Chapter 2
Chapter two
Abigail
Abigail stirred the stew as the scent of fresh bread filled the air, and she smiled in satisfaction at the three loaves she had just taken out of the oven.
Experimenting with baking their own bread instead of buying from the baker every day had been her idea, and this new recipe smelled successful.
She’d have to wait a moment if she wanted to see what they truly looked like on the inside without the crumb being damaged by her trying to slice them before they cooled… but she was far too impatient.
She reached for a knife and used a clean towel to pick up one of the loaves. Perhaps cutting one of them wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if she would use all three loaves of bread tonight, anyway.
She sliced off the heel, releasing even more of that delicious scent into the air, and her stomach grumbled.
She usually ate with Roan after they closed up, and she had already eaten a meal before the evening rush began, but surely she could enjoy one slice of bread without too much chaos unfolding in the tavern.
Reaching for the butter crock in the corner, she spread a generous portion on the bread before taking a bite.
She closed her eyes and hummed in satisfaction as she chewed.
It was perfect. Her father may not have taught her much, but he had certainly taught her how to make a good loaf of bread.
Adapting the recipe to the amount of bread the tavern required instead of two people had been a challenge, but she’d figured it out.
Having stirred her stew and tried her bread, Abigail took a deep breath and prepared to head back out to the bar. It had been a busy evening, and after Roan had tucked himself away with the baker’s invoice in his office, the men had gotten a little more rowdy.
Nothing she couldn’t handle, of course, and if she had asked, Roan would probably have left Beastie with her,
But she wanted to prove to him that she could do it, even if she felt slightly out of her element. She liked this job better than being the washerwoman at the inn she was living at, and if she was going to keep it, she needed to be able to handle herself amongst even the roughest crowds.
She knew she could. She had grown up with worse…so she knew how to handle it, even if she’d rather not.
Now that Roan had cut off Silas and Montgomery and they were gone, perhaps things would get easier—or at least the men would settle down a little, even if the night remained busy.
The spicy-sweet smell of a dragon power-infused magic flooded her senses, and Abigail froze. A blast of rosy light showed through the crack in the kitchen door before everything faded to black for a moment.
Abigail opened her eyes and the light returned, a whisper of the sparkling wind that usually accompanied a curse brushing through her hair.
Who was using magic here, in the Lucky Goat? Magic was illegal in Galamere, and anyone who knew how to use magic would never dare to do so in public—much less inside a tavern full of men.
Though perhaps that was why they felt safe enough to do it. Magic could easily be explained as the drunk ravings of a man who’d had too much.
She forced herself to take a deep breath.
No one knew she knew about magic. No one here, anyway. And if she wasn’t out there while they put to rights whatever had happened…she could pretend she didn’t know anything about it.
Except Roan might need her help.
She hurried to the door, opening it and surveying the room.
There was no one there.
Well, no one she didn’t recognize, that is—only the front door swinging closed behind a dark cloak, with Roan giving chase.
“What happened?” Abigail asked, glancing around the room at the men sitting there. But before they could answer, their heads began nodding to the side, their eyes closing, and those sitting at the bar slumped over, their heads collapsing to the table.
Abigail’s eyes widened in alarm, and she rushed forward to catch Conrad as he began to slip off his stool.
“Steady,” she said, but he was too heavy for her to hold up, so she could only support him as he fell to the floor, holding his head to prevent him from cracking it.
What sort of magic was this? She hadn’t been affected…but this was more than a standard sleeping spell for everyone in the tavern to fall asleep so quickly.
Her stomach churned. Why was she not affected, and where had Roan gone?
There was a yip, and Abigail turned to see Beastie standing over Roan, who was laid out flat on the floor.
Oh. There he was.
Was she the only one awake?
“What happened, Beastie?” Abigail asked as she hurried over.
If only the dog could tell her what was wrong, or what had happened since she stepped into the kitchen.
This was clearly the work of a strong magic user—or someone who had access to a dragon egg.
The thought made bile rise up in her throat. Why would someone with access to a dragon egg be using it against Roan and the tavern? What else were they doing? And how long before they brought attention to the Northlands for illegal magic use?
Before she could continue to think about all the ways everything could go wrong, Roan stirred with a groan. “Roan,” she exclaimed, leaning over him. Was he going to wake up?
Her hair fell over her shoulders and into his face, the blonde a strong contrast to his brown beard and short hair, and she immediately backed up—she hadn’t meant to be that close to him.
His nose twitched as her hair tickled him, and he opened his eyes, confusion filling them.
This close, the dark brown she’d always thought they were appeared more hazel.
“What happened?” he asked, struggling to sit up.
Abigail scrambled to get away from being uncomfortably close to him before offering a hand to help him sit.
He waved her away, using Beastie to help himself up instead, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the door. “I almost had him,” he said suddenly, turning to her just as fast, wincing at the movement. ““Where did he go?”
“Where did who go?” Abigail asked. “I didn’t see what happened.”
“There was a troublemaker,” he said, growling again. Did he realize how scary his voice was when he did that? “Where did he go?”
“I didn’t see him,” Abigail responded patiently. He’d already asked that. Had he hit his head when he landed?
“I need to sit down,” Roan said, reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder.
That was new. Abigail wasn’t sure if he had ever touched her before.
“You are sitting down,” she pointed out.
Roan looked down at his feet with a glare. “What did he do to me?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Abigail replied quietly, “but you’re not the only one.”
Roan’s head turned around so fast he might have given himself whiplash, and when he saw the tavern full of sleeping men, he swore under his breath.
“I’m going to find him and make him undo it,” he said, staggering to his feet with Beastie’s help.
“The thing is, I don’t know how you’ll find him,” Abigail said, getting up and reaching for his arm. He shook her off but then faltered, and when she reached for his arm again, he allowed her to take it and offer him support.
“I don’t like it,” he growled again.
“I don’t, either,” Abigail pointed out evenly, “but perhaps it would be best for you to sit down for a moment before we try to figure out where he went.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” Roan grumbled.
Abigail nearly rolled her eyes.
Of course, he didn’t want to sit down. He never wanted to sit down in the front room, but in this case, he didn’t have much choice.
She helped him to the closest empty booth, Beastie sticking to his side, ignoring all the men sleeping in the rest of the tavern.
This was certainly more than she had expected to deal with today, but her upbringing had prepared her for this.
Maybe.
She could help somehow…but how, she wasn’t sure.
She’d never really discovered where her talents lay, and without a dragon egg to draw power from, she didn’t know that she would be powerful enough to attempt to undo whatever spell this was—not that she knew how to do that, even if she did have a dragon egg.
She sighed and slumped onto the seat across from Roan, who was staring at the table, his eyes unfocused even as his hands ran through Beastie’s fur. Abigail turned her attention to him.
“Does your head hurt?” she asked quietly.
“Of course my head hurts,” he snapped. “I ran into something when I was trying to catch him.”
That didn’t sound good.
“You ran into the door?” Abigail asked.
“No,” Roan said shortly. “It was before the door. I don’t know what happened.”
Abigail thought she might know—and it wasn’t a good sign.
But whether there had been a spell placed to keep them in the tavern or not, the fact that this many men had been put to sleep and were still asleep didn’t bode well.
Whoever had cast this was playing with a powerful magic and had far greater power than she did.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said.
“I don’t need your help.” Roan’s words were gruff, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Of course, you need my help,” she said. “We’re in the tavern with everyone around us asleep. Surely, you don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’m still awake.”
Roan muttered something under his breath, and Abigail sighed. He wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Whether we like it or not, we’re going to need each other’s help to figure this out.”
He did not seem amused. “We shouldn’t be in this position,” he muttered.
“And yet we are,” Abigail said with forced cheerfulness. “So we’ll have to make the best of it.”
“How exactly do you suggest making the best of this?” Roan asked, gesturing to the men sleeping around them. “Should we throw a party while my business goes under?”
“You’re not going to go under,” Abigail said, as patiently as she could. “But we should try to figure out what’s going on here, so we can decide what we’re going to do next.”
Roan grunted and staggered to his feet. “Gonna go find him. Make him make it stop,” he said. His steps faltered as he made his way toward the door with Beastie beside him.
“Roan, be careful,” she called out, the words barely leaving her mouth before Roan bounced backwards. Somehow only his head landed on Beastie, who yelped.
Abigail sighed.
“What is that?” Roan asked, sitting up and turning to her with a glare.
As if any of this was her fault. “It looks like we’re stuck here,” she said as cheerfully as she could. “We’ll have to figure out what we’re going to do now, without being able to leave. Do you remember if he said anything before he left?”
Roan shook his head, carefully rubbing the side of it. “I don’t remember,” he said, panic lacing his voice. “I don’t remember anything.”
Beastie leaned up against his side as if to lend him comfort, and his hand moved to rest on her honey-colored head.
He’d never been the most pleasant man, but seeing him reduced to this was nothing she would ever wish upon a man. “It’s okay,” Abigail said in the same way she might soothe a panicked child, letting warmth infuse her voice. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone.”
Roan glared at her. “I’m an adult,” he said. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“I know you don’t,” she said in a rush, “but you just hit your head and it’s okay if you don’t remember things, I’m sure it’ll come back to you eventually, and even if it doesn’t, that’s okay, we’ll figure it out and—”
“You’re talking too much,” he said, interrupting her nervous stream of thought. “My head hurts.”
Abigail sighed.
Hitting his head hadn’t changed him, apparently.
He looked around the tavern, and she could hear the mostly hidden fear in his voice as he said, “What if they never wake up?”
“They will,” Abigail said, her voice carrying a confidence she didn’t feel. “I know they will.”
Roan gave her a sideways glance before getting to his feet and stomping away. Beastie looked between her and Roan as if she wasn’t sure whether to stay with Abigail or go with her master.
“Go with him,” Abigail said to Beastie, nodding in the direction of his office. “He needs you.”
Beastie promptly followed Roan, and Abigail sighed, planting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the tavern. There was no way of knowing how long it would take to break this curse, especially if Roan couldn’t remember the conditions of it.
Most curses had a failsafe woven into them, and it was only a matter of time until they figured out what this one’s was, but until then, things might get sparse.
While there was no way of knowing how long it would take them to break this particular curse, she had heard of curses that lasted years. And if they couldn’t leave the tavern, she and Roan would have to become self-sufficient.
She made her way to the kitchen and reached for the back door carefully. She didn’t want to bounce off a barrier the way Roan had. But as she carefully opened the door, she was delighted to find that she was able to step through it into the back garden.
While they hadn’t used it for much, it wouldn’t be hard for her to plant a couple more things, in case the curse lasted longer than she wanted.
Not that there was too much time left in the short growing season of the Northlands…but anything would be better than nothing.
Abigail took a deep breath of the fresh air and turned to enter the tavern in search of seeds, but stopped when a ball was thrown over the back fence.
She made her way over to throw it back, picking it up and hefting it in her hands.
It looked familiar.
Too familiar.
It looked exactly like the homemade ball made of fabric scraps that had been thrown over the back wall a few days ago. She remembered it because Beastie had brought it to her, shredded into many pieces.
But how could that be?
The only way the same ball could have appeared was if whoever had cast the spell was dabbling in much stronger magic than they ought to, and an involuntary shiver raced down her spine at the thought.
Surely they hadn’t been sent back in time. Was that even possible without using dark magic?
But it fit with everything else she knew about this curse.
Abigail left the ball where it was. Beastie would find it later and destroy it just as she had the first time, and hopefully Roan would remember what had happened before the time ran out on this curse.
She didn’t want to think what it meant if he didn’t.