Page 21

Twenty

Lira stood back and admired the half-moon-shaped hand-pies cozied together on a wooden tray. She’d managed not to burn a single one of them, although she’d opened the oven a dozen times to check on their progress, which had made the baking take longer than she’d hoped. She would need to figure out some way to fix the oven or figure out when it was going to belch heat and when it was going to splutter cold.

Still, she was proud of her creation as she backed from the kitchen and through the doors. Until she pivoted around and nearly bumped into Sass with her tray.

The dwarf’s eyes went wide. “What are these?”

Lira wilted as Sass stared at the baked goods as if they might snap at her.

“What they are is not burned.” Lira lowered the tray slightly so Sass could get a better look at the crimped crust that was the perfect shade of golden brown.

“Is this supper?” Sass fiddled with her braid, which the dwarf did when she was nervous.

“It’s the same meat pie as before, but this version is portable.” To demonstrate, Lira picked up one of the crescents, ignoring the intense heat seeping from the bottom.

“Because we have so much need for our patrons to walk around with their food.”

Lira didn’t miss the snarky tone, but she shrugged it off. “They baked faster and none of them burned.” She made to turn back around. “Or should I go back and give them to Crumpet?”

Sass grabbed the edge of the tray. “Bite your tongue. That wee beast gets enough food from you as it is.”

Lira let Sass flounce off with the tray, even though she could hear her muttering about pocket pies. She didn’t return to the kitchen right away, though. As much as she relished her dominion over the kitchen and her relative solitude—Crumpet believed in companionable silence when he wasn’t chittering his disapproval of her crust—it was nice to see her labors being enjoyed.

She had to give the dwarf credit. She might not be a fan of Lira’s newest creation, but you’d never know it by how she pirouetted through the great room, lowering the tray with a flourish to show off the pies.

That must be the haberdasher, Lira thought as she spotted a gnome with distinctive pointed ears that flared to each side. She’d seen him before, of course. Not in the village, but in the tavern the night before.

His hair was silver and stood up in a tidy swirl on his head, the shape and hue mimicked by his short, pointed beard. But it was the clothes that were the giveaway to his profession. They were brightly colored and fastidiously arranged, a sea-blue shirt under a mossy-green vest with a butter-yellow ascot billowing at his neck. He hadn’t always been the village’s haberdasher, although her memories of the wizened old woman who’d used to run the shop were hazy.

Lira squinted across the room, even though her eyesight was perfect. Was the blonde woman who looked like she could rip a tree out by the stump knitting? And was Sass perched on the arm of her chair? Her pulse quickened as she felt Korl’s gaze on her again. She was no stranger to men staring at her, but the way he looked at her didn’t make her want to run him through with a dagger, which might have been a first.

She told herself that she was going over to check on Sass, but it was really her curiosity about Korl and Val that drew her.

Val grinned as she approached, holding up a hand pie. “I hear these are your idea.”

Lira nodded, hoping she wasn’t going to have to explain why their supper wasn’t more formally presented. “Guilty.”

“We love them, don’t we, Korl?”

Korl flicked his gaze to her quickly then away again, making a low rumbling sound she hoped was his version of yes.

Val laughed. “See? He really likes them. You don’t get a reaction like that from him every day.”

A reaction like what? Lira snuck another glance at the orc, but his attention had shifted fully to the pies that were barely visible in his enormous green hands.

“That’s why I usually do all the talking,” Val said.

Sass hadn’t moved from where she sat on the arm of Val’s overstuffed chair. “I take it he does his talking with his fists?”

That gained a bark of laughter from Val. “You’d think. No, he’s just not the talking type. He might look like a brute, but he’d rather be tinkering with things than swinging his sword.”

“Wish he’d tinker with our disaster of an oven,” Sass grumbled.

Korl lifted his head, his black brows rising with it.

Lira laughed, the sound coming out high and chirpy. Did Sass plan on telling everyone their problems? “It’s not a total disaster. It’s temperamental.”

“ I’m temperamental.” Sass shot a dark look toward the kitchen. “The oven is a menace. These are the first things that haven’t come out half burned or half raw.”

This wasn’t entirely untrue, but it felt like more of a judgment on Lira’s baking than the oven, and her face burned. Luckily no one seemed to be paying attention to her but Korl, whose black eyes held hers.

“So, what’s all this?” Sass had already moved on and was gesturing to the knitting needles resting on Val’s leg.

Val plucked the orange ball of yarn from her lap and held it up. “I like guard work more than Korl does. It keeps my mind and my hands busy, otherwise they’re both too jumpy.” She twisted the yarn ball as if examining it. “So, when my hands can’t be busy with a blade, I do this.”

“You’re a knitter?” Lira felt like she needed to clarify even though it should have been obvious. She just hadn’t encountered many soldiers who knit—and she’d encountered plenty of soldiers.

Val didn’t seem insulted by the question. “That’s right. It beats getting in trouble because I can’t sit still.” Her lips scrunched to one side. “I’m not good at doing much but rows, though, so everyone in my life has lots of scarves.”

Korl grunted again, but this time it sounded more like an amused grunt.

“You’re welcome to knit here anytime,” Sass said, motioning to the basket on the other side of the chair. “You can even keep your yarn here.”

When had she added that? Then Lira noticed the side tables hunched beside each chair that were polished until they shone in the dancing flames of the fire. Sass had turned the pair of weary, worn chairs someone else had wanted to discard into a cozy fireside refuge.

“Thanks.” Val nudged Sass, almost knocking her off the armrest.

Lira caught her, righting the dwarf so she was standing again and tipping her own head toward the front door that had just swung open. “Looks like we have more patrons who might like some supper.”

“Right.” Sass cleared her throat and took a step away from the guards. When Lira turned toward the door with her, she cut her gaze to the kitchen. “You don’t happen to have any more of these pocket pies in the oven, do you?”

Lira’s stomach dropped. The pies. Hells and cinders!