Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
“Sweet, simmering cauldrons!”
Vaskel was first out of the tent, grateful he’d resumed carrying a blade.
His fingers danced above the dagger’s hilt, but he was hesitant to brandish it before he scanned the camp for danger.
His hand dropped when he realized that the only danger was Glen with his wings spread and his beady eyes locked onto something. That something was Rosie.
The gnome woman stood frozen mid-step, clutching a pair of glass jugs to her chest, her expression caught between confusion and irritation. A thick, blonde braid coiled around her head like a crown, and she wore a cheerful yellow apron.
It took only a moment to determine that the object of Glen’s hysteria wasn’t an intruder, but Rosie’s brandy.
“Bloody, brandy-stealing bird,” Rosie said, glaring at Glen with as much intensity as he was eyeing her brandy.
Erindil sighed as he stomped up to Glen, looking less like regal, centuries-old Elven royalty and more like a weary parent. “Remember what happened last time you got into Rosie's brandy?"
Glen's shriek morphed into what could only be described as a sulky warble. He tucked his wings back against his body but continued to eye the jug with unabashed longing.
Rosie shifted one of the glass containers onto her hip and shook a chubby finger at the ostrich.
"Don't even think about it, you oversized chicken.
This batch isn't for you." She turned to Lira, her round face breaking into a warm smile.
“I was heading to the back door of the tavern to give these to you, but I might as well give them to you here. "
Rosie and Rog’s wagon was permanently parked between the elf encampment and the stone bridge, which meant that the quickest way to the back entrance of The Tusk & Tail was through the cluster of elf tents.
Lira blinked, clearly still coming down from the momentary panic of expecting danger. "For me? I don’t think I can drink that much myself.”
"Not for now, you goose!" Rosie said between giggles. "For your wedding! I've made a special apple brandy filled with winter spices and a hint of plum. I’ve been working on the recipe for weeks."
Relief washed across Lira's face for a beat before her brow pinched with concern. “That’s so sweet, but you didn't have to make a special brandy just for us."
Rosie waved this off with the flap of one hand. "It's the wedding of the year! The decade! Two of Wayside's own getting married is the biggest thing to happen to this village since, well..." She paused and winked. "Since Rog and I arrived."
Vaskel noticed Lira’s cheeks pale as she nibbled her lower lip. He stepped forward and reached for the large glass jugs. “Why don’t I take those? I can store them behind the bar until the wedding.”
“Good man, hellkin, oh, you know,” Rosie said, grinning at him and traversing the brandy into his arms. “I’d better get back to the wagon.”
She ambled away, as Lira mumbled her own excuses and rushed toward the tavern’s back door.
Erindil followed his niece’s quick departure with one cocked, patrician eyebrow. “Should I…?”
“I’ll check on her,” Vaskel told him, already moving to the tavern. “I need to tuck these away, anyway.”
“Yes, yes.” Erindil slid his battle ostrich a quelling look. “Far away from prying ostrich eyes, if you please.” As he turned and led Glen back toward his tent, he held Vaskel’s gaze for a beat. “But find me later. I still want to know more about your soul bind.”
Vaskel muttered his agreement and a vague promise about coming back later, but he pushed both from his mind as soon as he entered the tavern.
He ignored the growing crowd and even the fact that Val was behind the bar as Sass bustled around the long tables.
Keeping his head low, he tucked the jugs of brandy behind the bar and headed for where he was sure he’d find Lira.
But when he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, he stopped short. Instead of Lira busily baking, she was standing frozen at the stove while Crumpet stirred a burbling pot, while Bramble the raccoon was using his deft little paws to fold pastry into half-moon shaped pies.
“Hells and cinders,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
Before he could address Lira and her obvious reaction to the wedding brandy, Sass burst in behind him.
“What in Grognick’s beard is going on in here?” She flipped her dark braid off her shoulder, leveling a finger at Vaskel. “You should be behind the bar before Val over-serves everyone in the place.”
He hesitated, but Lira seemed to snap herself out of whatever spiral the wedding brandy had sent her into, taking the spoon from Crumpet so the flutterstoat could sag against her.
“First you leave,” Sass flapped her hand at Vaskel, clearly not done with him. “Then Lira hares off after you. Then a pair of hellkins not nearly as charming as you, tried to get out of paying with some poorly veiled threats.”
“Hellkins?” Vaskel’s mouth went dry. Festering dragon dung! He hoped Marina would keep her crew away from Wayside. That had obviously been wishful thinking on his part.
Sass huffed out a breath. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I told them to pay up, or I’d send some trolls after them.”
“That’s our Sass,” Lira said with a grin. “Always quick on her feet.”
The dwarf shook a severe finger at her. “Don’t try to get back on my good side. You left me with a kitchen staff of wee beasties. If you’d been gone much longer, I would have had to borrow a badger from the forest to help clear tables.”
Vaskel watched Lira’s brows lift and thought that Sass had better be careful what outlandish things she said or she might indeed find a badger working in the tavern one morning.
“It won’t happen again,” Lira assured her, which prompted a few more grumbles from the dwarf.
“I’ll get back to the bar,” Vaskel said, with a last look at Lira. He’d have to wait until later to thank her for keeping his secret and for taking him to see her uncle.
“You’ll be glad to know that the dodgy hellkin is gone,” Sass said with a satisfied nod, which faded quickly. “But so is Thrain.”
Vaskel rushed out to the great room, his gaze scanning the tables filled with patrons. No Marina and no Thrain.
He huffed out a breath. “Festering goblin spawn.”