“I got a letter from my brother,” Lira said, as if answering an unspoken question. “Malek made it to Lananore. The elves there are working on him.”
Rog’s jaw tightened. “Don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for what he did.”
Vaskel grunted. “He saved us in that dungeon. I hate admitting it, but he did.” He shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t make up for Pirrin, though. Nothing could.”
A quiet settled over the four of them, heavy with old grief, before Cali sighed. “So much has changed since we first crewed together and since we all sat in this tavern for the first time.”
“Right over there.” Rog pointed toward a table near the window.
“I was so green back then,” Lira said. “I didn’t even know how to throw a dagger properly.”
“Your blade skills still need work,” Vaskel said, and Lira swatted at him.
“The food in this place has improved a fair bit since then, too,” Rog said. “I still remember the stew they used to serve that tasted like boiled boot leather.”
“We’re all better than we were,” Vaskel said. “Even this place.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Rog said, pinging his gaze between Vaskel and the ale taps.
The hellkin filled four tankards and slid them across the bar. “To finding each other again.”
They raised their tankards together, the clink of pewter cutting through the noise of the room for just a moment before being swallowed back up by the happy din.
“And to our next adventures,” Cali added, smiling at each of them. “In Wayside.”
The ale went down cold, but the toast went down warm. Warmer still was the feeling that settled into her chest as she looked at her friends. She let it fill her up entirely, and let herself believe, just for a moment, that she had everything she needed within these four walls.
And if some small, stubborn corner of her mind kept drifting back to a brightly painted ship, she’d have to push those thoughts away. She was home. That would have to be enough—for now.
Forty-Three
Cali emergedfrom the Wayside Inn well past her usual hour, blinking against a sun already climbing high in a hot sky. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the absence of the bitter cold that had clung to Wayside when she’d left. There wasn’t a trace of the snow she remembered crunching beneath her boots or a hint of the icicles that had fringed the thatched roofs.
Instead, small green shoots had pushed up through the mud around the stone obelisk in the town square, and the air carried the loamy scent of thawed earth. The market wasn’t as bustling as it was in the summer months, but farmers were already displaying wooden crates of early greens and baskets of magenta rhubarb stalks. Winter had loosened its grip while she’d been away, which felt fitting.
She made her way toward the tavern at an easy pace, pausing without quite meaning to in front of the apothecary shop. The windows were dark, and the door was shut tight, with no wisp of light seeping beneath it. Cali grinned to herself, certain she knew exactly why Iris hadn’t opened for the morning and exactly who she was likely still abed with.
The one establishment that wasn’t slow to rouse was Pip’s bakery, and the scent reached her well before she arrived at the glass door. Cali found her feet carrying her toward the aroma of yeast and sugar and citrus almost without her permission, as if Pip’s oven itself had the power to lure her through the door and straight to the displays.
“Cali!” Pip popped up from behind the counter so suddenly she startled. “I didn’t think I’d see you this morning after the festivities last night.”
“I’m getting a late start.” Cali glanced over her shoulder at the quiet road. “But it seems I’m not the only one.”
Pip rubbed his snubbed nose with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of powdered sugar behind. “We haven’t had a late night at the tavern since you and Thrain left. I suppose everyone is recovering.”
“Everyone but you.”
Pip chuckled. “No rest for the baker. A village needs its bread.”
Cali inhaled deeply. The scents of the bakery were everything she’d remembered they were. “I missed this.”
Pip shuffled his feet behind the counter and smiled. “You weren’t bereft of baking on the pirate ship. Thrain told me all about the ship’s cook and her rolls.”
“Marvella made a good yeast roll,” Cali admitted, giving credit where credit was due. “But they were nothing like your sweet rolls.”
Pip’s cheeks flushed a deep, pleased pink. “Oh, now, baking isn’t something to compete over.” He flapped a sugar-dusted hand,though the satisfaction in his expression said otherwise. “There’s room in the world for more than one talented baker.”
“Of course,” Cali said, hiding her smile.
