“What are you doing!?”

  Severine had downed one of Corvin’s strengthening tonics and slept like a log. Runa had kind of been hoping she would sleep a little later. Instead, she almost lost her grip on the attic ladder and slid to the floor, stumbling to the corner where Runa was crouched in front of the evilest sword she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  Runa’s hand was stretched out towards the hilt, her fingertips a careful half-inch away from the worn leather grip.

  A very careful half-inch.

  Runa caught Severine before she stumbled directly into Bloodburster, stood, and set the human woman on her feet. Severine struggled, twisting around so she could glare up at her. “What was that about?”

  “A test,” Runa said, searching Severine’s eyes. They were brown and angry. No sign of any silver.

  “Testing what?” Severine demanded.

  “Our plan.” Which wasn’t a helpful answer. She knew that. She knew she should open her mouth for more than a surly two words at a time, instead of spitting out half-sentences. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  She didn’t want to say too much.

  “Oh.” Severine’s face cleared. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and one eyebrow, and Runa swallowed back a surge of guilt. “And it worked! You didn’t pick it up, and I didn’t go all priestess at you and shove it into your hands.”

  All the tension drained out of her body. Her spine softened against Runa’s hand and her smile rose like the sun.

  Shit, Runa thought.

  Severine didn’t notice. “This is going to work,” she said, giddy with delight. “I can’t believe it. You didn’t pick it up, and I didn’t throw it at your face. It’s working! We’re going to be fine! As soon as we figure out whether my mother-in-law still wants me dead,” she added, sobering somewhat. “I mean, she didn’t jump in through the attic window and slaughter me during the night, so that’s a good sign, right?”

  Runa nodded absently. “Yeah. Good sign.”

  Severine’s relief poured out of her in a flood that drowned out Runa’s silence. She was glad of it. And gladder still that Severine didn’t ask her how long she’d been crouching there, hand outstretched, feeling magic like sandpaper on her tongue and the sword’s intent like a whisper behind her skull.

  Death.

  ***

  “You're letting the priestess of blades stay in your upstairs?” Errant asked. “And I thought Tam and I moved fast.”

  Runa flushed so hard, she had to check to make sure she hadn’t left scorch marks on the tavern table. “She’s staying upstairs. I’m not.”

  “Until the new room is ready…?” Tam suggested meaningfully.

  The Millers had come by the bakery that morning, and Severine had wasted no time telling them the truth about her magical malady. She’d spun a story that had both men entranced, cheese scones forgotten halfway to their mouths. Runa figured now the game was up, she was trying to get ahead of anyone else revealing her secrets for her.

  Anyone else. Hah. She wanted to get ahead of Junilla revealing her secrets.

  But now it was evening, and Junilla was back in the tavern and so was half the village, and it was as though nothing had changed.

  Runa sat back.

  Severine hadn’t come out for dinner. She’d yawned, dramatically, and said she would take her strengthening tonic and have an early night, which Runa had taken as a polite way of saying all the hells couldn’t drag her back in front of her mother-in-law.

  Ex-mother-in-law?

  Potentially murderous ex-mother-in-law?

  Runa didn’t know what to do with the revelation about Junilla’s past. The village didn’t look as though it was suffering under the fist of a murderous ex-queen. There was no frisson of terror underpinning any of the locals’ interactions with their tavernkeeper.

  Did they know who Junilla was?

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  Runa gritted her teeth. It was easier in the Cauldron. Something attacked you, you ran, or you attacked it back. You didn’t hide in the attic and pretend you weren’t scared out of your mind that your ex-mother-in-law was in town.

  And if you did have a problem with one of your traveling companions, a spot of mortal peril usually smoothed over other concerns.

  “This is a good batch, Runa. What did you put in it?” Tam swiped a chunk of bread across his plate, soaking up the last of the rich vegetable stew.

  Runa shook her thoughts away. “Same stuff I usually put in it. I just put it together better this time,” she replied gruffly.

  It wasn’t just good, she added privately. It was the best batch yet. She’d delivered another dozen loaves of good bread that morning, after another evening of careful tutoring from the volcano sprite while Severine napped upstairs.

  And now, all around her, people were eating the stuff. With visible enjoyment. Except for Widow Tremblewood, but she’d brought her own crust of that first, rock-hard batch, and was fastidiously soaking it in her stew bowl.

  “You used the new barley flour, not the stuff from the stores?” Tam chewed, considering.

  “Does that make a difference? Using old flour or new?”

  “Depends how good the preservation spells are. Old Bracklethorn liked to hoard things, but you could taste the runes on it after a year or two.” Tam smacked his lips. “Speaking of fresh flour…”

  He leaned forwards, and his husband pushed him back into his seat with a groan.

  “You found something else in the Sweetmeadow?” Runa asked, buttering another slice of bread. It really was good.

  “Bloodwort—”

  “Is a deadly poison fresh, a deadly poison dried, a deadly poison stewed. I doubt baking would improve it.” Corvin’s voice droned from the table behind Tam and Errant. He hadn’t even bothered to turn around.

  “Ah, well. Worth a try, though?” Tam suggested hopefully.

  Runa cocked an eyebrow at his husband. “Are dwarves particularly resistant to poisons?”

  “No.”

  “Spoilsport.” Tam turned to Runa with a grin that promised she would regret not letting him poison himself. “So, you and Severine, the priestess of the blades … tell us everything.”

  “I’ve already told you everything.” Except for the historic bad blood between Severine and Junilla.

  And the fact that Severine wasn’t in Pothollow on a break from her holy duties. The opposite.

  Tam waved a hand. “Oh, well in that case, hurry away home so you can come up with more to tell.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Funny. It isn’t like that.”

  “Yet,” Tam whispered in a theatrical undertone. She glared at him.

  He put on a wounded expression. “Don’t look at me like that! I have to find some way to entertain myself while I wait for the corn to be ready to harvest, don’t I?”

  “And you’ve long since worn through all the entertainment you can dredge out of the rest of us, of course,” Errant said dryly.

  Runa felt like she was tiptoeing towards the edge of a cliff. Was this an opportunity to nudge the conversation in a new direction?

  She took a deep breath. “Seems like there are a few of us here who weren’t born in Pothollow. You moved here from Billswater, didn’t you Tam? And Corvin. And Junilla.” It would have sounded like normal conversation, if she wasn’t the one making it. She wiped her mouth, feigning casualness. “How, uh. How long has she been the innkeeper here?”

  “Oh, years. She was well entrenched when I first moved here,” Tam said. “Feet firmly under the table, et cetera. And just as close-minded about cursed comestibles as she is now. What’s it been, a decade? And I haven’t made a dent of progress in convincing her to add a little something to her ale.”

  “Her ale’s bad enough as it is,” Errant pointed out.

  Runa stared at her tankard. “It isn’t that bad,” she said. “Is it?”

  “Oh, that’s the stuff she orders in from town. It’s her own brew you need to watch out for. Her and my dear beloved great-aunt.” Errant made a face.

  Runa kept her eyes on her tankard. “Where was she from before she came here, do you know?”

  A shadow fell across the table. “Somewhere gossips are strung up by their ankles,” Junilla said from behind her.

  Runa didn’t miss a beat, though her heart ratcheted up a notch. “Lucky for Tam he ended up here, then.”

  “Hah.” Junilla elbowed her way onto the wooden bench beside Runa, her own bowl of stew in hand. She helped herself to the last of the bread from the communal plate in the middle of the table. “A long way and a different world away, that’s where I’m from.”

  “That matches up with what Severine said.”

  Runa stared at her mug. It seemed like the sort of thing she should have locked eyes with Junilla as she said it, but sitting side by side, that would be awkward.

  Junilla’s voice was carefully calm. “Does it, now.”

  “Wait, you and Runa’s houseguest know each other?” Tam’s eyes widened.

  Junilla’s voice sharpened. “A long time ago.” She sighed, and her tone softened. “Serves me right for thinking anything could stay secret in a town like this for more than a few days.”

  You’ve kept your history secret for a lot longer than that, Runa thought. Out loud, she said, “Must be a while since you met anyone from your old life.”

  “Do you always save your needling into other people’s business for when there are lots of interested ears around?” Junilla demanded.

  Runa blinked. “Uh…”

  “I’ve better things to do with my time than dig up the past. As do many others I could mention.”

  Tam and Errant suddenly looked very distracted by their meals.

  Junilla sniffed.

  “I’m sure your friend has better things to do, too. You can go ahead and tell her not to screw it up for both of us.”

  Runa glanced sideways at her. “She seems too scared of you to try anything like that.”

  Junilla shot her a flat look. “Don’t tell me you got to your age without figuring out fear makes people do stupid things.”

  Runa thought of all the clients she’d hauled back from running off cliffs, or bundled over her shoulder because their legs had decided the best way of dealing with being stuck on a slowly sinking island in a poison lake was to stop working. “You’ve got a point.”

  “Not as many as our mutual friend, wrapped up in that sack of hers.”

  Runa didn’t mention that Severine had more blades than the ones in her pack. “All I know is that she’s spent the day holed up in the bakery, too scared of you to poke her head out and too exhausted to head down the mountain yet.”

  “And that’s why she’s staying, is it?” Junilla cocked an eyebrow, then sighed. “I should talk to her.”

  Runa stayed quiet, long enough for Junilla to purse her lips and ruminate on how their last talk had gone.

  “I’ll be less terrifying this time.” Junilla swirled her drink. “Even if it isn’t as fun that way.”