I pressed my lips together. “Nice try. Herold takes care of the kitchen.Youbook patrons into the rooms. You didn’t kick someone out, did you? I don’t want to take a room from someone else, Nilsa.”
“As if I would ever do such a thing.” Folding her arms, she gave me a no-nonsense look. “It’s yours fair and square. Now do want it or not?”
She didn’t have to ask me again. I grabbed my pack—with my clothes still tucked inside—jumped from my wagon, and followed her back into town.
* * *
The inn was still heaving, even though dinner service was done and dusted. At least there were a few open spots at the table nearest the stage now. I took a seat, despite my weariness, and nursed a goblet of sweet elderberry wine, listening to Birta the Bard’s newest tune. It was one I’d never heard before, sang in a melancholy yet wistful melody.
O’er the mountains
The dragons soar
Deep in their hearts
A forgotten lore
But hide they do
From eyes below
A dragon’s might
Is not to know
My weariness deepened as she sang. There was little cheer to her words, and they only reminded me of how difficult relations between dragons and folk still were. Reykur would spend Yule alone while hundreds would laugh and sing and cheer for days here in town. All the food, all the ale, all the songs. He would know none of it. And even though he could not speak my language, I knew he wished he could be here.
Sighing, I stood. And before I could stop myself, I glanced around the room, hunting for a familiar head of crimson hair. But there was no sign of him now. I supposed he hadn’t taken my advice to stick around and listen to Birta’s performance. Should have expected as much. He was here to steal business, not because he understood the importance of this festival and what it meant to all of us.
I found Nilsa beside the kitchen doors, leaning heavily against the wall. Her eyes were half-closed, and she had to use the wall to keep herself upright.
“Nilsa,” I said.
She jolted away from the wall, blinking rapidly. “Sorry. I was just—”
“Resting your eyes?” I grinned.
She chuckled. “It’s been a long old day.”
“You’re telling me.” I cast another glance around the inn. A few dozen patrons were still here, but a hush had fallen across the room. Everyone watched Birta with rapt attention. Ragnar truly was missing out. Shaking my head, I dragged my attention from the crowd. “How long did Ragnar stay after I left, anyway?”
Nilsa leaned against the wall again, smirking. “Interested in where he is, are we? You know, I could put you in his room, if you’d like, though I’m afraid there’s only one bed…’course you could always share it with him.”
“Very funny.” I held out my hand. “Which room am I in?”
She dug into her pocket, then dropped the iron key onto my palm. “Room eight at the very top. I’m afraid it’s barely big enough for a bed, so it’s not luxurious. Now Ragnar’s room on the other hand…” Winking, she giggled.
My lips twitched. “You’re impossible. You know that, right?”
“That’s why you love me.” She beamed. “Night, Lil.”
“Good night. Try to get some sleep yourself, yeah? Or it’s going to be a very long two weeks for you.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” She gently nudged me toward the stairs. “Now, shoo. You look like you’re about to topple over.”
The room on the top floor was just as Nilsa had described it. One side of the bed was flush with the exterior wall, and the other side hit the wall where I stood now, just inside the door. There was no other furniture, and the ceiling’s wooden beams were almost low enough to graze my head. But it was warm, and the double windowpanes blocked out the draft. Without bothering to undress, I climbed into the bed. As soon as my cheek hit the pillow, I slept.
* * *
