* * *
Ragnar walked me back to the inn, though he didn’t say much along the way. I couldn’t find the words, either. The future of the festival wasn’t the only thing weighing on my mind. I didn’t know how I could afford to brew another batch of ale, not with my coin purse so light. I’d been depending on Yule to get me through the winter and into spring. As it was, I barely had enough to pay for my room during my stay. I might have to start digging into my pouch of Vindur sand.
When we drew near the inn’s courtyard, Ragnar finally cleared away the silence. “Can you really brew some ale by Yule?”
“Only if I get lucky.” I sighed. “The thief didn’t touch my brewing supplies, but I’ll need to buy some things.”
“Or the festival will have to go on without ale,” he said, shrugging. “I know it’s not ideal, but it could be worse.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “If I hadn’t already known you’re new here, that would confirm it. A Yule without ale is like a Yule without music or food. Or a Yule in a rainstorm, flooding everything. The festival can still go on, but it will feel as damp and dreary as a pair of wet socks you’ve been wearing for weeks. You’ll see soon enough, if you decide to stay.”
I patted his arm and charted a path through the courtyard. When I reached the inn’s door, I felt a warm hand on my waist. Tensing, I looked up. Ragnar stood just behind me, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek.
I swallowed. His hand dropped to his side, and the chill of the wind brushed away any trace of his palm.
“Are you staying at the inn tonight?” I asked, my voice a pitch higher.
“There’re no vacancies, remember?” He rubbed his neck again. “I just thought we might want to help each other out.”
My pulse quickened. What in fate’s name did that mean? Did he…did he expect me to offer him to stay in my bed? And if that was me helping him, how did he intend to helpme? Surely he wasn’t suggesting what I thought he was suggesting.
“I…” My cheeks flamed. “The room’s too small.”
His brow furrowed. “What—?”
The door suddenly swung inward, and the hearth’s fiery heat rolled across me. Nilsa stood just inside, hand on hip, eyebrow waggling suggestively. “Can you two please stop blocking the door? I have patrons waiting behind you.”
A throat cleared from behind Ragnar. Two shadow demons, their black horns melting into the dying light of the evening, stood behind us. I hadn’t even noticed. Chagrined, I scuffled on inside with Ragnar on my heels. The buzz of conversation hushed as every head swivelled our way, but Birta the Bard continued to pluck her strings, quickly drawing attention back to her song.
Nilsa dug her fingers into my arm and dragged me over to the counter, where a candle flickered brightly in the dragon display I’d brought her. She dropped her voice to a sharp hiss. “What’s going on? Everyone’s talking ‘bout youand that one. And your ale has gone missing? Some have said the entire festival is cancelled.”
I wet my lips. “The festival isn’t cancelled.”
“And the ale?”
“The ale is in my barrels. And those barrels have relocated themselves to somewhere that is not my wagon.”
“Someone stole them.” Nilsa wagged her finger at Ragnar. “And I’d say that someone is you, but yours have gone missing, too, I’m hearing?”
Ragnar leaned against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other. “All six I brought with me, plus the one I had of Lilia’s.”
“Now wait a minute. You had one of Lilia’s kegs? How did that happen?” Nilsa asked in a snap.
“Just ignore him,” I said quickly. “That part isn’t important.”
Ragnar chuckled.
Nilsa’s brow shot higher.
“Do you have any empty barrels in the back?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
She narrowed her gaze, like she was considering whether or not she wanted to insist on hearing about the previous subject. “Afraid not,” she eventually said. “Why?”
“Steffon wants me to brew.” I leaned onto the counter, elbows digging into the wood. “Any idea where I can get some barrels? Some grains, too, ideally.”
“See, if someone else came asking me this question, I’d tell ‘em to ask Lilia,” she said. “The only thing I brew is wine. That said…” She tapped a finger against the counter. “You could ask our carpenter, Tomas. He might make you some barrels.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
