Runa did not throw her out. Instead, she woke the next morning and the first thing she saw was Severine curled up in the chair opposite her.

  Runa was curled up too. Technically. She’d slumped sideways in her own chair, and every one of her muscles protested as she tried to un-slump.

  Why did sleeping in a warm, cushioned chair hurt more than sleeping on rocks in the wilderness?

  She creaked herself upright as quietly as she could, massaging the base of her horn where it ached from being pressed against the wall all night. Severine snored gently as she padded across to the bench.

  There was no way around it. The dough the volcano sprite had helped her with looked a hell of a lot better than the stuff she’d mixed up herself. It had doubled in size overnight, soft and pillowy. No strange lumpy bits. No collapsed craters. Nothing gritty.

  A skittering from the oven told her she wasn’t the only one up early.

  The morning was bright and sunny and promised another hot day. Runa had thought she mostly had this stage of baking under control, but she was wrong there, too. Nobody In Particular hissed and scuttled and rolled its eyes as it tried to explain a particular way of moving or shaping or doing something with the soft, jiggling dough. Something other than splat it into the hot oven, anyway.

  Under its instruction, she cut the dough into loaf-sized pieces, squashed them down and shaped them and left them to pillow up again. Nobody in Particular showed her how to scatter enough rough flour under the loaves so they wouldn’t stick on the oven paddle. It then, with condescending kindness, drew her attention to the small door she’d noticed leaning against the woodpile that first night.

  “That goes on the oven?” she said, hefting it. Good thing she hadn’t chopped it up for kindling, then. Now that she looked at it, it would fit right over the opening.

  She lifted it into place, and the volcano sprite shrieked.

  “What?” she asked, jumping back.

  It slapped one paw into a jar of water.

  “It has to be wet?” She took a closer look. Okay, that made sense. There were no fireproofing sigils on it that she could see. She stuck that in front of the oven, it would catch fire, and let the rest of the room borrow some too.

  “Glop!”

  Right, the rain barrel outside. “It’ll need to soak,” she frowned. “You could have told me about it last night.”

  Nobody in Particular shuffled its paws, leaving wet claw-marks on the counter. It wasn’t admitting to having forgotten about it… but it had been a long time since anyone did any proper baking around here.

  Runa shook her head. “All right. We’ll remember for tomorrow.”

  The oven heated the whole room. It was just the side of cozy that most people would start to find stifling, even with the window open. The oven door might help with that, tomorrow.

  Her house guest, with an innate sense of perfect timing, slept curled up in the big chair until the first batch of loaves was sitting on the counter.

  “Whargh!” Severine jerked upright. “Oh, gods and liches! I’m up! You can stop shouting!”

  The volcano sprite skittered to the safety of the very back of the oven.

  Runa’s eyebrows shot up. Well. That wasn’t the sort of good-morning she’d expected. “You’re the only one who’s shouting,” she pointed out. “And good mor—”

  “I’m GOING!” Severine yelped, staggering to her feet.

  “You don’t need to leave—”

  “Stop complaining! Golden mother, what’s got you all in such a bad mood?”

  It had taken a few seconds, but this was the point at which Runa decided that Severine wasn’t yelling at her.

  In fact, she hadn’t seemed to even notice Runa was there.

  Eyes still half-shut, Severine patted herself down. She was wearing the same calf-length robe over a tunic and loose pants that she’d worn the night she tumbled into the cellar. It was crumpled now instead of clinging. And as Runa watched, she reached into hidden pockets in every piece of her clothing and, still grumbling under her breath, pulled out more blades than Runa had seen outside an armory.

  Knives. Daggers. Thick blades and thin, curved and straight, hilts decorated with glittering jewels and twists of precious gold or wrapped in plain leather. Most of them had scabbards. Some—Runa winced—were bare. Severine flung them to the floor haphazardly.

  They kept coming.

  More.

  More.

  Magic prickled against Runa’s skin. Of course. No one could actually hide that many blades on themselves. Could they?

  Well beyond the point where Runa thought That must be all of them, and then Oh, surely, now, Severine stopped with a sigh, and groped at her shoulder for something that wasn’t there.

  Her bleary eyes half-focused on Runa. “Where—?” she croaked.

  There was only one thing she could be after.

  “Your pack’s on the floor there.” Runa pointed.

  “’nks.”

  Severine dropped to her knees and hauled the pack over. She undid the clasps with fingers far nimbler than Runa expected given she still seemed mostly asleep, and unrolled it to reveal…

  Swords.

  Of course, Runa thought to herself. She already figured out Runa’s game, and she already knew she had the greatsword.

  But.

  There were so many. And they were all magic. Enchantment itched in her nostrils.

  Her mouth went dry. “Severine, what is this?”

  Severine groaned in response. In response to whatever was going on inside her head, Runa figured, not to what she’d said. She watched as Severine dug out a small bag that held a handful of cloth rags and several corked jars.

  “Whoever stops shouting first gets first go,” she announced, a hint of sharpness in her tired voice. “Ahh. That’s better.”

  Her face relaxed. Without looking, she reached for one of the scattered blades and pulled it into her lap. It had a leaf-shaped blade the length of her palm, and there were leaves carved into its pale wooden hilt, too. Severine murmured to it softly as she turned it over, inspecting every inch and gently buffing it with a cloth.

  Runa watched, transfixed. Severine treated the blades like they were baby chicks, cooing over them and placing them gently back in their scabbards and wraps. Some of the swords, like that first leaf-blade dagger, only needed a quick polish. Some had spots of rust, and needed more care.

  One had a strange, black substance twining up its blade towards the grip. Severine groaned when she pulled it out, and Runa’s fingers twitched.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Magic blades. Maybe Corvin had some sort of point, about the difference between curses and regular spells. It didn’t matter what sort of magic a magic sword had. They were all more trouble than they were worth.

  But Severine seemed more resigned than afraid of the crawling black gunk.

  “Again?” she sighed, rummaging in another pocket. She pulled out a jar of paste that made Runa’s nose itch. “Come on. Let’s get rid of that.”

  She scraped, and polished, and oiled and waxed and gently berated, and the air smelled like the same deep, rich magic Runa had sensed on the glacier.

  Runa had no idea what was going on, but two things were clear.

  Whoever Severine was, Runa had been right. She was no ordinary traveler.

  And whatever she was doing with these swords, it was going to take a while.

  Runa had work to do. The first batches of loaves were out of the oven. That was Junilla’s order.

  Now it was time to make something she could sell.

  The oven needed to be heated again. She could tell because, after carefully glaring at Severine until it was sure she was fully focused on the swords and wouldn’t notice it, the volcano sprite had perched itself next to the woodpile and transferred its glare to Runa.

  Stepping carefully over the swords, Runa made her way back to the oven and built a new fire on the bricks.

  Then she measured and chopped and mixed, and transformed flour and scraps of butter and cheese into another batch of scones.

  Then there was more waiting. Waiting for the fire to burn itself out and heat the oven-bricks enough to bake the bread, and after that, she could go ahead and wait for the scones to bake. Wait for the other bread to cool enough to know whether she’d been waiting for nothing. Wait for Severine to wake up properly too, and tell her what the deal with all the swords was.

  Runa stretched. Severine was still engrossed in her work. Runa had kept a wary eye on her as she worked, but for all that Severine’s eyes were still half-closed, she hadn’t cut herself as she handled the gleaming blades.

  She must do this a lot. Whatever it was. Bath time for magic swords.

  Runa rolled her neck. Things crackled alarmingly. She rubbed one of the knots at the base of her skull, and thought.

  The dough was resting. Maybe she should rest, too.

  Or she could look at the book again. See if any of those recipes made more sense, after the volcano sprite’s lesson.

  She was halfway to the bookshelf when Severine suddenly jerked and gasped. Her head snapped around, eyes wide and darting.

  Her eyes found Runa, and widened more. “Where—”

  Runa frowned. Severine’s breaths were coming short and fast, like she had no idea what was going on. Had she been asleep all this time? In some sort of waking dream?

  “You’re still in the bakery,” she said quietly.

  Severine’s forehead creased. “What?”

  “The—my bakery. In Pothollow. A small—a village on the edge of the Cauldron.” Runa rose slowly.

  Severine blinked. She looked completely lost.

  And then she blinked again. Her back straightened. A shimmer like liquid silver glossed over her eyes, and she stepped towards Runa, her body a coiled whip. “Who—”

  Runa didn’t know whether to reach out to steady her, or back away. “I’m Runa. Remember?”

  There was a pause like the universe breathing in.

  Severine pushed her hair off her face. Her eyes went to the blades scattered on the floor.

  Then to the corner where Runa had propped the greatsword that first night. The corner where it wasn’t anymore.

  After that, she very carefully did not look at her packroll, which was the only other place that sword could be now.

  Finally, her eyes settled back on Runa, where they lit up. Not silver anymore, but cheerful dark brown. “I remember,” she said, her voice like flames licking over fresh wood.

  Runa’s heart did a thing. She cleared her throat. “Breakfast?”

  “If you’re offering.”

  Severine stretched, a complicated series of maneuverers that might have made Runa’s heart do some more things, except that it involved a lot of small grunts and strange clicks. Runa sympathized.

  “It smells amazing in here. Are those more scones? Argh.” Severine cricked her neck. “Can I help?”

  Don’t help, Runa wanted to say. Stay sitting still where you’re not going to suddenly jump into my field of vision and make me feel like a cooking pot about to pop its lid. She swallowed, and held her tongue.

  She wasn’t a complete stranger to things like this. The sudden head-rush of attraction, and the way every part of her body felt big and slow and stodgy compared to how bright and sparkling the other person was.

  It was fine. She was a grown woman. She could handle a crush.

  And if everything went wrong, all she had to do was jump on a handy curse and run off to the Cauldron again, right? Like she was sixteen again.

  Argh.

  She shook her head. “Go ahead,” she told Severine.

  To her relief, Severine didn’t so much bustle around the kitchen as fill the water-pot and then lean against the wall staring at it, still clearly trying to drag herself all the way up from sleep.

  “Ow. Ow ow ow. Remind me not to fall asleep in a chair again.”

  “You could’ve had a bed,” Runa reminded her.

  Severine’s cheeks flushed a faint red. To her horror, Runa’s cheeks did the same.

  “At the tavern,” she added quickly.

  “Oh.” Severine deflated, and Runa gritted her teeth and left her that way until they were sitting down for breakfast.

  Well. Runa sat. Severine drooped. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve opted for plain hot water for us both rather than leaves of indeterminate origin,” she said sadly. “I don’t suppose you have coffee in this part of the world?”

  “What’s coffee?”

  Severine moaned quietly. “The last good thing the gods left us,” she muttered. “And one day I’ll find some again.”

  Runa took a deep breath. “In between picking up magical swords?”

  “Ah.” Severine’s gaze fell slowly floorward, where it discovered the evidence of her sleepwalking sword-maintenance. “You saw that, did you?”

  “Yep.”

  “I hadn’t told you I had that many swords.”

  “Nope. I mean, I saw the big sword, and the magic portal-cutting one. Not all the others. That’s… a lot of swords.”

  “A very many swords,” Severine agreed. She let loose another jaw-cracking yawn, and slumped insouciantly against the nearest wall, which ended up being slightly further away than she’d expected. She almost fell off her chair, and recovered. “And I did keep quiet about it. Secretive. Sneaky, some might say.”

  “Some might, yeah.” Runa folded her arms. “You want to tell me about…?”

  She circled in front of her eyes, and Severine winced.

  “What does it look like, from the outside?”

  It made sense that she might not know. “Your eyes go all silver.”

  Severine shuddered.

  “Has it happened before?”

  “A couple times. Not… for a long time. And it usually—” Her throat bobbed. “How long did it last?”

  “Long enough for me to get another batch of baking done.”

  “What? That long? And we’re both still here?” Severine stared at her, and then her expression cleared. “Oh. You thought I meant the, uh, impromptu armory display. I meant the, uh…”

  She echoed Runa’s gesture, twirling one finger in front of her eyes.

  “’bout as long as it took you to blink,” Runa said.

  Severine relaxed. “And… nothing else happened?”

  “Should it have?”

  Severine stilled.

  Ah, shit. She’d said that wrong. And now the one expression she really didn’t want to see on the human woman’s face was rising like a ghoul from a rancid pond.

  Panic.

  Runa scrambled to find the right words. “Look, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first one to get caught up treasure-hunting in the Cauldron.”

  “What?”

  “I always tell my clients, it doesn’t matter how much you can sell the loot for if you’re too dead to enjoy it.” She nodded at the swords.

  “…True,” Severine said slowly.

  “What happened? You picked up more than you expected?”

  Severine started doing her stunned rabbit impression again, so Runa tried to explain. “You get too much magic stuff in one place, it can start to go funny. I’ve seen you talking to the swords before—”

  “Oh,” Severine said uneasily, and Runa raised her hands palms-out.

  “Nothing strange about that. People talk to their non-magical stuff all the time.”

  “Bet it doesn’t talk back,” Severine muttered.

  Depends who you ask. Runa kept that to herself. She watched Severine carefully. “You were thinking you’d head into the Cauldron, pick up some loot you could sell on easy, and you bit off more than you could chew?”

  “Sell—?” Severine blinked, and seemed to come back to herself. “It’s… definitely not what I expected,” she said after a long pause. “You can’t sell them to just anyone. It has to be the right person, and you have to be so sure they know what they’re getting themselves into, or—”

  “—you come back to town and the welcome isn’t as warm as it was the last time?”

  “Or it’s on fire. Or blockaded. Or—” Severine groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. “It never ends.”

  “So why not give it up?”

  Severine peered up through her fingers. “Give it up?”

  “Find some other business.”

  “It’s not—” Severine hesitated. “That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?” she continued, determinedly cheerful. “Lazing around here instead of getting back on the road. Taking a, a break. A break that I really need. Because I can’t just keep going, endlessly, constantly trying to make this work without—”

  She glanced at the blades scattered around the floor and winced again.

  Lazing around except for when the magical blades you’d been planning to sell start whining about needing a spit and polish, Runa thought to herself.

  She looked up again to see Severine watching her, carefully, the way she’d been staring at her a moment ago.

  “You’re taking this well,” Severine commented.

  “Taking what well?”

  “I lead a walking skeleton into your cellar. I carry around a secret hoard of magical swords, and then spill them all over your floor while you’re trying to work and you’re… fine with that?”

  Runa shrugged. “It happens.”

  “It happens?” Severine repeated, and Runa wasn’t sure whether she sounded more amazed or aghast. “I’ve been causing trouble and lying to you since I got here—since well before then, because I’m pretty sure you would have stayed safe with the wizards if I wasn’t there needing to be rescued—and all you can say is it happens?”

  Runa looked anywhere but at her. “Maybe not here, so much, but in my line of work, you don’t get too caught up in why someone got themselves into trouble. You just get them out of it.”

  Severine was silent. Runa glanced over, and that was a mistake, because it meant she saw the other woman staring straight at her, her expression mingled shock and… hope.

  She cleared her throat. “Look. You lied. Okay. You’re exhausted, and in over your head. You needed help, and I could help, so I helped.”

  Severine sounded desperate. “Why?”