“Well, that’s good to hear.” She looked at the wagon and noted the peeling paint and the flecks of mud coating the lower half. “I’m sure Steffon can manage to find you somewhere to set up shop.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? I always take the spot beside the willow tree.”
Nilsa winced. “Like I said, we thought you weren’t coming. So…we gave your spot to another.”
“Oh.”
“I’m so sorry, Lilia. If we knew, we would have saved it for you, but as it is, Steffon was worried we wouldn’t have a tavern in the usual spot. And you know how everyone feels about their ale. It’s not Yule without it.”
“Wait.” My frown deepened. “Are you saying another tavern showed up?”
She shrugged. “Looks like you’re not the only one out there anymore. Though, I have to say, I tasted his ale yesterday, and it’s nowhere near as good as yours. It’s kind of bitter, if I’m honest. So I’m sure you’ll still do well enough this year, even if you don’t have your usual spot.”
“The tavern owner is ahim?” My voice rose an octave. “With bitter ale?”
My chest felt hot. It couldn’t be him. Could it? This was a ridiculous coincidence, that was all. It had to be someone from Hearthaven or one of the other Isles. Not the handsome man I’d met on the road. Not the one I’d stargazed with.
Nilsa peered up at me. “I thought you’d be happy about the bitter part. Means he can’t compete with the best brewer in all the Isles.”
“Where is he?”
“Last time I saw him, he was at his wagon by the willow tree.”
I fisted my hands. “Not for long.”
4
RAGNAR
Iunloaded another keg from the back of my wagon while chaos raged around me. Shouts peppered the air from the woodcarver next door; high-pitched voices weaved together in a whimsical song from the performer tent across the way. And there were a hundred more voices scattered through it all. Wooden rods were dotted here and there, each one decorated with a multitude of colorful ribbons that fluttered in the chilly breeze. Yule wasn’t for another two weeks, but it felt like the damn festival had already begun.
Even though I’d heard stories about this place for years, nothing had prepared me for it. At least forty merchants had swarmed this little island town for the coldest, darkest, and longest night of the year. All to ‘celebrate’ life. They were still coming, too. About an hour ago, I’d noticed the shadow of another wagon up on the ridge, heading this way.
And if these were just the merchants, I could only imagine how many thirsty patrons would come. Hundreds, I’d bet. I could already feel the weight of the coin in my pocket.
With a smile, I swiped my half-empty tankard from the rickety table I’d set up outside my wagon, swigging my ale. The bitterness of it burned my throat, and I nearly spat it out. It really wasn’t very good, was it? But there was no time to brew a fresh batch before Yule, so I just had to bank on everyone being desperate enough for a drink to ignore the taste of it. I hadn’t seen any other taverns here, and the inn only seemed to serve wine and spirits.
“You,” a voice snapped.
I looked over the rim of my tankard. A scowling, silver-haired elf with hips to die for glared at me, her arms folded over her chest. My heart pitched forward. It was the girl I’d met on the road weeks ago, the one I’d thought might head this way. The one I’d kept looking for over my shoulder, wondering if she might catch up to me. A part of me had hoped she would, even if it meant I’d leave here with a much-lighter coin purse. She was a much better brewer than me.
I lowered my tankard, but I was so distracted looking at Lilia that I missed the edge of the table. The cup tumbled onto the grass, spilling ale across my boots.
“Well, look who it is,” I said with an easy smile. At least I hoped it looked easy. I didn’t want her to know what was really going on in my mind. “Fancy seeing you here. What are the odds?”
“Pretty high considering you vanished in the middle of the night just so you could beat me to my festival.”
“Yourfestival?”
She pointed at the willow tree, whose frosted branches draped over one of the few vacant spots throughout the festival grounds. The dwarf beside her—Nilsa was her name, I believed—had told me to put some tables and chairs there for patrons, not that I had any with me. Hopefully, I could borrow some from one of the Riverwold residents.
“I’ve been coming here for years, and everyone expects to find a tavern right here beside the willow tree. They even bring food over from the other stalls to eat at my tables, and I decorate the branches with ribbons and—”
“And they will find all that here.” I motioned at my wagon. “Ragnar’s Traveling Tavern is now officially in business.”
Her cheeks flushed red. “You are not calling yourself that. The Traveling Tavern ismyname. It belongs to me, not you and your…your frankly disgusting ale.”
A booming laugh escaped my throat. “Well, then. At least you’ve finally told me what youreallythink of my brew.”
