But Reykur didn’t seem to know that. Wherever he’d been, he must have somehow sensed I was in danger, and he’d come to my rescue. And if he didn’t realize the shadow demons were unarmed…well, I truly had no idea what he would do. Never in a million years would he hurt someone innocent. I wasn’t sure what he’d do if he thought someone might hurt me. We’d never had cause to find out.
“Reykur!” I shouted. “Everything is fine!”
But the dragon inched even closer to the cart.
The heat of Ragnar’s power suddenly washed over me. I stumbled sideways, gasping when I saw the flames erupting along his arms. He strode toward Reykur, his gaze so focused on the dragon that he didn’t seem to notice Ivar and his friends abandon the cart and flee for the hills. They ran as fast as their feet could take them.
“Allt er gott, Reykur. Vertu aftur!” shouted Ragnar.
My lips parted. Ragnar was speaking in the ancient orcish tongue. I’d never met an elf who could understand it, much less speak it himself. And while I recognized its cadence, I couldn’t understand it.
And if Reykur could, he ignored it. The dragon swung his head from side to side, snorting in irritation. He thundered right on up to the cart, then swiped a taloned claw at the blanket and tossed it aside.
His eyes gleamed as he inspected the contents. I pressed up onto my toes so I could see inside, and it was just as Ivar had said. He’d been lugging around at least a hundred pies, and the glazed crust glistened beneath the sunlight. The savory scent of fried mushrooms drifted toward me.
Reykur suddenly dug his face into the pies and started eating. Chunks of potato and dough sprayed the ground.
My jaw dropped even further. Ragnar doused his flames, and a loud guffaw erupted from his chest. My own lips twitched from the urge to smile, even as I watched all that food vanish into my hungry dragon’s mouth. After he tore through at least half of the pies, he looked up and blinked at me. I could have sworn he looked a little guilty.
“Well,” Ragnar said, still chuckling. “What do we do now?”
“As far as I tell, there’s only one way forward from here.” Shrugging, I gave him a little smile. “It’s time for me to teach you how toreallybrew some ale.”
21
LILIA
Riverwold had devolved into chaos. When we aimed our tired feet toward Nilsa’s inn, merchants were squabbling in the packed courtyard, pointing fingers at each other, testing who could make the loudest accusations about who had stolen from whom. Steam practically erupted from their ears. Empty crates littered the ground, and discarded ribbons were drifting on the wind.
“Well, this has certainly escalated,” Ragnar said. “What now?”
“We need to find out exactly what Ivar took,” I said, searching the crowd for a friendly face.
A line snaked out the door of the inn. The banging of pots and pans drifted from Nilsa’s kitchen. I spotted Steffon’s horns peeking out from the alley and elbowed Ragnar. Together, we shouldered our way through the crowd. As soon as Steffon saw us coming, he patted his forehead with a rag and ducked out of view.
“He looks like he’s been through it,” Ragnar murmured.
“Everyone is probably demanding for him to fix things, but last time I checked, not even shadow demons can make ale and food appear from thin air.”
We reached the outskirts of the crowd and ducked into the alley. Steffon sat slumped on a crate in the shadows beside Nilsa’s back door. His horned head was tipped back against the stone wall, and his eyes were closed. He sighed as we approached, clearly hearing our boots tapping the ground.
“Hello, Lilia. You’re empty-handed, so I’m going to assume you didn’t find your missing kegs,” he said wearily.
“I’m afraid not,” I said, perching beside him on the crate.
“Figured as much.” He cracked open his eyes. “Unfortunately, I have some more bad news. There was another thieving incident while you were gone.”
“I know. A lot of the food has gone missing.”
He sat up straight, his dark hair falling into his shadow-filled eyes. Then his gaze shifted to Ragnar, and he frowned. “How do you know about that? Didhedo something?”
“Leave Ragnar alone. He had nothing to do with this,” I said quickly. “You remember a man named Ivar, right? Apparently, you banned him from Riverwold and from the festival a long time ago.”
“Wait,hedid this?” Steffon stood and began to pace the skinny alley. Every time he turned, his cloak dramatically whipped around his black boots. “I should have guessed. Ivar has been begging me to undo his ban for years.” He came to a sudden stop. “I suppose he finally decided to get his revenge by stealing everything!”
I frowned up at him. “I don’t think he wanted revenge as much as he thought he could use the food to make some coin. It doesn’t look like he has much opportunity down by the sea. His taproom is…very quiet.” That was the kindest way to put it, I supposed.
Steffon looked at me as if I’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand. “Don’t let him fool you, Lilia. He’s stolen so much food that we won’t have enough for Yule now. All of Karl’s smoked meats are gone. We’ll have nothing to drink. Nothing to eat. The festival isruined. I’ll have to call it off. Unless…” He paused, arching a hopeful brow. “If Ivar stole it all, perhaps we can get it back. I just need a few extra hands to carry everything up that monstrous mountain path, so come on. We should ask Herold if they’ll join us, too.”
