“I can’t believe it snowed for Yule. It’s never done that before,” I said.
Nilsa waddled up beside me with a beaming smile on her face. “Ican believe it. Did you hear what happened in the meadow?”
For a moment, dread was the only emotion I could conjure. After the past few weeks we’d endured,something elsehappening the meadow was the last thing I wanted to hear.
“You seem happy,” I said slowly, squinting at her. “But I’m almost afraid to ask.”
She chuckled. “Everything’s fine, Lil. Your friend showed up a few hours ago with a tall tale about the island. Turns out, it decided to gift us with some more food for the festival. Not only that, but the meadow grew back overnight. It’s a field of green now. Funny, huh?”
“Wait. Ulrika’s here? And she brought more food with her?”
“That’s right. She’s in the meadow, helping everyone get things set up. Quite strong, that one.”
“I have to go,” I said quickly, starting off down the path. It seemed against all odds that Ulrika was here and that the townspeople had accepted her so easily. I hoped to Freya it was really her and not some impersonator trying to weasel their way into the good graces of the Riverwold people. Ragnar had decided to stay in the Isles. I’d truly hoped that had fixed the mercenary problem.
But what if I’d been wrong? What if the island still refused to protect him?
As I broke out into a run, Ragnar called out, “Lilia, wait!”
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” answered Nilsa. “Let her go see her friend. I need you in the kitchen. We have some hot breakfast to prepare for at least a hundred people. Come along, stop gaping at her like that.”
Despite my worry pounding through me, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Nilsa wrangling Ragnar into helping out in her kitchen. Something told me his flour measuring skills weren’t much better than his ale brewing.
But I didn’t stick around to find out. I ran through the streets until I reached the festival grounds at the edge of town. Big fat snowflakes dusted the wagons, transforming the verdant field into a sea of white. Spikes of grass poked through it, and a scattering of flowers curled up toward the sun in patches of pink and yellow. My feet slowed, my breath hitching. Nilsa had told me the magic of the island had turned this muddy, fire-raged meadow into the living, breathing thing it had been before, but it hadn’t felt real until now.
“Lilia, there you are!” a husky voice called out from deep within the tents. A moment later, Ulrika emerged. Her gleaming horns were coated with snow, and a wreath of flowers curled around them. Even in the brisk, wintry morning, she wore her leather brassiere lined with fur and a matching skirt that barely covered her backside. She waved me over, grinning from ear to ear. Her tusks flashed beneath the sunlight poking through the falling snow.
I followed her into a tent where crates nearly filled every inch of available space. Her head brushed the burlap top, and her horns almost snagged the rough material.
“Can you believe it?” she asked proudly. “The island gave me some more food!”
I shook my head at her, smiling. “I didn’t even believe it was you when Nilsa told me. How did this happen? Did you ask for more?”
“Nope.” She shrugged. “It just gave me more. After I heard about the fire, I assumed the festival would get shut down. Next thing I knew, the island gave me crate after crate after crate of food. I figured it wanted me to bring it here.”
“It’s a Yule miracle,” I said.
“That it is. And thank you for suggesting I come.” Ulrika lowered to one knee and wrapped her beefy arms around me. For a moment, I didn’t move, still surprised by the new revelations. But then I leaned in, wrapped my arms around her neck, and hugged one of my oldest friends for a very long time.
* * *
That night, Yule came alive beneath the stars. Tomas the carpenter had used every ounce of the Vindur sand I’d traded with him to keep the Elding at bay for the night. A cloudless sky was the reward, and the brutal wind we’d endured the past weeks had finally stilled. A wintry cold had settled onto the meadow, but while cheeks were flushed, I had yet to spot a single person shiver.
I bustled around the tables we’d set up around the wagon, depositing tankards of beer along with bowls of Nilsa’s finest stew. Every seat was taken; clusters of patrons hovered nearby, chatting and laughing the night away.
Ragnar tugged another keg from the back of my new Traveling Tavern and hoisted it onto one shoulder. He wore his signature sleeveless tunic. It was deep blue edged in silver to match the new banners hanging along the outer wall of the wagon. We’d even managed to pull together a new awning—crimson, this time.
I smiled his way as upbeat music piped toward us from the nearby stage. Dancers whirled past, twirling ribbons through the air. And in the center of it, Reykur perched on a bed of blankets, sending out waves of soothing heat to everyone. He’d been getting a lot of snacks for his efforts. A lot of pats on the snout, too.
My heart had never felt more full. We’d had to fight so hard for this, but that made it taste all that much sweeter. There was enough food to go around and more, my ale was selling quickly, and I had a new brew ready to go if my kegs emptied.
And Ragnar was here.
Once this night was over, we’d stay a few extra days before putting on our walking boots and making our way across the Isles. I couldn’t wait to show Ragnar my world.
With a hop in my step, I weaved through the tables and back to where he was preparing the keg for the line of patrons waiting for ale. He hefted it up onto the table, and I edged in front of him, tankard in hand.
His arms slid around my waist, and he nuzzled my ear. “You look beautiful tonight, Lil.”
