Sil walked down the street, peering over shoulders to spot the many foods and trinkets for sale. Sticks of fruit slices, coated in a hard white candy. Cheesy buns filled with a dark red sauce—or maybe a paste—she couldn’t tell. She didn’t look at them for long. Her eyes were quickly drawn to one stand selling little pink balls, perhaps made of some kind of dough. She walked over to inspect.

  The large man at the counter had a round frame, a white bush of a beard, and a red jumper with patterns that matched his products. His small spectacles rested on the edge of his nose as he flipped through some papers. When he looked up and saw Sil approaching, a large smile overtook his face and he tucked away his glasses.

  “Always happy to see visitors so early.”

  “I hope I’ll stay,” Sil replied in a guilty tone. “I’m just passing through for now. I don’t know if I’ll make it to the festival.”

  “Aye, aye. I understand. But for your sake, I hope you stay long enough to see it.”

  Sil pointed to a tray of his doughy goods. “Do you think I could—?”

  “Of course.” The man picked up four of the pink balls and ran a thin stick through them, handing it to her by the handle.

  As she looked at the candies and got a whiff of their sweet scent, a wave of familiarity passed over her. Maybe she’d had these as a child, back when she last visited. Figuring she might remember more from the taste, she bit into one of the balls—immediately hit by a rush of sugar. It wasn’t dough, that much was clear. It was soft, like a pillow, and just as squishy. Unsure how to define it, she took another bite, enjoying the texture most of all.

  The man counted the coins, deciding there was indeed enough, and began directing her attention to his other products. Across the rim of the counter were paper charms featuring various illustrated characters. One showed a figure skipping as innocently as a child—its skin pink, with weak little wings like those of a bug.

  “Who’s that?” Sil asked, tilting her head at the paper cutout.

  The man glanced toward the front of his stall and chuckled. “That? That’s the Spirit of the Pink Holly—said to appear with the arrival of spring and the clear Moonset of evils from the past year. The children call it Pinx. Pinx the Fairy.”

  Sil thanked the man for the food and the story, then went on her way. A few turns brought her to a brick building with wooden planks bracing the corners. The same material had been used to reinforce the roof above the second floor. Hanging from a shaft was a sign scrawled in faded chalk, facing the street: The Sad Paladin. There was an image to match the name—a knight sitting somberly, gazing down at his helmet as he held it in his hands. Sil thought it dampened the mood a bit.

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  The room she entered was lively, full of laughter, cries of relief, and cheers for a year well worked. The dining room was cramped, with a cobblestone floor, orange wood walls, and rusty metal chairs gathered around dingy oak tables. The window shutters knocked gently as a cold breeze slipped through the room, seemingly unnoticed by the crowd rocking in celebration. Among the boisterous crowd, a few things stood out: a table reserved for games in one corner, a mother holding her young daughter in another, and an old man with a beard down to his belly slouched in a chair, mouth agape, snoring in a drunken stupor.

  At the end of the room was a bar manned by two. One was a man nearing the end of his youth, with red hair and a long red beard. He held a glass, wiping it clean while waiting for the next order. The other was a woman, far older, with dark hair tied back and a quill in her hand to record the names of her patrons.

  “Could you check if you have a spare room, please?” Sil asked as she arrived at the desk. “Room for two.”

  The woman didn’t even glance at her list and simply gestured toward the crowd of laughing men at the tables. “Use your eyes, darling. Does it look like we have a spare?”

  Sil, a little taken aback by the crudeness of the reply, gently took a seat. “I’ll just take a drink, then.”

  The woman huffed. “Not my problem. Take it up with him.” With a fat thumb, she pointed over her shoulder to the man beside her. Then she walked through a door in the back—likely the storage room.

  After waving slightly to the man with the glass in his hand, Sil managed to pull his attention away from a card game at a nearby table and asked him for a drink. She was handed a shot glass filled with a clear liquid, tinged a faint lime green. The fact that she hadn’t asked for anything specific struck her—but the coin hit the wood surface anyway. With a quick swig, the drink was gone.

  She turned to the table beside her, curious about what had caught the bartender’s eye. Around it sat maybe six men, each holding no more than four cards pressed close to their chests. Sil had little idea what the game was or how it was played, but each participant looked deeply competitive. Sharirun had no playing cards—and thus, no card games. Their games were played with board pieces of wood and stone, and many spent time meticulously crafting sets to use in their favorite pastimes. But those were always just for fun. Few in Sharirun took games as seriously as these men. Judging by the pile of coins on the table, Sil could guess why.

  Slap.

  A young man wearing a star-shaped earring slammed his cards down in frustration, his coins quickly swept up by the other players. He roared with a complaint of foul play, but the men laughed in his face and demanded he leave. After everyone had said their piece, the lad had little choice but to walk away, shamed. As he stood, he swiped a few coins from the pocket beside him and exited smoothly, his face giving nothing away. It was so swift, it barely looked like a crime.

  Sil quickly turned away, pretending she hadn’t seen it, trying to push it from her mind. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in some thug’s gambling session. Still, the moment lingered.

  She was supposedly a Hero now. Wasn’t she supposed to do something? What was the right way to intervene? Tell the guard?

  She felt little trust for them since Yig had last spoken to her. It even crossed her mind that the intruders in Chestnut might have stolen the uniforms. Maybe. It was a twelve-hour journey from here to Chestnut, depending on the route. Both were small towns, with little connection. Why would the guard—or those dressed like them—travel so far? What was really happening with the guards of Moonset?