Page 27

Twenty-Six

“Funny thing, that,” Sass said as she peeled off her boots and kicked them under her bed.

Lira was hanging over the washbasin, droplets clinging to her cheeks and nose as she shivered from splashing the frigid water on her face. She felt for the towel that was beside the ceramic bowl and patted her face dry without turning to Sass. “What is?”

“Your friend came all this way to see you, but you didn’t look too happy about it.”

Lira used the moments before she faced Sass to school her expression. “I was surprised to see her, that’s all.”

“Mmm,” Sass hummed in a tone that told Lira she didn’t quite believe her.

Why was Lira so reluctant to talk about her past with Sass? It didn’t have a thing to do with where she was now or what they were doing. It wasn’t like she’d hold it against the dwarf if she’d known Sass had run with a crew.

“She brought bad news,” Lira finally said, walking toward her bed.

Sass frowned. “What kind of bad news?”

Lira stiffened, a part of her reluctant to say the thing out loud. She still hated to think about it.

“One of our crew is dead.” Well, another one.

To her credit, Sass looked stricken. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

Lira didn’t meet her gaze, afraid that if she saw kindness in her eyes, she might crumble. “Thanks. Things are complicated in a crew, and you don’t always like the folks you’re running with, but I liked Pirrin.”

She allowed a few memories of the man to resurface, and she even allowed herself a smile as she thought about laughing at his jokes that were always a touch raunchy. Pirrin hadn’t minded leaning into his loner reputation, especially if it meant protecting the others, but he’d been much more than that. He’d been talented with a sword, and he would do anything for a friend. He hadn’t deserved to die.

Lira shook off the worry that gnawed at her gut. Pirrin’s death was a tragedy, but it didn’t have anything to do with her.

“Do you mind if I ask how he died?”

Lira looked at Sass sitting on the bed across from hers, her short legs criss-crossed under the blanket. The dwarf had stripped down to her tunic, and her thick braid was curled up around her head, giving her a fuzzy halo.

“I wish I knew,” Lira said, which was the truth.

The thought of Pirrin dying without a battle scar on him felt wrong in so many ways. He was a born fighter. He never would have gone down without a fight, and even she’d never been stealthy enough to sneak up on the man who was accustomed to watching his back .

How had there been no mark on his body? Pirrin was too shrewd to be poisoned. At least he had been. Lira wondered if he’d lost his edge after their crew disbanded. Had he felt as unmoored as she had after Malek’s death?

Sass nodded, lips in a thin line. “It was nice of the Tabaxi to make the trip here to tell you.”

Lira managed a weak smile. “Cali and I were always tight. She’s the kind of fighter you want by your side—and the type of friend.”

“It’s good she’s staying for a day or two then.”

Sass had been the one to suggest Cali stay at the tavern—not that either of them knew if there were any more rooms with clean beds in the place—but Cali had declined with thanks, saying she already had her things at the inn.

“It is,” Lira allowed, although a part of her was unsettled having her past intrude on her present.

“So, are you the last two left of your crew?”

Lira shook her head. “There’s still Rog and Vaskel, but I don’t know where they are.”

“Your crew disbanded?”

“We did. I left first, but Pirrin was always one foot out the door.” Then Lira added, as if the one word would explain it well enough. “Ranger.”

Sass hummed. Either she knew something about Rangers or she’d heard rumors.

The conversation was veering perilously close to discussing why anyone left in the first place, and Lira didn’t want to discuss Malek. She divested herself of her dress and swung her legs onto the bed and under the scratchy blanket. She rubbed her feet together to warm them, glad that the fire in the great room had sent heat to the second floor. Not that she would have said no to lighting the fireplace in their room, if Durn would spare the peat.

“You were right about the scones and chai,” Lira said, changing the subject. “They were a hit.”

Sass took the bait, straightening her legs and flopping back onto the pillow. “Who doesn’t need a pick-me-up in the afternoon? You’ve got Pip making buns and loaves for the mornings, and most folks have their supper at home or at The Tusk & Tail, now that you can bake things without burning half of them. But there’s nothing for the afternoon.”

“Until now.”

Sass turned her head to smile at Lira in the warbling light from the lamp huddled on the nightstand between them.

“I’ll be honest with you.” Sass looked up at the ceiling as if there was anything but feathery spiderwebs and water-stained wood planks to stare at.

Lira followed her lead and turned her face to the ceiling. “Please.”

“I had doubts about that spicy milk tea, but it’s good, and not too spicy for folks around here.”

Lira was well aware that dwarves didn’t employ a great deal of spice in their dishes, so she suspected that the “folks” Sass mentioned might mean her.

The corners of Lira’s mouth quivered. “I’m glad you like it.”

“And you can’t beat those scones of yours, even with that foreign spice.”

Lira rolled her head to Sass, a snip of a laugh escaping from her lips. “Cinnamon?”

Sass snapped her stubby fingers. “That’s the one. Funny spice. Funny name.”

Lira had never thought of cinnamon as an exotic spice, but then she’d traveled all across The Known Lands and Sass had only recently ventured south of the long wall.

Sass released a wistful sigh. “I don’t know if it’s because of all those funny spices or if it’s the milk, but drinking chai is like drinking a hug.”

Lira’s chest hitched. She’d felt that same warm sensation the first time she’d had chai, like the spices were wrapping her up in a cozy cocoon. She remembered curling her hands around the mug so the heat could seep into her fingers as she’d taken small sips so she could prolong the sensation.

“Funny that a drink you’ve never had before can make you feel like you’re home, isn’t it?”

Lira didn’t respond, her own throat too thick with emotion. Her gran had never tasted chai. They’d never made it in their farmhouse. Yet every time Lira took a sip of the warm drink, closing her eyes as the sweetness enveloped her, it was like her gran’s arms were wrapping around her again.

“I’m not the only one who thought so,” Sass continued. “That baker Pip said it made him think of growing up in Elmshire, which made him start going on and on about halfling houses. Not that Tin minded. I’ve never heard anyone say ‘really, really?’ as many times as I did today.”

Lira smiled at that. She’d heard Pip wax poetic about Elmshire before. There was a time in her childhood when her greatest desire had been to go live in one of the fantastical homes in the ground that he described so eloquently. It had been all her gran could do to keep her from packing a bag and setting out for the halfling village.

“Then I suppose our plan is scones and chai in the afternoons.” Lira had a firm handle on that even if she didn’t have the same steady grasp on supper.

“And maybe something different for the pair of us for breakfast?”

Lira laughed out loud at that. “You don’t want scones and chai morning, noon, and night?”

Sass frowned, as if not sure if she was being mocked or not. “Despite what you might have heard about dwarves, we don’t eat the same thing every day. Our dishes are quite varied.” She sniffed. “It just takes a dwarf’s palate to discern the difference.”

“Then we’ll have something other than scones for our breakfast.”

Lira thought about the spice cake she’d promised Korl. Then she remembered another cake her gran had made for the mornings, one with lots of cinnamon. Both of those would require another visit to the village for supplies—and another visit to Iris.

She leaned over and extinguished the flame of the hurricane lamp, plunging them both in darkness.

She would think about that tomorrow.