Ulrika grabbed Ragnar’s forearm, and he took hers. They shook like two warriors who had allied against a common foe. Flummoxed, all I could do was watch as they exchanged their greetings. When they released their arms, Ulrika turned and swept through the cave as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Come! I had a hunch you were coming, so I prepared some mushroom tea,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Ragnar leaned in close, our shoulders brushing as we followed Ulrika into the darkness. “Mushroom tea?”
“It’s quite good,” I assured him. “And besides, Ulrika doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“That does not surprise me in the least,” he murmured.
We wound through a series of tunnels, the rush of the falls vanishing behind us. Moss and lichen crept along the walls, carpeting the stone beneath our feet. An orange light glowed in the distance. When we finally reached its source, a small cavern opened up before us.
Stone steps curved down to a sandy platform jutting out over a body of milky water, lit by gemstones hanging from the ceiling above. A small fire crackled beside a single cozy chair, where a book had been left on the cushion. There were several shelves stuffed with all manner of tools: cooking utensils, scrolls, and shovels. A row boat bobbed near the edge of the platform, laden with fishing nets and spears.
Ulrika jogged down the stairs, motioning us forward. “You coming? This tea won’t drink itself.”
We followed her down the stairs. She sat cross-legged beside the fire, taking a pot off the flames and filling three wooden cups with the liquid within.
“Go on. Sit.” She wagged her finger at me. “You came all this way. Least I can do is host you properly.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip as I eased into the seat, suddenly feeling guilty. Ulrika thought I’d come here just to see her, rather than ask a favor. It had likely been months since she’d seen another face, if not longer. I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. Ragnar must have read the look on my face because he dealt me a knowing nod. He would let me decide if we should ask her for help, though he was likely having a hard time seeing what she could do here in her cozy little cave with her meager belongings.
Ulrika proudly handed me a steaming mug, then passed another to Ragnar. He took a tentative sniff.
“Drink up. I imagine you’re cold from your walk here.” She tensed, squinting at him, clearly eager to hear his response.
“I don’t get cold,” he said, lifting the mug to his lips. “But I am thirsty, so thank you.”
Ulrika nodded, as if he’d said exactly what she’d suspected. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Ulrika,no oneis from around here, not really. We all came to the Isles from somewhere else,” I cut in. “Speaking of, have you heard what’s been going on in Riverwold?”
Her eyes slid toward me, and a wicked, tusky grin split her lips. “Ivar passed by this morning with a bunch of his friends. Overheard them muttering about you two in fact. And your dragon.” She barked a laugh. “Seems Reykur’s gotten mighty bold eating a whole cart-load of pies.” Her smile suddenly slid from her face. “Wish I could have seen it myself.”
A heaviness settled on my shoulders. “Ulrika, you don’t have to stay hidden in the mountains all by yourself. Hearthaven, all the Isles…it’s a different place than anywhere else. People will accept you for who you are.”
She gave me a pointed look. “And do they accept your dragon?”
I frowned. “Well, no. Not yet. But—”
“Until then, I don’t see how the people of Riverwold would invite a mountain troll into their town with open arms.” Sighing, she closed her eyes and turned away. Wet tracks stained her blue cheeks. “The Isles are better lands than anywhere else, but that doesn’t make them perfect. That doesn’t make the people in them perfect, either.” Sighing, she tipped the entire contents of her tea down her throat, then wiped her lips with the back of her arm.
I sat up a little straighter. I’d come here to ask for a favor, but a better idea took shape in my mind. “I think I might know how to fix that, but only if you’d like me to try.”
The distant trickle of falling water was my only answer until she leaned back on her palms, arching a skeptical brow. “I’m listening.”
“You heard about the pies, right? So you must know how Ivar made them?” I asked.
She huffed. “Let me guess. Not by honest means.”
“He stole most of the food for Yule, baked some of it into pies, and sold the rest to a ship that’s long gone,” I said.
“Don’t forget the ale,” Ragnar added.
Ulrika blinked. “That bastard stole your ale, too?”
“He says he didn’t.” I shrugged. “But someone did.”
“Oh, I see where you’re going with this.” She shoved up to her feet, towering over me. “You’ve got no food or drink for Yule, so you want me to come in and save the day. And you think that’ll make the townspeople warm up to me? It won’t work, Lilia.”
