Something in the air felt almost like a harvest celebration. Although Magiere could not take part, an expected-but not entirely unwanted-feeling of satisfaction began pushing away the guilt and horror she'd experienced earlier when Geoffry and Aria tried to pay her. Miiska was her home now. Intentionally or not, she and Leesil had actually done something to protect it.
This thought forced her gaze from the ale cask to the only person in the room not celebrating: Brenden.
He'd stayed all day on the pretense of helping get the tavern set up, but she had a feeling he simply didn't want to go home. Now he sat alone, drinking, occasionally smiling and nodding when someone else spoke to him. But the moment he was left in solitude again, she saw a deep sadness settle back over him. He was clean now, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and brown breeches. Without his blacksmith's leather, he looked more vulnerable somehow. Magiere wanted to comfort him, but she didn't know how.
She herself was wearing the tight-laced, dark blue dress Aunt Bieja had given her so many years ago. As Leesil had pointed out that morning, her usual clothes were ruined beyond repair. She ordered a new set from Baltzar, a local tailor, but for now, the dress would have to do. Besides, the sight of it made Leesil smile. She owed him that much at least, and tried to return his pleased glances. Still, when she looked at him, the half-memory of his pale skin and bleeding arm would rush back to her.
The door opened again. Karlin the baker, Geoffry, and Aria all swept in with a chorus of "hellos" and laughter. Both young people went to watch the faro table, and Karlin practically danced over to the bar.
"You look lovely," he said, smiling.
"So do you," she joked.
"Pour me an enormous tankard of ale. I rarely drink, but tonight is different."
"And why is that?" she asked, wondering if she wanted to broach the subject at all.
"You know good and well. Our town is safe. The streets are safe. Our children are safe. I think I'll drink till dawn."
Much as Magiere's thoughts still wandered to dark places, the jolly baker's mood was infectious.
"I'm going to need a steady supply of bread if you can manage," she said. "At least for a while."
He nodded, his plump face glowing.
"I have a better idea. Aria's father is the local cobbler. He does a good business, but there are five children in the family, and they can only assist him so much. The girl's a fine cook. I thought you might want to employ her now that… well, now that Beth-rae is gone."
Magiere realized that one of the things she liked about Karlin was his ability to discuss the truth without ever seeming crude or unfeeling.
"Is she interested?"
"Yes, we spoke of such an arrangement on the way over."
Magiere nodded. "I'll speak with her later." She paused and tried to seem lighthearted. "Why don't you go visit with Brenden? I see he's sitting alone."
Karlin picked up his tankard. "I'll just do that."
And so the night went on.
The townsfolk of Miiska stayed late. Magiere had not spoken to Caleb of any matters beyond business. She felt shame that Beth-rae's body had been taken from the kitchen and buried at some point during the past two days, but she didn't know where or when. She would have to ask later, when a proper moment allowed. She would take Leesil, and they would pay their final respects. He needed to do this as much or more than she did. And she would see to it that flowers were placed regularly at the grave.
Little Rose was sitting by Chap near the fire. She appeared wide awake, wearing her usual muslin dress. Her long, blond curls hung in an uncombed mess. Magiere didn't have the heart to send her up to bed.
Sometime, past the heart of the night, when only a few patrons remained, Leesil stood up and announced it was time to close. His actions surprised her slightly, but she agreed and helped him to good-naturedly usher the last celebrators out-all except Brenden.
"What a night," the half-elf exclaimed as he closed the door. "I'm ready to drop."
The huge common room felt empty and too quiet now. Magiere heard the fire crackling, and she turned to see Rose lying asleep on the braid rug beside Chap, the dog with his nose pushed warmly into the back of the child's neck. She almost went to wake her, then thought better of it. Let the child rest there. Leesil could carry her upstairs later.
Brenden got to his feet. "Well, I should be going, too. You all need your sleep."
"I'll walk you home," Leesil said. "Just let me put the cards away. You should see the profits, Magiere. Everyone was in such a good mood that I fleeced them a little."
"I thought you were tired," Brenden said. "You don't need to walk with me."
"The air will do me good. It's a bit stuffy in here."
Magiere knew Leesil too well to believe he wanted some night air. He must have been watching Brenden's mood as well.
"You both go on," she said. "We'll clean up in the morning."
Brenden looked at her helplessly, as if he wanted to say something, but then he turned and stepped out the door.
As Leesil followed the blacksmith, he paused at the door. "I won't be long," he said.
Magiere merely nodded, and closed the door. Then she was alone with Caleb.
She found the old man in the kitchen, quietly washing the stew pot.
"Just leave that," she said. "Should I carry Rose up for you?"
"No, Miss," he responded. His expression was always so calm and composed. "I can bring her. You should get some rest."
"Are you all right?" she asked, with an unusual desire for a real answer.
"I will be," he said. "You know most of the townsfolk are grateful, don't you? No matter what the cost."
"Yes, grateful," she repeated. "The desperate are always grateful."
He looked at her quizzically, but did not speak.
"How many people knew, really knew their town was a home for a band of undeads?" she asked him. "And how did they know? How did you know?"
Again, he seemed further puzzled by her words. "People don't simply disappear without a trace in a town the size of Miiska, especially people like my daughter and Master Dunction. Before you came, a body with holes in the neck or throat would be found now and then. It didn't happen often. Sometimes a season or two would pass between such happenings. But word traveled quickly. I think most of the townsfolk believed something unnatural plagued us. Wasn't that the way with most villages you served in the past?"
The clean lines of his aging, questioning face pulled at her heart. She'd never had a father to speak with, and a desire to tell Caleb everything suddenly gripped her. But she knew doing so would only hurt him further. His wife was dead, and he believed her sacrifice had been made to help the great "hunter of the undead." He needed to believe that Beth-rae's life was worthy of sacrifice for the freedom of Miiska, so that no one else had to endure the disappearance of a daughter or the loss of a spouse. Magiere would not be so selfish as to destroy his illusion in order to ease her own conscience.
"Yes," she said. "But for me, this is over, Caleb. I just want to run the tavern with you and Leesil now."
A mild gust of air hit them both as the kitchen door banged open against the wall.
"Over?" a near-angry voice said from the doorway. "And why exactly do you think that?"
Welstiel stepped in like some lord invading a peasant's home on his lands. Dressed and groomed, as always, his striking countenance was concerned, almost agitated.
"Caleb," Magiere said. "You take Rose and go upstairs."
The old man hesitated, but then he left the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded of her new visitor.