“Chocolate and ale,” I said with a nod. “Can’t think of anything better.”
Except I could. Clear blue skies, a sun beaming down on my face, and an endless stretch of world I’d never witness. But I didn’t even need to see it all. Just one glimpse of the sky, and I’d be satisfied.
And if I could do it with a bar of chocolate in my hand? Even better.
“So, who do you think will win the Fittest Under the Mountain this year?” Lilia asked when she returned to our rickety wooden table with two pints of Balder’s finest ale frothing down her hands. In our cities and villages scatteredthroughout The Glass Peaks, Balder was famous for having the best. His brew was nothing compared to Lilia’s, but I’d never tell him that. It would break his big old dwarven heart.
I gladly took Lilia’s offered mug and bit back a groan. “I don’t care about that damn competition.”
“Really?” She scrunched up her nose. “It’s one of my favorites of the year.”
“Every competition and festival on the Isles is your favorite. You love Summer Solstice in Wyndale, Yule in Riverwold, and you even like the Harvest Festival over in Oakwater. Every time you talk about one of these things, it’s the one you love the most.”
“Perhaps. But I really do love the Fittest Under the Mountain. Andyoudo, too. Or at least you did a few years ago. What’s changed?”
I shrugged and scanned the tavern. The low ceiling curved overhead, its rocky surface worn smooth from decades of regular polish. Glowing orange gemstones were embedded in a scattered formation, much like the wooden tables surrounded by raucous dwarves. A few of the patrons wore metal pins shaped like a fist. Those were the ones who’d decided to compete in our yearly competition to see who could haul around the heaviest rock, run the fastest through the shadowy tunnels, steer the mine carts the best, and swing from rope to rope across the widest chasms.
All the usuals were in attendance. Galinn wore a cocky grin and lounged in his chair, holding court with the other hopefuls. His trimmed ginger beard barely reached his chest. He thought keeping it short helped him win, and maybe it did. Puldur and Knut sat with him, twins with long, bushy black beards and braided hair that matched. They were the two who’d come closest to beating him, but they were still no match for Galinn the Great.
That was their name for him. Not mine. I’d rather go the rest of my life without chocolate than give Galinn’s ego any more fuel.
Sighing, I turned back to the beaming silver-haired elf. “It’s just the same thing every year, Lil. Same contestants, same trials, same winner five times in a row. Like the rest of my life, it’s dull.”
“Well,” Lilia said, leaning across the table with a new sparkle in her eyes, “I met some folk on the road here. They said they’re coming to compete.”
There were always a few strangers who journeyed here from beyond the mountain, of course. Elves or pixies who wanted in on the action, thinking they could best the dwarves who trained and lived down here in The Deep. A few had given the regulars a run for their money over the years, but not lately. Every damn year, Galinn won by such a large margin that it was starting to feel like the competition was no longer a competition at all and just a way for him to show off his skills.
I folded my arms. “If I thought they had any chance of winning, I might be more excited.”
“One of them looked like he could win, if you get my meaning,” she whispered.
I arched a brow over the rim of my tankard. “Let me guess. Tall, muscled like the God of Thunder himself, and full of unearned swagger. He won’t win, Lil. We get some of those every year, but they’re always too big and heavy. This is adwarvencompetition.”
She merely shook her head. “He’s got muscle, all right, but he’s not one of the towering, burly types. You’ll see.”
But as if her words had conjured him, a big, burly type ducked his head and swaggered into the tavern just like I’d expected. He was so tall, his head skimmed the rocky ceiling even with his shoulders fully slumped forward. Long flaminghair curled around elven ears, though there was something verynot elvenabout him—though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. I sniffed the air. He smelled spicy.
If this was the contestant Lilia had meant, she’d lost her damn mind. He’d likely win the strength event but lose everything else. He wouldn’t even fit inside some tunnels without getting stuck. And the mine cart? Forget it.
He scanned the crowd. When his eyes landed on Lilia, his entire body seemed to sigh. I sat a little straighter in my chair. Interesting.
“There you are,” he said when he reached our table. The big, burly thing leaned down and dropped a kiss on Lilia’s forehead with such familiarity that he must have done it a hundred times.At least.
I leaned forward onto my elbows. “Lilia…who in fate’s damned name in this?”
A shy grin spread across her face. “This is Ragnar. My, ah…”
“Partner,” he finished, sticking out his hand.
I eagerly took it, glancing between the two of them. They both had silly expressions on their faces, like two newlyweds. Twovery happynewlyweds. I beamed at Lilia. It was about damn time. She was a wanderer at heart, always roaming the roads alone. I knew she loved to travel, but I’d caught a lonely look in her eye more often than she’d wanted to admit. And now she’d finally found someone who would wander those roads with her.
Good. Everyone needed someone who felt like home.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ragnar. I’m—”
“Astrid.” He grinned. “Lilia hasn’t stopped talking about you and your mining skills for days. She couldn’t wait to introduce us.”
“Ah.” A flush spread across the back of my neck. “My skills are not amazing. Definitely no better than most of the dwarves down here in The Deep.”
