7. Isolde
ISOLDE
The hives hum with satisfied contentment, their earlier agitation replaced by the steady rhythm of productive work.
My girls have finally accepted their new home, and the lavender samples I collected this morning confirm what my nose already told me—the honey will be exceptional.
Rich, floral, with that distinctive sweetness that makes merchants willing to pay premium prices.
Time to secure my business.
The Guild Hall dominates the center of Harvest Hollow like an ancient oak among saplings.
Stone foundation blocks rise to meet timber walls marked with carved insignias—hammer and anvil for the smiths, needle and thread for the tailors, wheat sheaf for the farmers.
Each symbol tells the story of hands that built this town from wilderness, and the brass plates beneath them gleam with the patina of decades.
Exposed oak beams stretch across the building's face, their dark wood contrasting with cream-colored plaster between.
Hanging lanterns cast warm pools of light even in daylight, and the heavy wooden door bears the guild's master seal—a circle containing all the trade symbols, unified under a single banner.
I pause before entering, smoothing my skirts and checking that my hair remains neatly pinned despite the morning's work with the bees.
The embroidered vines along my cuffs catch the light, tiny flowers worked in golden thread that took me three evenings to complete.
First impressions matter, especially when requesting permanent trade agreements.
The door opens with a satisfying weight, revealing an interior that speaks of quiet authority.
Long tables stretch across the main floor, their surfaces scarred by years of guild meetings and trade negotiations.
On either side, rows and rows of shelving full of records.
The air carries the distinct scent of beeswax polish and old parchment, with undertones of pipe tobacco and leather.
At a small wooden desk near the far window sits Granda Oltar, his silver beard catching the afternoon light as he examines what appears to be one of Maddie's honey cakes. The pastry looks tiny in his weathered hands, golden crumbs scattered across the desk's surface beside an open ledger.
"Isolde Briar." His voice rumbles like distant thunder, deep-set eyes studying me with the weight of decades. "The beekeeper who's caused such a stir."
I approach his desk, noting how he moves with deliberate authority despite his age. His traditional dwarf garments bear subtle guild markings—a silver pin shaped like interlocked gears, embroidered trim that speaks of rank and responsibility.
"Granda Oltar." I incline my head respectfully. "Though I'm curious how you know my name. We haven't been introduced."
"Sunday post arrived this morning." He gestures toward a pile of letters on the corner of his desk.
"Fascinating reading. Your arrival, your bees, your dramatic rescue from evil wolves.
" His mouth twitches beneath his beard. "Mrs. Penwhistle has quite the flair for storytelling, and I suppose The Whistle caught wind of it. "
Heat climbs my neck. "I see gossip travels faster than seasonal trade routes."
"In a town this size, gossip is the primary form of entertainment." He takes another bite of honey cake, chewing thoughtfully. "Though I suspect your business here involves more than social calls."
"You're correct." I clasp my hands behind my back, straightening my shoulders. "I'd like to discuss permanent trade agreements with Harvest Hollow. Not just festival vending permits, but long-term contracts for honey supply."
Granda Oltar sets down his pastry and leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. His gaze sharpens, transforming from casual interest to professional assessment.
"Permanent arrangements require different considerations than seasonal permits." His fingers drum against the desk's surface. "Stability, reliability, community integration. Tell me, Miss Briar—what makes you believe Harvest Hollow needs a permanent honey supplier?"
I open my mouth to respond, but a different voice beats me to it.
"Harvest Hollow already has a honey supplier."
I turn to see the elven woman from Maddie's bakery striding toward us, her hips swaying with the kind of calculated confidence that comes from years of commanding attention.
Vaelis. Her silver-blonde hair glows in the afternoon light streaming through the Guild Hall windows, and her structured burgundy dress whispers against itself with each step.
Granda Oltar nods slowly, his weathered fingers still drumming against the desk. "Miss Thandor speaks accurately. We maintain contracts with three regional suppliers currently."
"I already have an established relationship with Harvest Hollow through Maddie's bakery." I keep my voice level, though something about Vaelis's presence sets my teeth on edge. "My lavender honey has been featured in her pastries for several seasons."
Vaelis settles herself against the edge of a nearby table, her movements fluid and deliberate. "Exploiting family ties for business gain seems rather... opportunistic."
Heat flares in my chest. "I was born here in Harvest Hollow. I love this village as much as anyone else who lives here."
"How touching." Her smile carries all the warmth of winter frost.
I force myself to focus on Granda, whose deep-set eyes watch our exchange with the patience of someone who has witnessed decades of such territorial disputes.
"I could be your sole supplier. You wouldn't need to coordinate with multiple vendors, manage different delivery schedules, or worry about quality inconsistencies. "
"Traditional honey suppliers serve us well," Vaelis interjects, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "Not everyone wants those... silly flavor infusions."
My hands clench at my sides. "I produce traditional honey as well, and it's the highest quality because I keep my hives well-maintained and happy. You'd also eliminate delivery fees by sourcing locally—no need to hire transport companies."
"Bees are bees." Vaelis waves a dismissive hand. "They can't feel happy."
I bite back my first response and turn to Granda, the only person whose opinion actually matters in this room.
"A permanent local supplier would also open opportunities for complementary trades.
Wax and candlemaking could move in. An ale brewery could establish itself.
The increased bee population would improve local flora for everyone. "
Granda Oltar leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. His silver beard catches honey cake crumbs as he considers my words, and I can practically see the calculations running behind his eyes—costs, benefits, long-term implications.
"There's a lot to consider here." Granda Oltar's fingers drum against the desk one final time before he closes his ledger with deliberate precision. "The festival will give us a proper measure of how things work out. I'll let you know our decision after that."
My stomach drops. The festival—three days of temporary vending permits and evaluation. Not a commitment, not even encouragement. A trial period where I'll be watched, measured, and judged against whatever standards Vaelis has already helped establish.
"I understand." I keep my voice steady despite the disappointment clawing at my chest. "Thank you for your time."
Vaelis straightens from her perch against the table, her smile sharp as winter morning air. "Best of luck with your little honey stand, Miss Briar."
The dismissal stings worse than any bee I've ever encountered.
I nod to Granda Oltar and walk toward the Guild Hall's heavy door, my embroidered skirts whispering against themselves with each measured step.
Behind me, I hear Vaelis's voice drop to conversational tones, already moving on to other business.
The afternoon air tastes sweet after the Guild Hall's formal atmosphere, but the weight in my chest refuses to lift. Temporary. Conditional. Subject to approval. Everything I've worked to avoid, handed to me on a silver platter by someone who sees my presence as nothing more than an inconvenience.
The bakery's warmth envelops me the moment I push through Maddie's door, cinnamon and vanilla chasing away the last traces of Guild Hall formality. Maddie looks up from where she's arranging apple tarts in the display case, flour dusting her auburn curls and her smile bright as morning sunshine.
"Izzy! How did it go?" She abandons the tarts immediately, wiping her hands on her apron as she approaches. "Please tell me Granda was reasonable."
"Festival evaluation." The words taste bitter. "They'll decide after watching me work for three days."
Maddie's face scrunches in sympathy. "That's not exactly the enthusiastic welcome I was hoping for."
"Vaelis made sure to point out that Harvest Hollow already has perfectly adequate honey suppliers." I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "She called my flavor infusions 'silly.'"
"Vaelis would call sunshine silly if it didn't match her outfit." Maddie rolls her eyes with theatrical disgust. "You need to stop thinking so hard about all this business nonsense and try to have some fun while you're here."
Fun. The concept feels foreign after months of careful planning and calculated risks. "I'm not sure I remember how to have fun that doesn't involve profit margins."
Maddie's eyes light up with mischief, her grin spreading wide enough to showcase the dimple in her left cheek. "Maybe Draven would be fun."
Heat explodes across my face like I've opened an oven door too quickly. "Maddie!"
"What? I'm just saying, the man's been finding excuses to check your apiary every day since you set it up." She leans against the counter, clearly delighted by my reaction. "And yesterday Thornak caught him staring off toward your hives during their morning patrol briefing."
"He's doing his job." The protest sounds weak to my own ears. "Protecting the town's interests."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Maddie's eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a very large, very brooding orc has developed a very specific interest in one particular beekeeper."
"I think you're crazy," I tell her, standing up. "And I have to get back to my bees."
The sound of her laughter jingles with the bell as I rush out, trying to calm my racing heart.