Chapter 1

A new day dawned, and already mistakes had been made.

By me.

Mainly, that I'd lost track of time... Again.

Cursing my own carelessness, I pumped my legs in a frantic blur, but that didn’t help to carry me any faster down the cobblestone streets of Briarhaven.

It always seemed that no matter how hard I tried—and believe me, I tried—it still took twice as long to get anywhere. That’s just how things worked when you stood hardly a smidge over three feet tall.

I tried my best. Really, I did.

But I had a way of losing track of people, things, and especially time. In that moment, I felt like a silly little fly drowning in a puddle of mead after drinking its fill. At least the fly had a good excuse for its dilemma.

As for me? Um, I could still make it—if I don't hit any detours, if absolutely everything went perfectly, and if by some beautiful act of divine intervention, I managed to add a few feet to my stumpy leg-span sometime in the next three seconds.

Yeah, none of that was going to happen, but a gal could still hope.

At least I knew my boss wouldn't give me a hard time about my tardiness today. Honestly, he rarely gave anyone a hard time about anything.

Brynlee, though, she was a different story entirely. My sweet elven coworker was counting on me; she was also the last person I’d ever want to let down. The poor thing worked so hard for so little, and she didn't need me making her life any more difficult. Especially not on such an important day.

Gah! Stupid, stupid.

“Evening, Tilda,” the local baker was eager to greet me. His words came out just as smooth as the butter he so generously slathered on his breads, but they had no effect on me. Like me, he was a halfling. Unlike me, he thought we should go on a date. And that was so not happening.

I didn't even glance his way as I called out, "Oh no, you don’t, Bramble Thistledown! It’s not the evening yet. You can wish your own day away, but don’t you dare steal time from me."

I tried to lift my feet higher, faster, as I navigated the winding streets of the cozy village I'd called home for nearly a decade now. My breaths came out in ragged huffs as Bramble's throaty chuckle chased after me.

Up ahead, I spotted the village square. It meant I was getting close now. Typically, this spot was a hub of activity at this time of day. But today, it lay empty, save for Ol' Clara sitting on her usual bench by the community flower garden. The elderly gnome gave me a toothless grin and waved her cane in greeting. "Afternoon, Tilda dear! Cutting it a bit close today, aren't we?"

I forced a smile and waved back. No time, no time. "You know me. Always living life on the edge!"

Clara just chuckled and shook her head, returning to her people watching even though there were precious few people to watch. That would change come tomorrow as out-of-towners began to flood our small town for the festival, but the brief and sudden surge in our population was a problem for tomorrow. I needed to focus on the problem I had that very minute—the whole being horribly late thing.

Just a little further... I willed my aching legs to move faster still, ignoring the painful stitch that had now begun to form in my side. Seconds later, I breezed past the apothecary with its strange herbal scents and then the boisterous sounds of the armory. The blacksmith's hammer pounded out a steady beat to match my pace.

I rounded another corner and, at last, the Mystic Mug came into view. This wasn't just my place of employment. It was my favorite place in all of Briarhaven. Heck, in all of Verandel too. Whenever I was closed within those four walls, I felt safe. Felt like I could actually be myself. Like nothing mattered, not even time.

And when you’re in perpetual hiding, that’s a pretty huge deal.

Taking a quick moment to smooth my wrinkled tunic, I peeked in through one of the small porthole-style windows that adorned the building. Didn't look too busy yet, but soon the place would be bustling with life—and I'd be contentedly soaking up every single second of it.

The busier I stayed now, the less I thought about what happened back then. Almost ten years had passed, and it still felt like yesterday.

Maybe that's why I was late so often. I needed the numbing thrill of the rush to keep me focused on the present, to keep my mind from wandering back, from wondering what if…

But this wasn't the time to torment myself yet again. No. I needed to get in there and start my shift. After all, that was the whole point of my ridiculous rush through town in the first place.

And so, I approached the thick, weather-worn door to the tavern, readying an apology for Brynlee, especially since I’d promised her just yesterday that I wouldn’t be late, that I’d be early even. Sigh. When was I going to learn?

At least I was here now. I also knew she would forgive me faster than I could mutter the short two syllables required to give voice to my sorry.

Right before I passed through the threshold, I reached up with both hands and slapped at the empty air. I missed the ornate sign that featured a bold, curly font and a tarnished metal tankard by a good three feet. It didn't even swing in the gentle pre-twilight breeze as it hung from Durgan's old battle maul, stiff as a board, mocking me in the way only an old friend could.

Silly as it may sound, our more vertically blessed patrons had a habit of smacking the tavern sign both on their way in and their way out. Somewhere along the way it became a bit of a running joke that I attempt to do it too, and so I did. The more people kept smiling and laughing, the less they thought of asking any questions. That was a big part of how I'd survived undiscovered for so long.

Maybe one day I'd finally stop worrying. Maybe one day I’d also learn to keep track of time. Those were both big maybes. I knew they’d never happen—not for real—but I still liked to pretend I could be different, better, freer.

"I’m here, I’m here," I cried, moving swiftly toward the long right-angled bar in the corner. They didn't call me Quickthatch for nothing. Yeah, I couldn't move as fast as I'd like most of the time. But when I saw Brynlee, it's like some unseen force pushed me toward her.

She appeared unbothered as she ran a rag across the polished wooden top of the counter, her silver hair falling forward to conceal her face. She kept polishing with one hand and used the other to tuck the errant lock behind her pointed ear, focusing intently as if she had all the time in the world.

Heat rose to my cheeks as I unconsciously pushed a strand of my own graying brown and very curly hair behind an ear. All my remaining breath whooshed out of my lungs, and I felt as if I might fall to the floor. I felt the same way each day whenever I first laid eyes upon this particular coworker and friend.

Believe me when I say, everything about Brynlee Starbrook was sweet, kind, unimposing—the patrons loved her, and so did I. She and the tavern owner, Durgan Stoutbarrel, were the closest thing I had to a family in this town. I only wished I got to see her more, but she worked days at Mystic Mug while I managed the nights.

We were like ships passing in the harbor, or some other such tired metaphor. Yet, no matter what problems life threw at me, Brynlee’s smile always gave me the strength to find one of my own. It had been that way ever since she started working at the Mug a couple years back. She just had that warm and fuzzy thing that everyone ate right up. Probably explained why she got better tips than me.

But I wasn't in this business to charm customers or amass great riches. I was simply trying to survive the best I could, and for me, that meant remaining hidden, anonymous. Just another cog in this well-oiled machine with a small-town facade.

I waited, knowing my friend wouldn't stop until her task was done—also knowing that she wouldn’t have even begun this task had I shown up on time to relieve her. Slowly, I let my heart rate drop back from the current bada-bada-bada back to its more normal boom-boom-boom. The comforting warmth of the tavern helped to soothe me, wrapping me in a much-needed embrace. Masoned walls created from small, smooth stones that had once lined the local riverbed stretched high to a single steepled point on the ceiling and a series of heavy wooden beams drew the eye up, somehow making it both cozy and expansive at the exact same time.

I still vividly remember my first time walking into this place almost ten years ago. As a dwarfish tavern, it felt just my size. Since then, Durgan had remodeled to make the establishment more inviting to patrons of all sizes, but back then, the slight, cramped interior had made me feel right at home.

The Mystic Mug was different now, but I'd grown and changed right alongside it.

I no longer felt as small as I looked, but I still found it very necessary to hide my past. Small towns were always big on drama, just not normally the world-ending variety. Durgan knew a bit about what I'd once been, but even he'd been entrusted with precious little—and Brynlee less still. I worried she'd no longer like me if she learned of the scrapes I’d gotten myself into during my adventuring days, of the decisions that had been necessary in order to survive.

Her friendship meant too much to me to ruin it by being the wrong type of friend, or the wrong type of person. And so, I hid my secrets to keep all of us safe, but also to make sure I remained relatively happy.

And my sweet elven colleague was a huge part of that continued happiness.

Brynlee’s elbow grease now had the countertop shining as if by magic, though she swore up and down she didn't have a single drop of the stuff running through her veins. I rubbed my palm across it, feeling the grooves and knots in the wood, letting the physical sensation ground me back in the present moment.

Brynlee hummed a quick beat and tossed the used rag into the bucket, finally acknowledging my arrival. "I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a wing scout to track you down." She made light, but I could tell my tardiness had upset her. It upset me too.

"I’m sorry. I wish I had a better excuse, but I just lost track of time. Anyway, you need to get going. So, go. Go!" I grabbed the discarded rag and shooed her out from behind the bar, playfully threatening with a small snap of the damp cloth.

My over-the-top gesture made her giggle. All seemed to be forgiven, though I doubted Brynlee could ever truly be angry to begin with. She glanced at the custom-crafted clock hanging above the narrow stone fireplace that stretched up through the ceiling in the opposite corner of our establishment—a gift from an artisan who was better at putting beer in his belly than gold toward his tab.

"I can still make it," Brynlee sang, rushing toward the door without a single glance back my way. That was okay. She needed to get gone, not stay here and chat idly with me.

"Tell that kid of yours to break an arm!" I called after her. Sure, the expression was to break a leg, but in my experience, it was always better to break an arm. Your opponent couldn’t run away if you broke their leg, but take out the arm and they could no longer fire a bow at you, throw a knife… or a flaming sack of crap. I found maiming from the top-down made for the safest and more surefire escape.

Truth be told, I’d broken many of both types of limb in my time—not my own, mind you—but my adventuring days had long since passed. I did love hearing about the exploits of Brynlee’s teenaged daughter, Calina, though. Gave me a bit of vicarious satisfaction, reminded me of the old days. Or at least all the best parts of them.

That child had a wanderlust I found quite relatable and couldn't help but admire, even though I hated the trouble it caused her mother.

Because while Brynlee craved a good and simple life, Calina longed for something much greater. I had no doubts she'd one day depart for good and break her poor, sweet mother’s heart. If that ever happened, I’d be here to pick up the pieces and see what we might build from them.

For now, though, Calina remained here in Briarhaven, and tonight she had a bit part in the local academy’s stage adaptation of Legends of Yore. The play was a bit dated for my taste, but small towns had never been the cultural centers of the world. Most of the time the only good stuff we got was whatever stuff hadn’t been bought up by the other towns along the merchant routes—or we were left with the things so cliché and overdone that no one else wanted them anymore. Legends of Yore fit into the latter category.

Calina was none too happy about getting overlooked for the starring role, but Brynlee was elated that the required afterschool practice gave her child something to do, something that would hopefully keep that little miscreant out of trouble.

Oh, sweet divinity, I used to love finding trouble.

Well, you know what they say. Trouble has a way of coming to those who go looking for it. As I thought these words, I could hear the gruff voice of the city watch commander that had tried for years to set me on the “right path.” His efforts had of course proven fruitless.

Oh, if only he could see me now. A common small-town tavern wench. He’d be ecstatic. Half the time I was ecstatic too. For years I’d thought adventuring was the only path for me, but retirement hadn’t proven half bad.

I watched Brynlee disappear into the evening dusk, no doubt rushing to get a good seat for Calina's performance. She could move faster than me without even trying most days, her long legs effortlessly gliding across a distance that took me three steps to clear. When she was motivated, she moved like a gazelle, her smooth movement making her almost appear to be flying like leaves before a storm. And as far as I’d observed over the years, absolutely nothing motivated her more than that kid of hers.

I let out a long exhale and turned back to the empty tavern. Just me now. Alone, but only for a little while. Soon this place would be filled to the gills, and I'd be too busy doing to worry much about thinking.

I took a quick inventory of our spirits and noted down what replenishments we'd soon need to order, then I disappeared into the small kitchen tucked into the back room and chopped a few root vegetables to add to that night's stew. Brynlee had already gotten it started for me. It was meant to be my responsibility, but the whole thing started off when Brynlee had realized the customers had a far easier time getting home safely when we first managed to feed them. They flirted less and tipped better too.

I finished up in the back of the house, listening intently for any slaps on the sign that would signal I needed to return to the bar. But no one had come in yet. Slow night.

My boss Durgan greeted me the moment I returned to the front of the tavern. “Enjoying your last night of freedom?” He settled upon one of the thick dwarven barrels that lined the counter. Each barrel was shaped more like a sphere than a cylinder, bloated fat in the middle. They sported intricate carvings that told of the lands in which they’d been built. The one Durgan sat upon came from a small village situated in a mountain pass, which meant it had been soldered with an impressive brass ring. It was my favorite, and I suspected it was Durgan’s too.

His cherry-red beard was done up in a series of intricate braids, with various trinkets tucked into the strands, giving him an odd but jovial appearance. Although now he tended to jingle when he walked. The ridiculousness of his grooming matched his equally larger-than-life personality. Each of his baubles represented something important to him, visual reminders of his former heroics—and each came with a story that he'd told so many times I now had it memorized word-for-word.

I chuffed at his greeting. “Freedom, ha! What are you even talking about? I’m still here, aren’t I?"

Durgan let out a hearty chuckle and ran a palm over his bald head. He lost his hair young, I’d been told, which is why he tended to overcompensate with that crazy bedazzled beard of his.

“Who are you kidding? You love it here, prisoner of the month," he snapped back.

I rolled my eyes, grasping for my default response when someone hits too close to home: sarcasm. “You know, most employers call it employee of the month, but sure, yeah, let’s go with prisoner.”

He didn't need me to tell him that he was right. Truly, there was nowhere else I’d rather be. But to hammer home the joke, I made sure to hum an old prison song that the hard labor prisoners would sing while working the quarry. Even though I didn’t choose retirement the way Durgan had, that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it.

Yup, my boss was a retired adventurer—just like me. He used to be a paladin of some sort until one day he decided he'd had enough. Said he’d rather put down roots, to work on building something rather than destroying everything.

"I hear the inns are already reaching capacity." He repositioned himself on the stool and leaned forward to lock eyes with me. "I’ve asked Pat to clear out some space in our storerooms just in case we can pick up an extra coin or two."

"Good thinking," I responded with a nod. "There’s nothing wrong with taking money when people want to give it to you." After all, I silently added to myself, it took a lot of coin to cover the expense of a certain someone's nightly drinking habit.

"You said that right." He laughed again, as if he'd heard both the part I said aloud and the part I didn't. Then, after a brief pause, he pounded a fist on the counter and rose to his feet. Durgan was tall for a dwarf, but even he could barely see over the gleaming wooden bar top while standing on his feet. Of course, I had already taken up position on the sturdy metal crate that I’d spend all night moving back and forth to ensure I could see any customer who sidled up to ask for a drink.

A resounding slap called to us from the doorway, and my gaze followed the sound just as one of our many regulars made his way inside.

Durgan saw him too and let out a hearty cheer, pumping a plump fist in the air. "Insy, my good lad! What can Tilda get started for you on this fine evening?"

The newly arrived infernal lifted one well-manicured brow and shrugged. He was a fellow of few phrases, and he made sure every single one of them counted.

At a smidge over seven feet tall, with curling ram's horns sprouting from his forehead and eyes that glowed like hot coals, he cut an imposing figure. But I knew better than to judge a person by their cover. Insy was one of the kindest and gentlest folks I knew. Second only to Brynlee.

"The usual?" I asked with a knowing smile.

"Please," he rumbled in a voice that shook the air like far-off thunder. I nodded and got to work mixing up his favorite drink—a sweet concoction I liked to call Demon's Delight. Insy watched me expectantly as I deftly combined fruit juices and spirits, his tail swishing back and forth in anticipation.

"Make it two, Tilda, and bring them over this way," Durgan shouted, moving toward the fireplace where he knew our infernal guests feel most at home.

He was a boss in name only. More than anything he was the famed mascot of the Mystic Mug. Sure, he owned the place, but he also spent his entire time carousing with the clientele. In fact, half my job was making sure he didn't get too tipsy to find his way home to his partner, Pat, who spent long days working as a blacksmith's apprentice.

Night and day, those two. Still, they made a good pair.

Not unlike Brynlee and me.

Speaking of, Calina must have been just about ready to take the stage by then. I could picture Brynlee gracefully poised in the very front row as she waited for the curtain to rise. She was the peaceful sort, but I had no doubts she'd charmed her way into the very best seat.

She’d do anything for that child of hers. Just like I'd do pretty much anything for her… Provided I didn't lose track of time, that was.

With a fresh zest of citrus fruit, I finished off the pair of cocktails for Durgan and Insy, then moseyed over to the fireplace to hand them off. A muscle in my thigh cramped from the earlier rush through town, and I stumbled forward from the sudden burst of pain. Not a single drop spilled from either glass, though.

Some are born with gifts of brawn or brains, but I’d been bequeathed an unnatural grace. In fact, I could’ve carried this tray through my dash through town earlier without losing even the slightest bit of the liquid.

Durgan caught my eye, and I could tell he wanted to ask whether I was okay, but he also didn't want to worry our customer, so instead he waited for me to give him a silent signal. If I needed anything, he'd be the first to jump to my rescue.

I appreciated that about him, but a little muscle cramp was the least of my worries. Truly. I tucked my hair behind my right ear to let him know I was fine. Right was good; left meant there was trouble. It was a code we used to update Durgan when needed, but that communication only worked one way given his baldness.

I turned to make my way back to the counter and caught sight of a new arrival.

He hadn’t slapped the sign like our regulars did, or I would’ve heard him enter. Instead, he’d just appeared in the corner of my eye like an apparition. He must have been new around here. It was impossible to tell, since a dark, ragged hood covered more than half of his face, keeping any identifying features obscured beneath.

I floated over to him with as much grace as I could muster and offered my usual greeting. "Welcome to the Mystic Mug. What can I do you for?"

But the strange new arrival didn't make a single movement to acknowledge I'd joined him. He didn't say anything, either. He just sat there being creepy like some kind of ominous cliche.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I tried again, working hard not to let the irritation slip into my voice. “Or eat? We’ve got a nice, little menu of—”

I stopped short when the cloaked figure wrapped long, ice-cold fingers around my left forearm and clamped down like a spring-locked hunting trap, igniting an old wound I worked hard to keep hidden. A chill shot through me, and that knot of pain in my thigh roared to life again. I twisted and yanked, but my assailant held tight, looming above me even though I stood and he remained seated.

Thank the divine, Durgan appeared when he did, charging forth from his cozy spot at the fireplace as if he were rushing into war. “Unhand her. No one assaults my employees but me!” His voice resonated with an authority that’s hard to ignore despite his diminutive stature or his distasteful—and, frankly, untrue—attempt at humor. No one in this town cared more about his staff than old Durgan Stoutbarrel, and that was a fact.

I jerked my arm again, and at last, the unwelcome stranger released his grip. My throbbing arm fell back to my side, and I stood rooted to the spot as the mystery man fled the tavern and faded into the night. Not even Durgan’s shouted demands for an explanation managed to bring him back. And I guess that meant I'd never know who he was or what the heck he wanted with me.

Finally admitting defeat, Durgan gave up on shouting and dropped his voice to a heady whisper. "What was that all about?"

I shrugged, still shaken by the whole thing. I was supposed to be safe here. The fact that I had no idea who that man was or why he'd grabbed me set my heart into a frantic gallop.

I worked hard to add a note of detached humor to my voice. "Probably just an out-of-towner here for the festival. I'd wager he had more than his fair share of ale before finding his way here."

Unfortunately, I didn't believe that at all. Drunks tended to stumble and crash around. Whoever this was had slipped in and out like a living shadow, which couldn't mean anything good.

Have I been found out at last?

No. Impossible.

I chose Briarhaven because this sleepy little town never attracted anyone's attention. Then again, the festival happening in a couple days would bring in outsiders by the bucketful. Stupid Centaurs and their stupid centennial celebration. Why should I care that one-hundred years ago one of their ancestors crossed some great expanse to found our village? Sure, I liked living here, but I'd be a whole lot more impressed by their great feats, if the dudes weren't already half-horse. Their race had literally been built for this kind of thing, which made it hard for me to see the point of celebrating.

Well, at least this wasn't a problem I'd have to deal with again for another hundred years. I just had to get through the next few days unnoticed and unscathed, then things could go back to how they were.

After the run-in with our cloaked friend, I'd have stayed at home and hidden beneath my bedsheets if I weren't so worried about letting Durgan down.

"Just be careful," he said, offering a firm pat on my shoulder. "I can't lose my number-one princess just before the big ball." He winked, knowing full well that his friendly joke would melt right through the icy terror that had frozen me to the spot just moments before.

"Your jokes would have more of an impact if you at least tried to keep them consistent," I said, slipping back into our previous banter with ease. "I mean, am I a princess or a prisoner? Make up your mind already."

"I don't see why you can't be both," he called over his shoulder on his way back toward Insy and the fruity cocktail awaiting him there. Durgan was the princess, and he knew it better than anyone. Still, he'd been the one to save my butt tonight.∗

And I simply couldn't let that happen again.

As much as I loved my found family, I knew better than to rely on them. It’s why I did my best to keep some distance, to only let my guard down while in the tavern and on the clock.

My problems were my own, and it would kill me if either Durgan or Brynlee ended up paying the price for the many misdeeds of my past.

Must be more careful. Must remain alert. Must stay hidden.

And most importantly must not let anyone down ever again.

∗ If you’d like to read some free bonus content about Durgan’s back story, .

Chapter 2

The rest of the evening passed without incident. But the next afternoon? That started off with a bit of a bang.

That day I made it to work just in time. Hustling into the tavern, my eyes grew wide as I spotted the rosy-haired youth sitting at the bar with her arms crossed over her chest and her lower lip pouting out rather dramatically.

"That you, Calina?" I asked with a surprised squeak, even though I knew exactly who I was looking at.

She turned to me with her brows pinched together as if she was about to launch into a breathless harangue about the many injustices that marred her otherwise perfect teenaged existence.

"How'd your play go last night?" I asked before she could hit me with any undue complaints. The girl could fill me in later, outside of her mother's earshot, if she really needed to vent. Though I doubted she would. The two of us weren’t close like that, and she knew my loyalties lied with Brynlee, which meant I would most definitely pass on any secrets shared, even if they were in confidence.

"Awful." Calina kicked one pointy-toed shoe at the barrel beside her but didn't offer any more of an explanation than that. Elves, everything about them was pointy—ears, shoes, jewelry, you name it. It was like they were trying to make up for their innate softness any way that they could.

Outside of her appearance though, there was nothing soft about this particular young elf. A fact that raised questions I wasn't willing to ask and risk upsetting her mother.

I wondered, though, how the two of them could be so different despite their shared blood. By the divine, did I wonder.

"What was so awful about it?" I glanced around for Brynlee but didn’t see her anywhere nearby. Whatever had Calina so upset was probably also what had landed her at the tavern rather than somewhere she could enjoy the start of the short break from school on her own terms. Yesterday, Durgan had joked that I was his prisoner. Today, Calina really was an unwilling inmate at the Mystic Mug.

The kid let out an aggravated sigh before launching into her harangue. "Tulip Thunderhoof got—"

Brynlee came charging in from the kitchen to interrupt. "Don't you dare talk to her!” Her voice was quiet but firm. "She's grounded."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Grounded from even talking?"

"Yes. Grounded from talking. In fact, she’s grounded from life."

Calina let out a hearty harrumph and glared daggers at her mother. I could relate. I'd been quite the surly ray of sunshine back in my day too.

Of course, I couldn’t even remember my mother or whether she’d ever cared for me the way Brynlee loved hers. I’d been forced to live on my own from a very early age; it’s part of what made me so tough but also the biggest reason why I so loved this merry, little found family I’d come to call my own.

"Somebody thought it would be a good idea to get that little orc friend of hers to hide backstage and light a magical flame under the leading actress's flank when the cast was taking their final bows last night. The poor dear very understandably panicked and accidentally kicked the whole set over. Which means last night's performance of Legends of Yore was the only performance. A terrible thing after how hard they all worked. Now, none of our out-of-town guests will be able to enjoy it while they're here."

I stifled a laugh, which drew a scowl from Brynlee but elicited a wicked smile from Calina. If Brynlee and I were bread and butter, Calina and I were bread and bread.

"Sorry," I mumbled, bringing a fist to cover my lips as I poorly masked my huff of laughter as a cough. "Something in the air. Just got me, um… So grounded for life, huh?"

"No weren’t you listening? It’s grounded from life." Calina was quick to correct as she rolled her eyes so far back, I briefly wondered if they’d get stuck. She kicked the barrel seat again and let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Sylric save me, this sucks." The child invoked the elven trickster god, much to her mother’s deepening exasperation.

"Well, maybe you'll think twice next time before you—"

Calina groaned again and raised her eyes toward the ceiling in a full-on tantrum now. Always interrupting each other, these two were.

Durgan ambled over to our trio. It seemed he was already a couple more drinks in than usual. He burped and then snarled at us. "That's quite enough."

The creases that lined his forehead whenever he got upset resembled an off-balance ladder. I liked to imagine climbing them as a way of calming myself whenever his ire was turned on me. Durgan was a great friend, but I would wager he made an even more powerful enemy. The bad guys should thank their lucky stars he’d retired when he did.

"The young lass can stay, but only if she stays out of the way." He shot a pointed gaze at each of the elves in turn. "There's plenty to do, young'un, if you'd like to offer us a hand. I'll even pay you a bit of gold for the trouble."

Calina scoffed at this suggestion without even turning to look at Durgan. "No. No way."

"Suit yourself, but soon enough, you may not have a choice," Durgan said as he turned to watch somebody new pass through the door.

That would be the musician he’d hired to entertain the masses during the festival days, hoping to outdo the other taverns as the go-to destination in Briarhaven for the delightful mass of tourists. Never mind that, even though it had been heavily renovated over the years, this was still a dwarven establishment and most of the out-of-towners were centaurs, which meant they'd be at least three times too large to comfortably take a seat. Centaurs always needed special accommodations to make their way through the world, and they tended to get them too. I had no doubt, Durgan's partner Pat was already whipping up some special kind of seating rig that would make its grand appearance before the festivities came to an end.

"Be on your best behavior," Durgan hissed from one side of his mouth while the other broke into an enormous grin aimed at the musician working his way toward the small stage we’d set up near the back of the house. The result was off-putting, to say the least. But the fact he could still control his face so expertly seemed to suggest he hadn't yet imbibed that many mugs of mead, after all. Maybe he'd stay sober today. Maybe he'd even lend us a hand if we needed one. Ha!

Durgan realigned the two sides of his face and smacked one of the barrel stools as if he’d just decided something important. "Tilda, you're in charge." An assertive foot stomp was added to the barrel slap, and with that he left us, returning to his task of pretending to be a customer while Brynlee and I did all the work.

We were expecting a lot of business, which is why Brynlee had been asked to work a double shift today. Come tomorrow, we'd both be on double duty, which meant I had to wake up extra early just to make sure I got here in time.

Brynlee went to check on the stew while Calina continued to pout and kick at the bar as I polished our drinkware to a shine.

It wasn't long before a small group of humans charged through the doorway. Not a one of them slapped the sign, which meant they were most likely new here.

Tonight would definitely be full of new faces, as it seemed our regulars had decided to go into hiding tonight. Briarhaven wasn't exactly a touristy town. Most of us liked that our lives were small and unassuming. Heck, that very fact was why I'd settled here in the first place.

The small population of centaurs in Briarhaven didn't care how uncomfortable their celebrations made the rest of us. It seemed they were always finding ways to take up even more space than their hefty posteriors already required. The rapidly approaching centennial celebration, however, was the biggest event yet. At least since I’d arrived ten years back. They'd all been neighing about it for months.

At least it gave the rest of us time to prepare… or hide.

I'd wager most of us would get little sleep, thanks to a veritable stampede of stomping hooves. But given that the centaurs were the landed gentry of the area, we just had to grin and bear it until the festival reached an end. Life would hopefully go back to normal for all of us afterward. That was a fact I was very much counting on.

The bard-for-hire plucked a few test chords on his honey-colored mandola, an instrument I could only identify after having adventured so many long years with a bard at my side.

Brynlee returned to my side and sighed with pleasure. Her expression went blank as she stared into the distance. Music always did this to her—transported her to another realm, made her disappear into herself far more than usual.

The gentle, swirling melodies, however, made me grit my teeth as they unlocked my most painful memories and my most shameful secret. The music always brought me straight back to him, to Gaaron, my former traveling companion, my partner, my friend, and a true virtuoso of a bard. He’d been a bright spot in this world, but now that light was forever dimmed. And the fault was mine entirely… If I’d been better, smarter, or even just a bit faster, he’d still be alive.

It was my idea that we accept that last quest, and it was my inability to break through a stupid dungeon door that had gotten him killed. I mean, what kind of rogue couldn't pick a simple lock? Even a cleric could manage that half the time.

That's why I'd retired. I no longer had my partner, but what's more, my confidence had died along with Gaaron that day. I'd lost two things that were very important to me and gained two cursed afflictions at the same time.

The magical burn that covered a huge swatch of skin on my left forearm itched as it so often did whenever I thought back to that squalid dungeon-turned-tomb. And I mindlessly tugged at the sleeve of my tunic to make sure it was covered up. I always made sure to keep my wounds hidden so that they didn't raise any eyebrows—or questions.

Calina's gaze narrowed at my arm, curiosity sparking behind her pale lavender eyes. Her lips formed a soft "O," and I could tell a question was coming, one that would most definitely require a well-orchestrated lie from my side.

Durgan was the only one who knew anything about my past. As much as I adored Brynlee, not even she knew the real me. I kept so much hidden.

It was safer for everyone that way.

The newly arrived humans finally made their way over to the bar, and I rushed to their aid, eager to escape the young elf's scrutiny. As a former rogue, I was good at lying, but that didn't mean I liked doing it.

"A round of gin and tonics, my good sir," the human's apparent leader said, leaning over the bar and flashing a haughty smile my way.

Ugh. Humans.

They thought they owned every room they entered, and they were absolutely horrible about learning the ways of other races and cultures. Some of them were okay, but most were just like this centaur's backside standing before me. This was a centaurian celebration, so why were these clowns even here? And why did they insist on being jerks about it?

I looked nothing like a sir, and this guy knew it.

That wasn’t the only part that irked me though. Throughout all my many travels, I’d never tasted any concoction more vile than the "Gin and Tonic.” Who cared that the fizzy waters of some secluded mountain river made it bubble like a witch’s brew and caused it to tickle all the way down? The taste ruined the entire experience. Honestly, that’s probably why the human men liked it so much. They loved proving their ruggedness and virility, even when it was only to each other. As for me, I'd gladly take a mug of mead over that swill any day.

One of the other humans caught sight of Brynlee bustling about on the other side of the bar and sidled up to her. I’d encountered enough humans to know exactly where his mind was, and it wasn’t above the waist. Brynlee would never return his attentions, just as I knew she would never return mine. She had one—and only one—love in her life, and that was a torch Brynlee would never extinguish.

I knew nothing about the fellow, other than that he'd left shortly after their child was born. Yes, it seemed we all kept secrets around the Mystic Mug. Of course, Brynlee's ex didn't seem like much of a romantic hero to me, yet somehow my friend still blamed herself for his departure. She was so heartsick, she simply couldn't see the truth.

Personally, I'd never been interested in love.

Friendship, absolutely.

Carnal pleasure, sometimes, though it hadn’t been for a long time.

But love? No, no way.

Adventurers weren't meant to form strong bonds outside of their parties. It's what kept us on the road, saw us living to fight another day, embarking upon another quest. Attachments were dangerous. It was bad enough how much I cared for my coworkers. If I actually found myself a mate, I'd be completely and utterly screwed.

It didn't matter that I was retired.

Because I'd be spending the rest of my natural life hiding and hoping that adventure didn't come calling once more, all the while fully knowing that it just might.

I guess that's part of why I let myself like Brynlee as much as I did. She was a safe choice for my private affections because I knew her love would forever belong to someone else. Fixating on our friendship kept me from noticing any of the odd patrons who let their eyes linger on me for just a bit too long or spoke words that came out just a bit too sweet. Bramble Thistledown was my most ardent admirer, true, but he wasn't the only one who'd attempted to wrest me from my near decade of celibacy. Some folks had a thing for halflings, but my race was such a small part of who I was.

If I could keep things from getting too serious around here, it was easier to forget the fear that had practically become a shadow, following my every move, forever and always with no end in sight.

I would never be safe until the one who hunted me was gone and seeing that he'd already managed to live for nigh on a millennium, his sudden and final death probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

And that meant I'd be here in Briarhaven, at the Mystic Mug, for the rest of my days. It was okay, though. I liked it here… Most of the time.

The next few days would be busy with the centaurs' festival, which meant I wouldn't have much time to think—and especially not to worry.

Thank the luck keeper for her small graces.

As much as I still detested the arrogant human patrons, I managed to smile as I handed off the round of drinks, I'd just mixed for them. And as soon as they'd turned away, I patted my chest, feeling for the coiled metal that hung between my breasts, laying perfectly hidden beneath my unassuming tunic. The magical scar wasn't the only thing I'd picked up from that last mission of mine—and it wasn't the only thing I needed to make sure remained hidden.

Chapter 3

The centaurs' centennial celebration officially began the next day. And Durgan had made it very clear that he expected both me and Brynlee to work our hardest from sunup until well past sundown. He and Pat had even taken in a few boarders to snare a little extra coin. Luckily, their home had been built with Pat's half-giant stature in mind. Only the divine and, hopefully, Pat and Durgan themselves knew how that particular arrangement worked behind closed doors. Despite the mysteries of their private matters, Pat's grandeur ensured the place was more than large enough to stable a trio of visiting centaurs.

This also meant that the Mystic Mug remained free of any overnight guests, at least for now. I had no doubt that Durgan would agree to take in any latecomers, should they be willing to compensate him handsomely for such hospitality.

That morning, I crept slowly through the darkened streets of pre-dawn Brairhaven. Even after all this time, moving with stealth still felt like second nature. Don’t be seen, don’t get caught. Not even a lack of slumber the previous night could take that skill from me. I could feel the lack of sleep as each blink rubbed like sandpaper across my eyes. But I kept careful watch as I moved ever closer to the Mystic Mug, muscles tense, ready for an ambush around every corner.

It was far too early—so early that it felt like I was still living out yesterday. I’d never been a morning person, a fact I didn’t expect to see change in the second half of life. Still, Durgan rarely asked for me to take on extra hours. I could swallow down my cranky asides for these two days to give him the help he needed.

That didn’t mean I was happy about it though.

As my weary feet dragged me through the darkened streets, my eyes found their way into every nook and crevice, searching for anything that might prove out of place. The encounter with my cloaked assailant a couple days back still had me on edge, and I now made sure to stay properly alert as I made my way toward the tavern.

I also made sure to be punctual.

But since I'd always been horrible at estimating how long it took to do things, I was now a good twenty minutes early. Neither Durgan nor Brynlee had arrived yet, which meant I was stuck outside until one of them came to help unlock the place. Getting in and out of the Mystic Mug required two keys, each needed to be slotted into the corresponding lock in perfect unison with the other. The keys were identical, which meant any combination of the three of us could do the deed, both to open shop in the morning and to shutter up at night.

I hadn’t wanted to start what I already knew would be a tiring day off on the wrong foot by making my friends wait out in the cold for me while I once again struggled to get my legs to move faster than they were willing to go. But now that meant I was stuck out on my own. I could have slept longer or eaten more energizing berries to perk myself up, but no. Time had been a cruel mistress for me once again.

Very few villagers had woken for the day. Not even the sun was up yet.

Which meant it was just me and the empty shadows that taunted me, whispering of dangers yet to be seen. It was a strange sensation, being so physically fatigued while also needing to stay hypervigilant in case there were any signs of trouble.

I hated being alone and exposed like this. Briarhaven was a small, usually safe town, but the out-of-town guests could easily spell trouble—trouble of many varieties. I was usually good at handling myself, but I was usually much more awake.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding back and shook out my hands, trying to work out the knots that had formed from being ready for an attack from every direction. Must wake up, must limber up, must make it through this day.

Something shifted a few shops down the block before once again disappearing from my view. My heart began to gallop like a bloody centaur, putting me into fight-or-flight mode yet again. I couldn't exactly leave when I was expected at work, which meant I had to be ready for a fight.

Well, at least I was fully awake now.

I patted the hidden pendant beneath my tunic, then reached into the pocket of my britches and wrapped my fingers around the sheathed dagger that I always kept at the ready.

From the outside, I looked like a simple, small-town halfling, middle-aged and mediocre. No one knew what I was really capable of. And I sincerely hoped that this wasn't the day they'd all find out.

The shadows parted again to reveal something quite large creeping my way. Although creeping was probably the wrong word for it, the movement was more like… lumbering? Graceless but hurried. Strangely, it seemed the person believed they were exercising great stealth, based on how they appeared to be hunched over and often pressed himself flat against shop walls to pause before lurching forward again.

I didn't recognize this person, and they made no attempt to call out to me. Would I soon be under attack?

I swallowed down the lump that had begun to form in my throat and unsheathed my blade. "Durgan? Brynlee?"

The figure stopped his advance and ducked into the alley behind the apothecary. I heard heavy breathing. This wasn’t excitement. No, it seemed far more like panic. The monster was more afraid of me than I of it. Good. I could use that to my advantage should I need one.

"I know you're out there. Show yourself!" I had my dagger drawn and brandished before me, gripping it tight with both hands and hoping that it would imply I didn't know how to handle the weapon. I was never bothered by an opponent’s underestimation of me, because their lack of confidence in my abilities so often tipped the scales in my favor.

I waited.

Precious seconds ticked by.

At last, the creature showed itself. He summoned a small flame that floated in the air beside him, illuminating a face that was very much chagrinned. A flush of pink lit up his greenish complexion, not even his scraggly facial hair could hide the obvious embarrassment this orcish fellow felt.

"Who are you?" I demanded as I continued to cling to my blade. "What do you want?"

He continued to draw closer with both hands held up in a gesture of surrender. I could now tell that this creature was a half-orc. Despite the full beard, he also appeared to be quite young.

"Are you a friend of Calina's?" I guessed and immediately knew I'd hit the mark.

He closed the final distance between us, snagging his oversized foot on a loose paver and stumbling forward several paces before catching himself. I watched in amusement as he collided with his own spell-flame and hissed from the sudden burst of pain.

As the flame blinked off, I finally realized that this kid was no threat to me. I tucked the dagger back into its sheath and stuck both into my pocket.

"Ruh-Ruh-Ruh-Rurik." The pink on his cheeks had transformed into a deep mulberry color, the same hue my skin would take on if I spent too many long hours under a harsh sun. I didn't know orcs could change color like a mood crystal, although I'd never met an orc as terribly awkward as this one. Not until that exact moment.

"And you're a friend of Calina's."

He nodded. "Her best friend actually. I mean, she's my only friend. The others at school… they don't like me. And everyone at home, they don't understand me. And I juh-juh-just—" The poor guy stopped speaking and started to bawl big, sploshy tears.

I needed a moment to overcome the strange mismatch of his deep and frightful booming voice and the actual words he was saying. I’d never seen an orc cry. If you’d asked me before now, I’d have said it wasn’t possible. My stomach turned, threatening to spill its meager contents on the streets before me. I’d gone from tired to terrified to… whatever this was. Like a whirly ride for children, only this was not in any way fun.

"Hey, kid. Stop! I don't need your life story. I just need to know what you're doing here." Yeah, it might have seemed cruel that I was being so hard on him when he clearly already beat himself up on the regular, but he'd given me a great fright and I needed to get at least a little revenge to maintain my dignity and all that. Besides, I already cared about three people too many. I didn't need any other liabilities, and this half-orc wimp seemed like a pretty enormous liability.

Rurik let out a mighty sniff, then straightened to his full posture, looming several feet over me. Good thing I'd already determined he was not a threat, otherwise my knife would be back out and ready to cut this kid to pieces. "Calina said you might need an extra hand at the tavern, that you'd be willing to pay. I-I-I—" He stopped again as if by taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he'd be able to express them a bit better. Somehow, I doubted that would be the case.

"I need to… Oh!" He stopped speaking again and then lowered himself to a squat, meeting me at eye level. It almost looked as if he were about to take a giant dump right here in front of the tavern. A real classy fellow, this one.

"You get up this instant! Hasn't anyone ever told you that's highly offensive to those of us who aren't quite so vertically blessed? I'm not a child or a small, frightened animal. So stand the fig up." I heaved an enormous sigh, my chest rising and falling like the swell of a stormy ocean. This guy put me on edge, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

As Rurik struggled to his feet, his eyes met my bosom for a moment, and the blush that had taken up residence on his cheeks now spread to his forehead as well. At this rate, he'd be a giant walking tomato before our brief exchange had ended.

"Goodness, child! I have half a mind to ask if you were raised in a barn!"

"Suh-suh-sorry," he shouted so loud that a couple of lights flickered to life down the street. "This was stupid. I'm stupid. I'll go."

He turned to leave, but I grabbed him by the arm. I couldn't even bring my fingers halfway around his meaty wrist, such was our massive size difference. "You're not going anywhere, young man. You said you wanted some extra work. We could use the help. Heck, I'll even pay you from my own wages, if I have to."

Rurik's eyes lit up as if he were about to cry from sheer gratitude. "Rea-really?"

"Yeah, it's going to be record-breaking busy today, and we could use another humungous set of hands like yours. Wait with me. My boss will be here any minute. You can ask him yourself. Though, lose the stutter. Show some confidence for crying out loud." The truth was I didn't really need the extra help, but I wouldn't mind having an imposing-looking bodyguard in case anything a touch more sinister escaped the shadows.

One look at Rurik's hulking form, and they'd think twice about causing any trouble in the tavern. I just had to find something to keep him busy and looking fierce. The moment they heard him speak or saw him stumble over his own feet, the ruse would be up.

"Ho there, Tilda!" Durgan's merry voice rang out from behind me, and I turned to greet him with a friendly wave. "How is it that you're the first to arrive? You're never the first. And not just because you work the night shift."

"Hardy har har. Get all your jokes out now, because I'm going to be much too busy to deal with your pestering once those doors open to patrons. Speaking of, this is Rurik. He's a friend of Calina's and—"

Rurik raised a finger to interject. "Best friend. I am the best friend of Calina."

"Okay, not really the point." I rolled my eyes and shook my head in disbelief. This kid was beyond awkward. How did Calina put up with him?

I shaped my hand into a fleshy beak and slammed my thumb against my fingers several times in quick succession, making wide eyes at Rurik so he'd understand to clap his yap and let the grown-ups do the talking.

"Anyway, like I was saying, this is Rurik. He wants to help out at the Mug today. Think we can use an extra worker drone?"

Rurik pressed his palms together and lifted his hands in supplication, as if the jovial dwarf before him was some kind of deity and not a day-drunk small-business owner. He licked his lips and then shot his gaze back toward my bosom, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied me for a moment before quickly ripping his gaze away.

Maybe this was a bad idea. I didn't need some lovesick teenager dawdling after me like a baby dragonling. But before I could say another word, Durgan responded with his characteristic boom.

"Ho ho, of course he can help! The more, the merrier, I always say. Especially when drink is involved. I can pay you in mead rather than coin."

I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. These two were killing me. It was far too early for this degree of nonsense. "He's a child, Durgan. Mead is a no-go. Besides, I happen to know you have a bit of extra coin to spare, so get over yourself and pay the kid what he's worth."

"Well." Durgan puffed out his chest and took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over Rurik from head to toe. He had to crane his neck at quite an awkward angle to do this. "Then, my lad, come on inside and let us see what you are worth."

He pulled out his key and positioned himself in front of the left lock, and I raced forward to jab my key into the right just in time for us to twist them in perfect harmony—and officially open the Mystic Mug for business that day.

"Come on, kid. I'll show you the ropes." I motioned for our temporary muscle to follow me toward the kitchen. And I didn't even need to look back to make sure he was following, such was the cuh-clunk noise that shook the floorboards with every step he took.

This was going to be a long, long day.

Well, best to get started then.