“Getting the food from Ulrika was all your idea.”
Frowning, I searched his face, noting his eyes had grown distant. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He sighed, then cast me a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes the way the others had. “I’m only thinking my brother would have loved to see the festival come together when it seemed like it wouldn’t. He always did love a good underdog tale. When I visit his barrow, I’ll have to tell him all about it.”
And that was when I understood what he didn’t want to say out loud. He had resigned himself to returning to the mainland even if he could not pay off that debt.
To the mainland.
The thought squeezed my heart like an iron clamp. All this time, I’d known it was an inevitability. Ragnar did not live in the Isles. He’d only come here for Yule so he could earn enough coin to settle his brother’s debt. That wouldn’t change just because he’d met me. It couldn’t. He’d made a vow, and he was not the kind of man who could easily break one, especially not for the brother he’d loved.
It made my chest burn. My stomach didn’t feel right, either. Even my eyes felt like they were being stuck with pine needles. I’d only just met this man, who was unlike anyone I’d ever known. And I would have to watch him walk away far too soon. Suddenly, I understood what it was like to be my friend.
But the last thing I wanted to do was make him feel guilty for it.
“Listen, how about we make a deal? If you help me brew the ale for Yule, you can have half the coin I get for selling it,” I said.
He cast me a sharp glance. “Lilia, that coin is yours. Like I said, you’ve done so much for this festival. You’ve earned it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You helped me track down Ivar. And then you helped me haul all the food back from Ulrika’s place. And now I need to brew, and I could use an extra hand. If you help me, you get half the coin. If you don’t, then it’s all mine. Take it or leave it. You know where to find me when you decide.”
Shrugging, I sauntered away with my hands deep in my cloak pockets. If I let him see just how badly I wanted to help him, he might say no. Truth was, I wanted him to spend the rest of his time here by my side, but I didn’t really need the extra pair of hands. Brewing was practically in my blood by now. I’d find it easier to just do it all myself.
The thud of his footsteps behind me brought on a smile, but I didn’t pause. I let him catch up to me, then fall into step by my side.
“You did swear you’d teach me how to brew proper ale,” he said gruffly. “I suppose I ought to take you up on that.”
“Good. It’s a deal, then,” I said with a nod. “We brew the ale together. You take half the earnings. And we’ll both leave here better off than we were when we arrived.”
Except that wasn’t entirely true. Even if we had a successful Yule now, I’d barely break even splitting the earnings with Ragnar, especially after everything I’d already lost. But no matter. It would be enough to last me a few months, and I could always return to Wyndale for a while.
“After you,” Ragnar said, motioning at the path.
But instead of taking the lead, I hooked my arm around his waist. Side by side, we began.
* * *
After collecting the barrels and grains from Tomas the carpenter, we returned to the Traveling Tavern to get started on the brew. Ragnar dumped the bag of grains on the ground while I built a fire behind my wagon. We fell into an easy, companionable silence as we worked. Together, we crushed the grains and then boiled them for a few hours.
Curious merchants wandered by now and again to watch, and a small crowd began to form. Eventually, Steffon came around to give the boiling mash a very thorough inspection. He sniffed at it, then gave his nod of approval.
“Looks like everything is coming along nicely,” he said, the tightness around his eyes not quite as noticeable as it had been before.
“We’re only just getting started,” I told him. “It’ll be a few days yet before it’s ready to drink, and it won’t stay good for long. I’ll be brewing most days up until Yule to keep a fresh supply coming.”
“You’re making fresh ale, then? Instead of your normal brew?” he asked, seeming surprised.
I shrugged. “I don’t have the special ingredient for that. Don’t worry. This will be just as deliciously sweet, I promise.”
He nodded and then suddenly started when he noticed Ragnar come round the side of the wagon. “What are you doing here? I assumed you’d be making your own brew.”
“Best not. It tasted like feet.”
A ripple of laughter went through the gathered crowd. Steffon even cracked a grin, shaking his head at the self-deprecating confession. From somewhere nearby came the sound of a flute, followed by the clapping of several dozen hands. At the laughter, the bubbling of my brew, and the music, my entire body seemed to sigh.Thiswas so much more like it.
Steffon looked around, his own shoulders relaxing. He indicated toward the brew. “Is this stage going to take a few hours?”
“It will,” I said.
