5
LILIA
“Sorry, Lil,” Nilsa said with her hands clasped before her apron-clad body. “It’s not too bad, though, right?”
I situated my wagon just so and stepped back to observe it. St. Olaf Row—named after a merchant who had slain a dozen sea serpents to protect a ship and its sailors—curved along the back edge of the festival, right where the meadow bled into the woods. It was as far from the town itself as one could get. Many of the merchants back here were newcomers who’d only just arrived for their first Yule in Riverwold. They’d had no idea how quickly better spots got claimed, so they were as late as me.
As it was, I’d picked a spot sandwiched between a candlemaker and a baker with plenty of room on one side for my tables and chairs. A pocket of young evergreens rose behind it for my decorations. It was no willow tree, but it would do.
“I’ll make it work,” I said with a brisk nod.
Nilsa looped her arm in mine and leaned against me. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone who’s staying at the inn that they should head your way. You’ll have no trouble getting business.”
“I’ll get some,” I said. “But the willow tree is over near the front, where all the performers are. The stage, too. Plus, Karl is only a few stalls away with his smoked meats. Everyone likes to congregate over there. I just…I need the coin, Nilsa.”
She sighed. “I know, love. But like you said, you’ll find a way to make it work.”
I nodded. Right now, the wagon had a dreary, dirty look about it after being on the road for so many weeks. But once I gave it a wash, hung up my banners and lanterns, and extended the brilliant silver awning out the front, my tired wagon would be transformed into the cozy tavern that it was. And I doubted the annoying man with the bitter brew had considered the importance of ambience.
Nilsa cleared her throat. “So, that Ragnar…he’s handsome, eh?”
“Him?” I shifted on my feet. “Not in the least.”
“Hmm.” She chuckled. “Something happen between you two on the road?”
“What? No.” I pulled away from her. “Why in fate’s name would you think that?”
“It’s just, you seemawfullyperturbed about a stranger. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a lover who’d betrayed you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Shaking my head, I moved to my wagon and rustled around in the side compartment until I found what I was looking for. I pulled out an iron candlestick holder and held it aloft. Nilsa’s face lit up, but when she reached for it, I tucked it behind my back.
“I asked my brother to make this for you, but I’m only handing it over if you swear you won’t try to play matchmaker again this year,” I told her. “Especially withyou know who.”
She stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun.”
“I have no desire for a relationship.”
“What about a roll in the hay? We’ve got plenty of it in the stables.”
I gave her a look.
She sighed. “I only do it because I love you, Lil. You spend so much time alone, wandering the roads without anyone to talk to.”
“I have Reykur.”
“A dragon who can’t speak Nynorsk.”
“Do you want the candlestick holder or not?”
“Yeah, yeah.” With a defeated laugh, she held out her hands, palms up. “I won’t play matchmaker with you and Ragnar. Now give it here.”
Somewhat satisfied, I passed her the forged metal, smiling at the exuberant bounce of her feet. The wide base held up a curving rod that transformed into a winged dragon, its maw open for the candle at the top. She’d been asking for one of these for years—from my brother, specifically. Riverwold had a blacksmith, of course, but she’d never seen a dragon with her own eyes, and Nilsa was insistent she wanted an accurate portrayal of one to decorate her inn.
“This is perfect,” she whispered, then reached for her coin purse that hung from her belt. “Here, I’ve been saving up some gold for—”
“Oh, don’t you even try. It’s a gift. From me to you, all right? Put your coin away.”
“But you just said…”
