The travellers bow their heads in thanks. The man with the satchel speaks a few words of gratitude, his accent bending our words gently,while the woman with the red scarf watches us, her mouth settling into a smile that gives nothing away.
I frown, just slightly.
Perhaps I misunderstood. Perhaps I imagined the wariness that came before, the refusal that seemed so certain. Maybe this is how these things always go, when one looks closely enough.
Whatever the case, it is decided; they will stay.
A small thrill stirs in me, unbidden but undeniable. Two nights. Perhaps I will see the painted carts up close. Hear that strange, flowing language again. Get to see a glimpse of a world wider than the one I know.
Contentment settles in my chest, but it falters as soon as I lift my gaze.
The ravens have not moved. They still line the trees along the road, black shapes against the light. One of them sits lower than the rest, perched on a fence post, head cocked.
Watching.
Not the crowd. Not the travellers.
Me.
A shiver runs through me.
I shake my head once, hard, as if the motion alone can scatter the feeling. It’s nothing more than a bird. Just another foolish thought chasing shadows.
Chapter Four
Elena and I slip into the movement of the room, plates in our hands, shoulders brushing past warmth and noise. The tavern is alive tonight—louder than I have ever known it.
Firelight dances across the low beams, throwing gold and shadow over packed tables and crowded benches. Smoke gathers beneath the rafters, thick with the smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, spilled ale.
It has the shape of a feast, though no one has named it so.
Our men sit shoulder to shoulder with theirs now, cups raised, voices tangled together in laughter that comes easily. Radu’s father speaks animatedly with two of them, his hand punctuating a story I cannot hear over the din. Even Popa Vasile sits at a table near the wall, his cup never left empty for long, his mouth curved into a smile that comes easily now.
A dog sleeps beneath a bench, tail twitching in its dreams. One of the travellers pounds a rhythm on the table with his palm, and another answers it with a song—deep-voiced, lilting, the words unfamiliar but the joy unmistakable. Someone else joins in, then another. Wax drips from candles wedged wherever space allows, their flames trembling with every burst of sound.
Their women rise and move into the open space between the tables, skirts spinning wide, jewellery flashing at throats and wrists and hips—coins and chains that catch the firelight and scatter it back in a hundred glimmers. Their hair flies loose as they turn, their laughter ringing out clear and fearless. Men watch them openly—ours and theirs alike—grinning, calling out encouragement, stamping their feet in time.
I find myself smiling before I realize it.
This is… fun. The thought feels almost forbidden, but it settles in me all the same. For a moment, the weight I carry loosens and I move with Elena through the crowd, gathering plates left abandoned in the wake of appetite and distraction.
Every now and then, I feel eyes on me—not furtive glances, nor polite ones. These are open, curious, lingering. I keep my gaze lowered, hands busy, steps measured as I was taught. Still, my skin warms under the attention, aware of itself in a way it usually is not.
Elena's elbow nudges my arm, eyes shining as she leans into me. "Did you see their jewels?" she whispers. "All that silver. And the rings—"
I let out a small laugh, unable to stop myself. "They’re beautiful. Imagine wearing something like that"
"Mama would faint," she gasps in delight. "It must weigh a fortune. That much silver… it must mean something."
"Maybe they just like how it shines," I say, surprising myself with the thought.
She grins at me, pleased, before we weave our way toward the back.
The kitchen stirs with a different kind of energy—fast, purposeful, almost breathless. We move between tables and hearths, flying hands and overlapping voices. Pots are stirred, bread is torn, knives thud against wood. A barely contained excitement can be felt here too, vibrating beneath the work.
"Raveena," Mama spots me at the first glance, stacking plates into my arms before I can move. "Take these to the women. Quickly now."
She leans in, her voice dropping just enough to feel important.
