she rested a hand on my thigh.
I swallowed, and she lost her composure, a smile tugging at her lips. “He said that you fancy me.”
Damn the barkeep. I lowered my voice. “And if I do?” The confidence in my tone boosted my ego, if only slightly.
The woman narrowed her eyes, a challenge dancing in them, and trailed her hand higher on my thigh. Biting her lower lip, she hummed. “I don’t know, Neirin, what if you do?”
