“Riv made that, not me.” I shrugged. “But if you really want to pay me back, make sure you send plenty of patrons my way as soon I get set up. And swing by for some ale yourself, eh?”
She dealt me a beaming smile. “I’ll drag them all over here kicking and screaming if I must.”
I laughed. “Maybe not kicking and screaming. It’s a long two weeks until Yule. I’d prefer repeat patrons.”
“Don’t knock it. Might liven things up a bit.” She glanced around at the quiet corner of the meadow, then nodded toward my wagon. “Guess I should leave you to start getting set up. See you at the inn later on?”
Clouds scuttled overhead, blocking the setting sun. It would be dark in an hour—tops—and most of the merchants and performers would call it a night. Even though I’d arrived late, the long evenings of celebrations wouldn’t have begun just yet. And I was glad for it. With my aching feet and tired soul, I was looking forward to an early night in a warm bed instead of long hours spent out in the cold.
“I’ll be there sooner rather than later,” I said. “Can’t wait to see where you put that candlestick holder.”
Clutching the dragon to her chest, Nilsa scurried off. I sighed and leaned against my wagon, taking in the raucous energy of the grounds. The wagons and carts on St. Olaf Row were mostly silent, but lights and sounds drifted toward us from the other paths. For a few moments, I just breathed it all in, smiling. The laughter, the singing, the distant cheers. It felt good to be back here again, even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d expected this year.
A dwarf wandered by, his arms laden with crates. He shot me a rueful smile and carried on to a cart that had a smoking pipe painted on the side. A pixie fluttered past on the tips of her toes as she spun in elaborate dance moves. When I clapped, she gave me a bow and then danced down the path out of sight.
Crimson flashed in the corner of my vision.
Heart suddenly pounding, I shifted toward it. Ragnar stood at the end of St. Olaf Row. He scanned the wagons as if he were searching for something—or someone.
His gaze landed on me, and I stiffened. He took in my location and the merchants on either side of me, then he turned on his heels and walked off.
* * *
An hour later, I lugged my pack through the winding paths of the festival until I reached the town proper. The tents and wagons melted away to the stone maze of Riverwold. Yellow candlelight already spilled from every window, and smoke whorled from chimneys, spit into the air by the soothing hearths I ached to sit beside. Window boxes overflowed with blue winter flowers, and vines curled in and out of the stones, like the buildings and the earth itself were one. The rich scent of pie spiced the chilly air.
I nodded to passersby. Many were familiar faces, both the residents who called this town their home and the merchants I knew from the regular festival rounds. Many of them travelled to Wyndale during the warmer months for the annual Midsummer Games, or across the sea to the mountains for the dwarven competition in the spring. But while they nodded in return, none spoke to me now. They wandered together in groups, chattering amongst themselves.
I traced my path through the streets, passing the fishmongers—closed for the evening—the apothecary, and an alley where cats prowled through piles of discarded food scraps. When I reached the end of the lane, I swung a right. The Ship’s Anchor Inn sat on the other side of a large courtyard that was currently packed with dwarves, fire demons, elves, and even a few humans.
As I walked through the crowd, the warmth from the packed bodies radiated through me, chasing away the chill in my bones. I pushed inside. The sound of a hundred voices rose like thunder, drowning out the dark-haired elven bard on the small stage on the far wall.
Nilsa’s inn only had three tables, but they were so long at least thirty patrons could fit on each bench. There wasn’t a single seat free on any of them, and as the days progressed, it would only get harder to enjoy an evening meal here. Soon, patronage would spill into the festival itself, when the outdoor feasts became a nightly affair, ending with the biggest of them all—Yule. Riverwold could really use a second inn for the festival, but the town didn’t get enough visitors during the rest of the year for it to make much sense.
A hearth blazed beside the stage, sending a soothing warmth through the cramped room. Decorations for Yule hung from the wooden beams that lined the low ceiling: antlers wreathed in dried berries, miniature wooden shields that hung from twine, and tokens carved with images of the gods. Drinking horns lined the walls, where they were stored until special feasting days like Yule.
I approached the oak counter, where my gift had taken a place of honor. A single crimson candle rose from the dragon’s mouth, flickering brightly. Nilsa bustled out from the kitchen with five plates perched precariously on her arms and hands. When I breezed over and collected two of them, she shot me a grateful smile. I helped deliver the salted pork and boiled potatoes to a group of pixies before following her back over to the counter.
“Thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder, wiping sweat from her brow. “It’s busier tonight than I expected. Doesn’t usually get this packed until closer to Yule.”
“It’s a cold night,” I told her. “And most of the wagons aren’t fully set up yet, so everyone’s coming in here. You really ought to convince someone to establish a second inn.”
“Two inns wouldn’t survive here on the northeast side of this island,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s hard enough to make do as it is.” Sighing, she rounded the counter and leaned heavily against it. “Anyway, you want some of my bean stew? I made it just for you, even when it seemed like you weren’t coming. I thought, ‘I’ve got to make sure I have bean stew for Lilia’.”
“I’d love some,” I said, reaching for my coin purse. “And a room, please, like always.”
Her face fell. “Ah. I forgot to mention that earlier. We’re fully occupied.”
For a moment, my mouth didn’t work. My heart squeezed, a little painfully. I’d been staying at the Ship’s Anchor Inn during Yule for six years. In fact, Nilsa had been the one who’d insisted on it the first time I’d come to Riverwold. Soon after, we’d become fast friends. Her home was my home, or so she’d said.
But I knew I had no right to be upset. The Ship’s Anchor was more than just her home, and she had to turn a profit during Yule to make up for the slower business during the rest of the year. She couldn’t afford to hold a room for me indefinitely. Not for the first time, I cursed my slow crusade from Wyndale to here. I should have left at least a week earlier.
Sighing, she leaned across the counter and took my hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Lil, I really am. But you’ve got your dragon, right? Have him come down from the mountains and stay in the woods near your camp. No one will notice.”
I tossed a furtive glance at the packed tables behind me. “I don’t want to risk the wrong person catching sight of him. Besides, he could set the woods aflame if he’s not careful.”
“That’s a good point. I’ll make sure you have enough logs to build a fire yourself, then.” She squeezed my hand. “Now, about that bean stew. How much would you like? There’s a whole bloody lot of it, so I hope you’re hungry.”
I couldn’t help but smile. As disappointed as I was about the inn, I was glad for the warm food. “As big of a bowl as you’ve got. And do you mind if I take it back to my wagon instead of eating it here? I’m so exhausted, I can hardly stand.”
