“You lied to me.”
“I spoke no lies.”
“I’m sorry, I hate to interrupt…whatever this is,” Nilsa piped up, tugging on Lilia’s cloak. “But how do you know each other?”
“We met on the road,” Lilia said, her eyes narrowing. “Ragnar tricked me with a random act of kindness. He wanted to beat me to Riverwold and steal my business.”
“That does sound fairly misleading, Ragnar,” said Nilsa.
I folded my arms. “I didn’t trick anyone.”
“No?” Lilia took a step toward me, her eyes flashing. “Why did you sneak away in the middle of the night, then?”
“It was barely pre-dawn, not the middle of the night.”
“Close enough.” She walked a few more steps closer, bringing a whiff of her perfume with her—something akin to lavender. Gods, she smelled so damn sweet. “Look into my eyes and tell me you had no idea who I was and where I was going. Tell me you didn’t know you needed to get here first to have any hope of competing with the Traveling Tavern.”
I met her gaze, but I didn’t bother to respond. When I’d first come across her in the road, Ihadn’tknown who she was. But it hadn’t taken long for me to realize. Lilia was one of the reasons I was here. My brother had heard about her tavern and how popular it was—and he’d heard how well she lined her pockets with coin. He’d always dreamed of visiting the Isles with his own tavern. And now he never could.
Her eyes scanned my face as she noted my silence, and then she nodded. “Move out of my spot, Ragnar.”
“Hmm, I think not.”
“If you don’t move your fates-damned wagon, then I’ll do it for you.”
I smiled, my arms still crossed over my chest. “I’d like to see you try.”
A tall shadow demon with curved black horns bustled over from the path, frowning. In his multi-colored tunic and patchwork trousers, he looked as if he’d tossed on one of the performer tents. He’d introduced himself when I’d first arrived a few days before, and I’d learned he organized the entire festivalandhe’d been named the Defender of Riverwold, which apparently meant he was something of a sheriff. Thin and reedy with waist-length hair, he didn’t much look like one, though.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank fate you’re here, Steffon.” The bright smile Lilia dealt the shadow demon was a complete contrast to the expression she’d targeted at me. “This man is trying to set up his wagon in my usual spot, and you know how important it is to have my Traveling Tavern here. All the regulars will be confused if it’s not.”
He wrung his hands. “Yes, about that. I’m sorry, Lilia. I did worry about giving away the willow tree, but you were just solate. We’re already seven days into the month! I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. You know the rules. First come, first serve.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But—”
“I can’t bend the rules for you, Lilia. Not this time.” He gently patted her arm. “Get here earlier next year, eh? The spot’ll be yours so long as you make it by the first day of Ýlir.”
A pixie fluttered over from the performer tent, her luminescent wings buzzing with excitement. A sheen of sweat covered her dark brown skin, and she sucked in great lungfuls of air.
“Sorry, Steffon. We need your help,” she began, casting Lilia an apologetic look. “We’ve just been practicing our routine for Yule, and we’ve realized we don’t have enough space where we are. Is there somewhere we can move our tent?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Steffon patted Lilia’s shoulder again. “Take your wagon to St. Olaf Row. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”
“But that’s in a far back corner of the grounds…” Lilia trailed off as she watched Steffon wander off with the performer. Her shoulders sagged, and the soft breath she sighed burrowed into my bones. I rubbed the back of my neck, my jagged scar rough and puckered even after all these years. It was a reminder of why I was here.
“You’ll get plenty of business no matter where you park your wagon,” I told her. “We both know your ale is far superior to mine.”
She frowned and backed away. “Don’t try to act all nice now.”
“Fine. I won’t.”
“Good.” Spinning on her heels, she strode away, the muddy bottom of her blue dress swirling around her worn leather boots. I leaned against the side of my wagon, watching her wend through the crowded meadow. She was spitting mad. Not that I could blame her. I would be, too, if a random stranger had butted into my territory, especially after we’d spent the night together—platonically, of course. Not that I hadn’t wondered…
It was a shame things had gone this way—that we had to be rivals. She was a fetching lass, with her fiery eyes and curvy hips. But she was going to do her damndest to take every last drop of business, I could tell. And despite being hidden away in the back corner, she would likely succeed.
I couldn’t let that happen.
