“If it helps,” I told him quietly, “we brought a wagon full of food and ale.”
He brightened significantly at that, casting a hopeful glance at the wagon. “You brought us food? But how?” He paused. “And alsowhy? I wasn’t very kind to you yesterday.”
I palmed his shoulder, smiling. “Because while Riverwold is not my permanent home, it is one of many to me. And I wanted to help, regardless of what you believe about my dragon.”
“And to answer your other question,” said Ragnar, “the dragon is the reason for the food. He found it.”
Steffon scratched the base of his horns. “Well, if your gifts can’t convince them, then I don’t know what will. I’m not sure I can get them on board with the dragon, however.”
I sighed. “Come on, Steffon. He had nothing to do with the fire. Can’t you vouch for him?”
“Bring me the true culprit, and I can.” He suddenly noticed Ivar peeking around the corner and listening in on our conversation. His gaze narrowed as he stalked toward him. “What ishedoing here?”
I followed. “Ivar has given me this wagon so I can rebuild my Traveling Tavern for Yule. He also helped us load up all the food and ale so that we could bring it here.”
“I see,” said Steffon, folding his arms.
Ivar held up his hands and bowed to the Defender. “I’ve come to make amends. It was wrong of me to take all that food. And to start a fight all those years ago. And to take the lute. But I’m asking you to give me a second chance. Please.” He cast a nervous glance up at Steffon’s tense face. “I’ll do whatever you ask, if you let me stay.”
“This is turning out to be a supremely interesting day,” Steffon said tiredly. But then he waved his hand, shrugging. “All right, fine. You help us rebuild the festival in time for Yule, and I’ll wipe the past away. You can even move back into town, if you’d like.”
Ivar’s mouth dropped. Beaming at Steffon, he grabbed the shadow demon’s hands and shook them ferociously. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won’t regret this, I promise.”
Grimacing, Steffon carefully extracted himself from Ivar’s eager hands. “Yes, well. I hope not.”
Steffon turned to the crowd. A feverish energy rippled through the courtyard, like every single person was a flint ready to spark. When combined, they would transform the town into an inferno of anger. I stepped closer to Ragnar, and he wound his arm around my waist in solidarity. Whatever they decided to do, we would at least face it together.
“Ah, listen everyone,” Steffon called out. His voice rang through the pregnant silence. “The rumors you’ve heard about Lilia, Ragnar, and her dragon are nothing more than tall tales. None of them had anything to do with the fire. And to prove this, they’ve brought us food and drink for Yule, despite these false allegations.” Steffon frowned when Ivar cleared his throat. Sighed, he added, very tiredly, “Ivar didn’t do it, either.”
A dwarf with a long, bouncy gray beard hopped up onto a table. “Then who did? The fire didn’t just set itself. Not with all that mud!”
The crowd murmured, making sounds of agreement.
“I’m afraid we have no idea who set the fire,” said Steffon.
The murmuring grew into a tittering of unease. Several tables emptied as the patrons climbed to their feet, their faces lined with frustration. I thought that might be Steffon’s undoing. He’d cow to their rumblings and be forced to take back his words. But he pounded his fist against the side of the wagon to get their attention back on him. The mutterings instantly ceased, and everyone standing sat back down.
“That’s the best I can give you,” he said in a firm voice that brokered no argument. “I wish we knew who did it, but we don’t. As it is, we will not let an innocent person—or dragon—take the blame for someone else’s actions, even as tempting as it might be.” Clearing his throat, he turned to me. “Lilia has once again gone above and beyond to help us. I think we should thank her for finding us some food and ale.Again.Don’t you agree?”
Silence was the only answer. After a few moments, the door of the inn opened to reveal Nilsa just inside the doorway. She held up her hands and clapped, edging out into the courtyard. Herold came out behind her and joined their clapping with hers. Steffon nodded and started clapping, too. Ragnar released my waist, turned toward me, and pounded his palms together, louder than all the rest.
Soon, everyone was on their feet, hooting and clapping and shaking their fists at the sky.
“To Lilia!” someone in the crowd shouted, raising an empty tankard into the air.
“To Lilia!” everyone roared.
With a laugh, I leapt up onto the roof of my new Traveling Tavern and threw my arms wide.
33
LILIA
Two days later, a bucket of paint sat by my feet. The entire town and all the visitors had chipped in to clear the meadow of all the burnt wood and blackened remains of the festival. My muscles still ached from all that hard work, and soot stained nearly every piece of clothing I owned. It had been worth it, though.
Now that all the ashes had been carted away, the meadow looked less like an abandoned fire pit and more like a churned field, ready for the yearly crops. Ivar had donated the rest of the carts to the merchants who’d lost theirs. Like us, they were deep in preparation for Yule, which was only a few days from now.
It would be a small celebration in the end, especially compared to the ones that had come before it. But it was better than nothing. A buzz of excitement rippled through the meadow, coalescing with the sounds of hammers against wood, crackling fires, and good-natured conversation.
