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The girl returned, setting a tray with a few cups, a kettle, and a plate of scones, cheese, and a bowl of fruit onto the table. She reached for the kettle, but Ava blocked her with a foot and tutted.

“Go help her boil some water.”

Missing a single front tooth, the girl beamed—her golden eyes flashing. She bobbed her dusty, disheveled black hair and bounded away.

“I assume Kyer came looking for her after she went missing from Zaitrerin,” Jarek pointed out.

“That’s exactly what happened,” Ava said, filling the cups with steaming water, “and your assumption that I did not disclose to him she had been here is also correct, but I don’t much care for lectures, especially ones I’ve heard before. I don’t turn anyone away or ask about their business. They come, stay, leave, and normally, I don’t see them again. Same courtesy I’ll give you.”

Knowing how passionate Kyer was and his care for Lilith, picturing him turning up on Ava’s doorstep only to be led astray bothered Jarek.

“Are all incarnations so rude?”

Jarek lifted his frown to Ava.

She smirked, navy blue eyes flashing. “Many, including myself, consider it disrespectful to dribble gore on one’s sofa without at least thanking the host directly.”

Jarek disagreed with Croll; he liked this woman far more than Novak.

“Much appreciated,” he said.

Ava leaned back. “Drink your tea.”

Jarek sat up, picking at the food, watching Croll swirl the liquid. He took a sip.

“Is that…” Croll started.

Ava smiled. “Bloodroot.”

Jarek lifted his cup and sniffed the spicy contents. Tea leaves from the north. Gods knew how old now that nothing could grow there. “Not Silvervein?”

“Not in this house. Yes, my late husband, Ettan rest his soul, had blood as silver as the leaves he grew. It made his family money and now mine, but I don’t have a taste for the stuff. This”—she tapped her cup with a long fingernail—“is my private stash, courtesy of Kyer. Don’t ask me where he found it.”

Croll’s interest took hold, and Jarek listened to the two of them drone on about the ins and outs of Ava’s livelihood. Her investments in the fishing village of Vestial, the workers who plucked the leaves, the various souls she’d harbored under the table for a price, noteworthy or not. Jarek munched on the food, focus glazing over the flicking flames of the fire.

A patter of incoming feet interrupted the conversation.

“Ivy, dear, show mister…”

"Whitlock,” Croll said.

“Whitlock, where the stables are. You can lead their horses.”

Ivy squealed happily while Ava gave Croll further instructions on where to keep the wagon and its contents. Next thing he knew, they were gone, and Lilith was setting a number of things on the table, including a cup filled to the brim with wine.

“No, no, no! You need to do that upstairs,” Ava scolded. “He can barely lift his head! I don’t need him passed out down here come morning. Well? Take him!”

Lilith examined Jarek, sighed, then repacked her items. “Come on, Master Atwood.”

She offered her hand again, and he took it without complaint this time. A little steadier on his feet, he still found the prospect of climbing the stairs daunting.

“We’re short a room, thanks to our extra company. There’s one left. You know where it is, Lilith. You two are more than welcome to share—”

“That’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” Jarek spat out at the same time.

They glanced at each other and quickly switched responses.