The bard's voice rose beyond the storeroom door.
Lina had liked the song a moment ago. Now the sweetness of it made her head ache.
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
"Goddess, I'm tired."
The door opened, letting in the music. For a moment, she wanted to go back out. Stand among the soldiers. Hear the rest.
She lowered her hands.
Was that her thought?
Galdreth slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Fin asked me to bring you another keg."
"Over there." She pointed to the row beneath the shelves.
Apparently, Fin had reconsidered closing. She supposed the soldiers would run out of coin eventually.
Galdreth crouched beside a keg, tested its weight, then looked back at her.
"Lina."
"Yes?"
She gathered her hair over one shoulder and began redoing the braid. A few strands had worked loose and stuck to her neck.
His gaze lingered on her hands.
"Did you need something?" she asked.
"No."
He lifted the keg and carried it out, his face red with the effort. Or something else. He was five years older than her, and she still wasn't sure they'd ever managed a conversation longer than this one.
The door swung shut.
Lina tied off her braid and smoothed her apron.
Perhaps she'd imagined the voice. Exhaustion, a room full of drunk men, a bard using more magic than the occasion required—
You're still here.
She caught her apron string between her fingers.
Did you ever leave?
A quiet chuckle.
Galdreth, was it?
What about him?
Nothing.
She disliked how much that sounded like an answer.
Who are you? Are you in the inn?
I'm trying to close the connection.
You can do that and answer me.
He said nothing.
Lina looked toward the door. The song was still there, muffled by the wood.
Could it be the bard? There are runes on her lute.
What kind?
If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking.
She waited for him to dismiss the idea.
Instead, he asked, When did she begin playing?
Before I heard you. I don't know how long before.
Silence.
Lina rubbed her forehead.
My name is Lina. I'm in Stonecross.
Yes. Lina. At the Golden Goose.
She stopped rubbing.
She'd thought of the inn. Fin. The soldiers. How much else had she given him without meaning to?
And you are?
Who would have reason to connect us?
I don't even know who you are.
Are you only a barmaid?
Lina laughed once.
Would you prefer something else?
He didn't answer.
She crossed to the washbasin and dipped her hands into the cold water. Perhaps that would help. If not, she could always put her whole head in.
Tell me something useful, she said. Please.
For a while, she heard only the water slipping between her fingers.
This isn't a magic I recognize.
She looked up.
There. An answer. Did it hurt?
She splashed her face before he could reply.
The basin was too shallow to show much of her reflection. One eye, the freckles across her nose, the dark hollow beneath her cheekbone. She looked tired because she was tired. There was no great mystery to that.
She reached for the towel.
Her mother would have told her to eat something.
The thought brought back the letter in the bottom of her trunk. Folded along the same lines so often the paper had begun to split. Lina had carried it all the way to Stonecross, taking it out at roadside stops to read a promise she already knew by heart.
Her mother would follow when she could.
Lina dried her face.
I could ask the rune mage at the market tomorrow.
If I don't know, he won't.
Awfully sure of yourself for someone without a solution.
You talk too much.
You're remarkably calm about hearing voices.
One voice.
For now.
His laugh came abruptly.
She found herself smiling, then wondered whether he knew.
Do you speak to people often?
The silence lasted long enough that she began to regret asking.
When necessary.
"Lina!"
Fin's voice carried through the door.
"I could use you out here!"
"Coming."
She hung up the towel.
That sounds necessary, the stranger said.
The bard had stopped by the time Lina returned.
Without the music, the room seemed uglier. Men shouted across tables without listening for an answer. Someone had been sick near the stairs. A soldier slept with his forehead against the wall, his hand still closed around an empty mug.
Fin put a bowl of stew on the counter.
A man reached for it.
Fin slapped his hand away.
"Lina's."
"I ordered—"
"And you'll get yours."
Lina picked up the bowl.
"Eat," Fin told her. "Before you fall over."
She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she tasted it.
A mug struck the counter beside her.
"Ale."
Fin filled it from the water jug.
The soldier stared into it.
"That's water."
"Yes."
"I asked for ale."
"And I'm asking whether you'd prefer a bed or the stables."
The man looked at him, then took the cup.
Lina bent over her stew to hide a smile.
Across the room, two soldiers were hauling a third off a broken stool. One leg had snapped beneath him. He remained on the floor while his companions argued about whether it could be put back.
Fin saw it.
"Oh, no."
He set down the jug.
The man on the floor tried to stand.
"You stay there."
On an ordinary day, Fin could be persuaded to forgive almost anything. Damage to the furniture required payment.
Lina ate while he inspected the stool.
One soldier offered an explanation. Another offered a different one. Fin held up the broken leg and waited for them to finish.
They began searching their pockets.
Why is it so loud?
Lina swallowed.
You expect me to answer your questions while you ignore mine?
Yes.
She rolled her eyes.
Someone broke a stool. Fin's making them regret it.
Are you safe?
Her spoon stopped halfway to the bowl.
She hadn't expected the question. Certainly not from him.
Yes.
She took another mouthful, though she barely tasted it.
Are you a soldier?
No answer.
You could just say you won't tell me.
Across the room, Fin pointed toward the spilled ale. One of the soldiers went to fetch a cloth.
Are you near the border, at least?
Not far.
Lina glanced toward the windows.
The shutters were closed. They had been closed all evening.
She set down her empty bowl.
Before she could reach for the cleaning cloth, a soldier took it from the counter.
"Fin said the tables."
"Did he?"
He looked past her.
Fin stood beside the broken stool with his arms folded.
"Yes."
"Best do the tables, then."
Another man began righting chairs. Two carried the potato crates toward the storeroom. A moment later, one came back for a broom.
Lina pressed her hand over her mouth.
The bearded soldier approached. She straightened, but he only pulled out a chair.
"Sit."
She looked at him.
He glanced at Fin.
"Please."
That did it.
Lina sat down laughing.
He retreated to a safe distance while she tried to stop. The harder she tried, the worse it became. Men who had spent the evening shouting for ale were now debating the best way to get it out of the floorboards.
Fin passed behind her and collected her bowl.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself."
She shook her head, unable to answer.
Do you do that often?
What?
Laugh.
She wiped beneath one eye.
When something's funny.
It's loud.
You're welcome to leave.
He was quiet for a moment.
Even with the war?
Her smile faded, though it didn't disappear entirely.
They're cleaning an inn. Should I be solemn about it?
There are soldiers all around you.
There usually are.
She watched a man attempt to fit the broken leg back into the stool. Fin took it from him before he could sit on it again.
The war's been going on for years, she added. If I waited for it to end, I might never laugh again.
You haven't lost anyone?
Lina leaned back in the chair.
My brother died in the famine.
She hadn't meant to answer so readily.
My father drank himself to death after.
The room carried on around her. A chair scraped. Someone swore over the broom.
And your mother?
Lina rested her jaw in her hand.
She sent me here. Said she'd follow.
He waited.
She didn't.
She studied a nick in the table. Someone had worried at it with a knife, cutting deeper than the original mark.
Listen to me. Telling all this to someone who won't even give me his name.
Does that concern you?
It probably should.
But it doesn't.
Lina considered that.
I don't think I'm afraid of you.
His reply came without hesitation.
You would be.
She lifted her head.
For the first time, she couldn't find anything to say.
It took another hour to get the soldiers upstairs.
Fin checked the latch on the front door, counted the cups, then counted them again. He left the broken stool behind the bar.
"I'll deal with that tomorrow."
"Charge them before they leave."
"I already did."
"Of course you did."
He wished her good night and disappeared down the passage to his room.
Lina stood alone among the damp tables.
They've finally gone to bed.
The soldiers?
Unless there's someone else you've been listening to.
How many?
She looked toward the stairs.
I didn't count.
All from Eryndor?
Her hand tightened around the cloth.
You heard the man asking for ale.
I heard a great many men asking for ale.
Lina folded the cloth and left it beside the basin.
Yes. Eryndor. The newest king's going to catch the necromancer unawares, apparently.
Is he?
There was something in his voice she couldn't place.
She waited, but he said nothing more.
The attic stairs creaked beneath her feet.
By the time Lina reached her room, the laughter felt hours behind her. She lit the candle, shut the door, and checked the latch.
Her mother's letter was in the trunk at the foot of the bed.
She left it there.
Lina untied her apron and loosened her braid. In the small mirror beside the candle, she looked much as she always did after a long shift.
She studied her face anyway.
Are you still there?
Yes.
She turned from the mirror.
There was no sound to tell her he was listening. No breath, no movement. She wondered whether she would know if he left, or if she'd keep talking to an empty room.
Lina climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over her shoulder.
The candle flame leaned as she bent toward it.
Are you alone?
She blew it out.
For a while, she listened to the inn settling beneath her. A cough through the floorboards. Footsteps in the passage below. Then nothing.
She was nearly asleep when he answered.
Yes.