“Good night, then,” came the muffled reply.
“Are you going to…I don’t know, move on?” I asked. Reykur wouldn’t return until the man left, and my cheeks were beginning to feel numb. I wanted my warm dragon, a nice meal, and a cozy sleep in my wagon so I could get an early start in the morning. As it was, the man seemed in no hurry to get moving.
The burlap flap on the back of his wagon rustled—he didn’t have a door like I did—and he leapt onto the ground with more speed and grace than most folk possessed. In the dark, his eyes seemed to burn as bright as a dragon’s fury. It was difficult not to stare at them.
“Why would I move on?” he asked. “Like you said, it’s dark. Time to set up camp for the night.”
Of course. I should have expected. I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut. I couldn’t tell him to go somewhere else, especially not after he’d helped me. That was rude, and I’d already lost my manners once. Besides, he was right. It was fully dark now. Even though Hearthaven was a safe island, traveling at night came burdened with too many challenges.
With a shrug, I nodded. “All right. Sleep well, then.”
I turned to go.
“Wait,” he said.
My chest tightened, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. He slung his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. Gone was the mocking laughter in his eyes. He motioned at the ground between us.
“Fancy sharing a fire, a few ales, and some stories? It might be dark, but it’s early yet. Might be nice to have some company for once.”
I swallowed, ignoring the strange patter of my heart. “You have ale?”
“A little.”
“I…” Fighting the urge to search the skies for the unmistakable shadow of dragon wings, I grasped for an excuse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared a camp with anyone other than Reykur. When I worked festivals and village squares, I barely got a moment alone, constantly surrounded by roaring laughter, cheerful singing, and raucous chatter. The past few weeks in Wyndale had been just that, and by the end of my visit, I’d longed for my solitude. The endless hours on the road soothed my soul, whittling away the splinters that gathered along my edges anytime I spent too much time surrounded by other people.
But…he was just one person, and this was just one night. I had a lot of long days of solitude ahead of me before I reached the village of Milford and then Riverwold beyond it, when the chaos of the festival would swallow me whole for weeks. But for now, it was quiet.
“One ale,” I finally said. “But then I really do want to get some sleep.”
* * *
Igathered some logs while he rustled around in the back of his wagon, then watched him start a fire in the middle of the road with nothing more than his bare hands. Interesting. Most folk couldn’t conjure fire without Fildur sand—the elemental fire magic. He must be some kind of fire demon, then, despite his lack of horns and red skin.
After I spread my bedroll beside the flames, he ambled over with two tankards of ale. Froth bubbled down the sides and dripped onto his hands. He handed me one and settled on the bedroll beside me.
Startled, I took a sip of the ale. I hadn’t expected him to sit so close to me. Did he not have his own bedroll? As the bitter liquid burned down my throat, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He stared into the flickering fire, the color of the flames casting his hair into an even deeper crimson.
“How’s the ale?” he suddenly asked.
“It’s fine, thank you,” I answered, wondering if I should choose politeness or bluntness. I went with the latter. “But I can tell you aren’t used to serving it. The froth takes up half the tankard. Not that I mind much.”
He chuckled. “And what else can you tell?”
“You brewed this yourself,” I said, taking another sip. “It’s a little too bitter to be something you picked up from an alehouse or a brewery. But I might only notice that because I’ve tasted pretty much every ale on this island. This one is different, tangier than the others. What kind of grains did you use? I think you could add something sweet to the recipe to make it better. Maybe some honey? And make sure your grains aren’t stale.”
He was silent for a moment, and I thought I might have offended him. Honesty was always the best policy, as far as I was concerned, but not everyone appreciated it. When the silence stretched on too long, I cleared my throat.
“Anyway, you haven’t told me your name,” I said.
“Ragnar,” he said, arching a brow. “And you?”
“Lilia.”
“Nice to meet you, Lilia.” He clinked his tankard against mine. “Here’s to adventure and endless horizons.”
I sat up a little straighter, smiling. “I can drink to that.”
I took another sip. This time, it went down a lot easier, even if the bitterness remained. Ragnar downed the rest of his drink in a single drag, then wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his arm. His sleeves were still rolled up, despite the chill, and the strength of his forearms rippled as he reached for my now-empty tankard.
