Apart from the missing millers, the morning continued in the way Runa had become used to. The long row of scythes at the front, the cut wheat gathered into sheaves behind, the sheaves whisked away to be stacked and stamped and sieved.

  And by mid-afternoon, they were done.

  Runa wiped sweat from her brow, then took another swipe to try to clear off some of the accumulated dust and splinters. Not particularly successful, but at least she moved the grime around.

  “Are we done?” She stared across the fields, the farmers with their scythes resting against the ground, the air filling with laughter. “Is that it?”

  “There’s still those last little strips in each field.” Severine was flushed with effort, and Runa looked at her instead of the fields. “Nobody said what that’s about, yet.”

  “Suspicious, isn’t it?”

  Severine shot her a surprised glance. “Suspicious? Runa, when have you been suspicious of anything or anyone?”

  “Like what? Strange women appearing in my cellar with a bag full of swords? Friendly villagers offering me a job when I appear out of nowhere during a blizzard?” She rubbed a tight muscle in her neck. “They could have done with being a bit more suspicious of me. Perhaps it’s catching.”

  “They needed someone they could fob the volcano sprite off on.”

  Runa shook her head. Her gaze was caught by movement at the edges of the crowd: Ninnius and Anklopher had been corralled into joining the day’s work, and were looking more travel-worn than they’d been in over a month of actual travel.

  She rolled her shoulders back, working out the knots.

  What she really needed was a bath. Not a dip in the pond or a bucket wash in the back room, but a plunge into hot water to ease all the accumulated knots and twinges in her body.

  There were some places in the Cauldron like that. Pools of naturally hot water. Untrustworthy, though—you’d go from pleasantly warm to baked alive in seconds if you weren’t careful. Or eaten by one of the big blobby things that lived in them.

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  Her father’s lands had hot pools, too. Marginally less deadly ones. And her mother was always good at whipping up a geothermic treat.

  Maybe Junilla would be willing to let Runa soak for a bit in the tub at the tavern. A full-size tub for a human wasn’t the same as full-size for a troll, even a part-troll, but it would be better than a bucket and a damp cloth.

  Maybe she could get a tub for the bakery. One that she would fit in. It would take a lot of fuel to heat that much water, but she had a shortcut for that: the lightstick. She used it more as a firestarter these days than a torch anyway. From lightstick to firelighter to bath warmer … it wasn’t a particularly noble progression.

  But look at her. Daughter of a nymph who was queen and creator of her own series of atolls, and a troll who sang light from the sky and dragons from the moon. And now a baker, dreaming of a bath.

  Something whispered in the back of her mind.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Runa blinked as Severine’s words pulled her from her thoughts. “A bath,” she said, because that was what she’d been thinking about, wasn’t it?”

  “Gods, I’d love a bath.” Severine stretched with a sigh. “A bath for two, even. Do you think they make them that big in this part of the world?”

  “In Pothollow? If they do, they’re doing a good job keeping them hidden.” Runa was only barely paying attention to the conversation. Her attention drifted outwards, over the cheerful crowd.

  People were still laughing and joking, but there was a strange tension in the air. Not fear, but anticipation, tight as a bowstring.

  “Something’s up,” she said quietly.

  “Hm? Oh,” Severine pointed. “What’s that?”

  Shadows were gathering one side of the farthest field. A tall figure—not as tall as Runa, but tall for a human—stood in the heart of them, wearing the darkness like a cloak.

  Magic ghosted over her skin.

  “What—” Severine began.

  “Get behind me.”

  She barely registered Severine’s shocked hiss of breath as she saw the shadowy figure. Her attention was all for the threat, the landscape, the friends and neighbors dotted around the field—some far enough from the figure to be safe, others who might be if they ran, some far too near unless they moved now but if she warned them, the figure might attack—

  Unless she got there first. She was already moving, great loping strides that ate up the ground beneath her and took her on a curving approach to the figure. It hadn’t seen her yet—or she thought it hadn’t. It didn’t seem to be looking at her. If she got close enough, with Bloodburster in her hand—

  Not Bloodburster. The thought tugged at her mind, so sudden it scarcely seemed to be her own. Not Bloodburster. Some other weapon. There were enough knives and scythes here, if she could arm herself with one of them.

  “Runa!”

  Someone grabbed her arm. She froze as the shadowy figure’s head turned towards her. “Junilla?”