Pewter mugs clattered against old oak tables, beating out a steady rhythm. Lina scrubbed at an invisible stain on the bar, her movements sharp with restless energy. Behind her, Fin glared into the stew cauldron as if it might offer an escape from the chaos.
Soldiers roared along with the bedraggled bard's jaunty tune. The woman played faster, seemingly determined to keep the crowd singing rather than fighting. Ale sloshed from mugs, spattering the once-clean floor.
"So much for peaceful Tuesdays," Fin muttered, stirring harder.
"The cow's already dead," Lina teased.
"I'm counting the hours till closing."
"Can't do that. All these soldiers need somewhere to sleep tonight. Unfortunately for both of us, this is the only inn in Stonecross."
Fin's wooden spoon smacked the side of the cast-iron pot.
"Ask the bard to leave. Without music, they'll sleep," Lina suggested.
Fin snorted. "Then they'll pass out in the stables and track hay everywhere."
A soldier hurled his half-full mug, sending it skittering across the floor. Fin winced. Usually, he welcomed the occasional wayward traveler or farmer craving stew and ale, but tonight the Golden Goose Inn heaved with guests. Men perched on empty potato crates. Sweat beaded along Lina's neck as she swept up broken crockery, hemmed in by the crush of bodies. She straightened, stretching the knots from her back.
Stonecross sat between two hostile kingdoms, Eryndor and Avelis. Always at war, and always finding reasons to bring it through town.
"Lina!" A soldier with a bushy beard and a scar across his eyebrow waved at her. "More ale, girl. Is this how you treat Eryndor's army?"
She stepped around the counter, wove between the patrons, and stooped to collect his mug from the floor. A rearing stallion marked his shirt. The newest king's emblem. Lina allowed herself a wry grin, keeping the soldier's hands in view.
What was the king's name again? Rodrick. Rodrick… something. How long until the necromancer killed this one? The last king he'd reanimated was now a general in his army.
Lina didn't know the necromancer king's name. The soldiers called him Wrath. No one living seemed to know another.
Judging by their neat uniforms, these men were on their way to the front. She'd seen the ones coming back—broken, unwilling even to whisper the necromancer's name. No soldier killed in the war ever returned home for burial. Men muttered into their cups about cutting down fellow soldiers, friends, only to face them again the following day.
She turned toward the bar, keeping her path wide around the bearded soldier. His hand reached after her and caught the fabric of her skirt.
Lina drew the butcher's knife from the sheath on her hip.
Once, in another town, a drunken merchant had grabbed her wrist behind a tavern much like this one. She remembered how that night had ended. Her mother's warning came back with it: always carry a blade. Never be caught unprepared. An old, familiar steadiness settled into her grip.
"Careful, sir." She smiled. "I carry sharp kitchen tools. I'll get your ale."
The soldier looked as though he'd swallowed a vat of vinegar. His face flushed, and his hand moved toward his sword.
His comrade nudged him with a shoulder and shook his head. "Only inn within a day's ride of the border."
The bearded man glanced at the knife.
"Fine. Hurry with that ale."
He waved her away, and Lina sheathed the blade. Best to be prickly enough that no one came wandering to her attic room later.
She filled a fresh mug and left it on the counter. He opened his mouth to complain, but another soldier approached with his empty cup held out. Lina turned to serve him. The bearded man could fetch his own drink. She wasn't giving him another chance to put his hands on her.
Mug after empty mug landed before her. She settled into the rhythm of collecting coppers and pouring ale until the bard's tune shifted into a lulling ballad of love and heartbreak.
Lina paused, letting the notes wash over her. The clatter of mugs faded beneath the melody. The song tugged at something quiet and aching inside her—half-remembered glances, promises never spoken. For a moment, she let herself imagine it. Someone waiting. Someone who understood.
She pressed her lips together, holding the feeling just long enough to hurt.
What a beautiful song.
What song?
The cup slipped from her hand and cracked against the floor.
"Excuse me?" she asked aloud.
The soldier before her stared. Beyond him, the inn had fallen quiet, spellbound by the bard's song. Perhaps literally, if the runes on her lute were any indication.
Lina glanced behind her. Fin was bent over the cauldron. No one stood close enough to have spoken into her ear.
I imagined it.
She let out a small, uneasy laugh.
Imagined interrupting my sleep? the voice rasped.
She froze.
"Fin, I need to check the storeroom for more ale!"
"If we're out, we close. No more deliveries till Friday." He sighed and shuffled toward the keg.
With one last look at Fin, already struggling to serve the waiting soldiers, Lina ducked through the kitchen. The storeroom door closed behind her, muffling the tavern's noise.
Her eyes took a moment to adjust. The room smelled of root vegetables and spilled ale. Potatoes lay scattered beneath the shelves where their crates had been dragged out for seats. She stood just inside the door, listening. The solitude she'd wanted all evening no longer felt like much of a comfort.
Why are you in my head? she asked, beginning to pace.
You're the one talking to me in the middle of the night, witch.
Then leave.
You're the one doing this.
I don't have any magic. I only know how to use the little runes you buy at the market. Lina pulled one from her pocket and gave a strained laugh. Unless a warmth rune is strong enough to do this.
The slender carved stone hummed faintly against her palm. Anyone could use runes for heat, light, or sealing a door, so long as they knew the symbol. True mages carved their own, drawing power from the world itself. Hers were simple. Bought. Harmless.
Witch, I need to sleep, not discuss your purchases.
I don't know how to fix this.
Stop talking.
No. These are my thoughts.
Little witch, I need some silence to see if I can close this connection.
Oh.
Lina stopped pacing. She tried to think of nothing, but her mind kept returning to the stranger. What did he look like? Was he upstairs? Had she served him without noticing? He could use magic, presumably, but—
The man sighed.
I can still hear you.
I can't hear your thoughts, she admitted.
Thank the goddess for small mercies.
She tapped her foot against the worn floorboards, stirring enough dust to make her cough. Fanning the air before her face, she waited for him to do whatever it was mages did.
None of my runes are working, he growled.
If you're the one who can use magic, perhaps you forged this connection.
I don't bind myself to tavern girls, he drawled. You shouldn't be able to hear me.
Lina bristled.
Then why can I?