Chapter 5
MAEVE
The Silver Fang buzzed with gossip by noon, which meant Maeve was already tired of hearing about it.
"Council enforcer," Breck said from his usual stool at the bar. The bear shifter nursed his beer like he had nowhere better to be, which he probably didn't. "First time in years they've brought someone in from outside."
"Temporary assignment," added Sylvie, a wolf who worked at the Hollow Mercantile. She sat two stools down, picking at a basket of pretzels. "Heard it straight from Rufus Tansley this morning. Council business. Very hush-hush."
Maeve wiped down the bar and said nothing. Let them talk. Let them speculate. It had nothing to do with her.
"Must be something serious," Breck continued. "Can't remember the last time Varric called in outside help. We've got Emmett on the Council now. Alaric handles enforcement. What do they need with someone else?"
"Maybe it's about those shipment problems," Sylvie said, lowering her voice like that made it less gossip. "You know, the damaged goods and missing inventory everyone's been whispering about."
Maeve's hand stilled on the bar. "Those problems are handled."
"Are they?" Sylvie's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Because I heard another crate got damaged just last week. Wine from that vineyard you like, all of it spoiled."
She'd heard right. Maeve had lost three cases of imported red, good stuff she'd been saving for the winter solstice celebration. The crate had arrived with claw marks gouged through the wood and every bottle inside shattered.
But that was her business. Not theirs.
"Accidents happen," Maeve said.
"Pretty frequent accidents." Breck drained his beer. "You think that's why the Council brought someone in? To investigate?"
"I think you should worry about your own problems." Maeve took his empty glass. "Want another?"
"Always." He grinned. "But come on, Maeve. Aren't you curious? New enforcer shows up unannounced, Council's being all secretive about it. That's got to mean something."
It meant Varric was playing games. It meant politics she didn't want to touch. It meant her life was about to get complicated in ways she couldn't control.
Maeve poured Breck's refill and really tried not to think about amber eyes and that insufferable smirk. There was no way he could be who they got. Why would he be? And bigger question yet. Why did she care?
Because he’s a play boy who can’t take anything seriously, she reminded herself.
The door let the whiteness of light wash in as it was pushed open. Cold air rushed in with Twyla Honeytree, who looked entirely too pleased with herself. The fae moved through the tavern like she owned it, wheat-colored hair perfect despite the snow, light brown eyes sparkling with secrets.
"Maeve!" She slid onto the stool next to Breck. "Tell me you've heard."
"Heard what?" Maeve set a cup of tea in front of her without being asked. Twyla always wanted tea.
"About our new Council enforcer." Twyla's smile turned wicked. "Oh, you haven't heard. This is delicious."
Maeve's lioness stirred. "I don't care about Council business."
"You will." Twyla wrapped her hands around the teacup, steam rising between them. "Especially when you find out who Varric brought in."
"Someone competent, hopefully." Maeve moved to the end of the bar, away from Twyla's knowing look. "Someone who'll do their job and leave."
"Oh, he's competent." Twyla took a delicate sip. "Very competent. Tall. Handsome. Golden hair and a smile that could charm the scales off a dragon."
Maeve's hand slipped. The glass she'd been holding hit the bar hard enough that she had to catch it before it shattered.
No.
"Dante Deleuve," Twyla announced, voice carrying through the suddenly quiet tavern. "Your old flame. Back in Hollow Oak on official Council business. Isn't that interesting?"
The glass cracked in Maeve's grip. Thin lines spider-webbing through crystal, cutting into her palm before she forced herself to set it down.
"He's not my old flame," she said.
"No?" Twyla's eyebrows rose. "Then what was all that heat last night? Because half the town's talking about how you two nearly set the Silver Fang on fire just by looking at each other."
"We did not—" Maeve stopped. Breathed. Reminded herself that killing Twyla would be bad for business. "He showed up uninvited. I threw him out. End of story."
"Beginning of story," Twyla corrected. "He's staying at the Hearth and Hollow. Diana says he paid for two weeks upfront."
Two weeks.
Maeve's lioness paced, torn between fury and something that felt dangerously close to anticipation.
The door chimed again. This time Freya Bloom entered, copper-auburn hair dusted with snow and a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The nature witch moved with her usual fluid grace, green eyes bright as they found Maeve behind the bar.
"Please tell me the gossip's true," Freya said, setting her bag down. "Because Kieran's been insufferable all morning."
"What gossip?" Maeve asked, though she already knew.
"That Dante Deleuve's back." Freya leaned against the bar, grinning. "Kieran says he saw him at the Council Glade this morning. Says he looked like a man on a mission."
"A mission to ruin my peace," Maeve muttered.
"Or to save your tavern." Twyla swirled her tea. "Depending on how you look at it."
"I don't need saving."
"No," Freya agreed. "But you might need help. Those shipment problems aren't going away on their own, Maeve. And if Varric brought Dante in specifically to investigate, that means he thinks it's serious."
Maeve grabbed a fresh glass, this one intact. "It's handled."
“You’re just too stubborn to admit you need someone in your corner."
"I have people in my corner." Maeve gestured around the tavern. "This whole town's in my corner. I don't need some arrogant lion swaggering in like he's doing me a favor."
"He didn't look arrogant last night," Breck offered. "He looked gutted."
"Good."
Freya and Twyla exchanged glances. The kind of look that meant they were about to gang up on her.
"The Veil's been humming," Freya said carefully. "You feel it?"
"It's always humming."
"Not like this." Freya pulled a sprig of lavender from her bag, twirling it between her fingers. "This is mate-bond humming. Fate-is-paying-attention humming. The kind that brought Kieran and me together even when I was trying to ignore it."
"I'm not trying to ignore anything." Maeve's voice came out too sharp. "Because there's nothing to ignore. Dante and I are not mates. We're barely acquaintances."
"You were more than acquaintances ten years ago," Twyla said.
"Ten years ago was a lifetime." Maeve moved down the bar, needing distance. "He made his choice. Stayed with the pride. I left. That's the end of it."
"Except he's here now." Twyla set down her teacup. "And you threw him out of your bar but you're still thinking about him. Still wondering why he came back."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Freya's smile turned gentle. "It's okay to admit you're curious, Maeve. It doesn't make you weak."
It felt weak. Felt like her walls were cracking and she couldn't stop it. Felt like her lioness was purring at the thought of Dante staying in Hollow Oak for two weeks, close enough to see every day.
Close enough to make her remember things she'd spent a decade trying to forget.
"He's Council business," Maeve said firmly. "That's all. He'll investigate whatever needs investigating and then he'll leave. Back to his pride. Back to his life."
"And if he doesn't?" Twyla asked.
"He will." Maeve grabbed the cracked glass, tossing it in the bin under the bar. "He always does."
Freya and Twyla exchanged another look, this one sad and knowing. They meant well. They always did. But they didn't understand what it felt like to be left behind by someone you'd thought might stay.
The door chimed as more patrons filtered in, lunch crowd looking for warmth and food and escape from the snow. Maeve welcomed the distraction, throwing herself into orders and conversation and anything that kept her hands busy.
But even as she worked, even as she smiled and poured drinks and traded banter with regulars, part of her mind stayed stuck on one thought.
Two weeks.
Dante was staying for two weeks.
Which meant two weeks of avoiding him. Two weeks of pretending she didn't notice when he walked past the tavern windows. Two weeks of ignoring the hum in her blood that said her lioness recognized something stronger even more than 10 years ago.
Two weeks until Christmas.
She caught herself wondering if he'd stay through the holiday. If he celebrated anymore, or if the pride had beaten that softness out of him. If he'd be alone in Miriam's inn on Christmas morning, drinking coffee and staring out at the snow.
Maeve shook her head, shoving the thought away.
She didn't care where Dante spent Christmas.
She didn't care about Dante at all.
But her lioness purred anyway, and the Veil kept humming, and Maeve knew with absolute certainty that the next two weeks were going to be hell.