1
LILIA
Ihauled the wooden keg into the back of my wagon, whistling an old, familiar bard’s tune that was as upbeat as birdsong. My brother, Rivelin, grabbed a barrel and slid it beside the others. The wagon groaned beneath the weight of all that ale. I’d spent the past few weeks elbow’s deep in malted grains, and this was my biggest brew in years.
My brother stepped back, frowning, but his golden eyes were soft.
“You sure you don’t want to stay in Wyndale until spring?” His breath frosted the air, even though the leaves had only begun to shed their verdancy for the musky reds and browns of autumn.
Smiling, I pushed up onto my toes and ruffled the long silver hair that draped around his pointed elven ears. “I’ll be fine, Riv. I always am.”
“Maybe so. But Daella and I would love to have you stay, if you’d like.” His voice softened. “You don’t have to spend the winter months wandering the roads alone, Lilia. You always have a home here with me.”
I sighed. Rivelin meant well. He worried about me when I took my Traveling Tavern on the road, even though I’d been doing it for years now. But Wyndale wasn’t my home. It never had been. And if I didn’t keep moving, I swore my bones would jump out of my body, and run off on their own.
To be a wanderer was in my soul.
“Maybe next year,” I replied. “But Riverwold is expecting me for Yule Festival again, and you know how popular the Traveling Tavern is there. I can’t let them down. Plus, I need the coin.”
I motioned at my old wagon and its peeling paint. It was in desperate need of a fresh coat of silver. Had been, for a couple years now. But I only had a bit of gold in my pocket, and it was reserved for food. I did have a pouch full of rare Galdur sand—Vindur, orair magic, specifically—which harnessed the elemental magic of our world, and was worth far more than gold. It was hidden away for emergencies only, though.
“You won’t have to worry about coin if you stay here,” he argued. “You could live with me and Daella until—”
I palmed his rough cheek, quieting his words. “I have to make my own way, Riv.”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened, then he shook his head and donned a strained smile. “I know you do. But you can’t blame me for trying. I just—”
“Adore me?” I grinned and booped his nose. “I love you, too, big brother.”
His half-orc wife, Daella, ambled around the corner. As always, she wore a cropped leather tank that revealed her muscled green abs—even when all the summer’s warmth had faded from the air. She offered me a brown paper bag. The bottom of it was warm and sticky.
“From Mabel. She thought you’d want some snacks for the road,” Daella said.
My stomach grumbled in anticipation. Mabel made the best mushroom pasties around. “Thanks, Daella. You’re the best.”
“She absolutely is,” Riv murmured.
My brother turned to gaze at her, his eyes so full of love I thought he might burst.They’re so sweet. A cord of longing tugged at my gut. I’d never had that, not with anyone. I probably never would. It meant growing roots and watching vines crawl up your body, so tight and unyielding they could suffocate you.
My skin itched at the thought.
As lonely as the road was, it was the only place for me.
I took the pasties and tucked them in the front compartment of my wagon, where I kept the supplies I might need on the road. Then I turned back to her, smiling, and took her gloved hands in mine. “You take care of my brother, all right?”
“Always. But I just have one more gift. Don’t you dare turn it down, either.”
Daella pulled a small sheathed dagger from her back waistband. Surprised, I looked at Rivelin. He nodded.
“A weapon?” I asked.
Hearthaven had long kept a ‘no weapons’ rule. We had always lived in peace here, unlike in the mainland, where ice giant invaders had nearly killed off all the orcs in a long and brutal war. That war was over now, and the orcs were slowly coming out of hiding and taking back their land. Most of the giants had returned to their icy kingdom. There was no more bloodshed, thank the gods.
“It’s just for hunting,” Rivelin said.
Daella snorted. “No, it’s for self-defense. You’ve got a lot of ale and food in that wagon. Watch out for thieves on the road.”
I dealt her a gentle smile. When Daella had washed up on our island’s shores only a few years back, she’d come bearing a dagger and a violent past. The island—and my brother—had slowly pulled her into its gentle, peaceful embrace, but sometimes she forgot that constant danger didn’t surround us. We didn’t have thieves.
