“This is nice," Lira said after a few minutes, her hands working the butter into flour with practiced efficiency. "Just us. Before the chaos starts."
"Before the chaos starts," Korl echoed as he passed her the bowl of cinnamon.
Because chaos would start, probably sooner than either of them expected. Lira’s elvish uncle Erindil and his traveling party were still camped behind the tavern, which meant that the morning wouldn’t remain quiet for long. Not only would the elves emerge from their colorful tents to stoke the fire, but the traveling lute player would start to play, and Glen the battle ostrich was sure to emit a screech every now and again.
And somewhere amid the baking and prepping for the late-night festival, Lira had to remember to discuss wedding plans with Korl, though they'd agreed to wait until after the solstice to actually tie the knot. Still, there were decisions to be made. Decisions she’d been putting off.
Lira rolled out her shortbread dough, her hands moving with practiced ease as she considered her procrastination. It was impossible to think of her wedding without thinking of her gran.
Her throat tightened as she thought about all those winter mornings when she'd been young, standing on a stool to reach the counter while her gran guided her hands. But she wasn’t here to guide her any longer, and she wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle.
Lira shook off the sadness that threatened to creep in, remembering how much her gran had loved the Solstice Festival. She’d always made the holiday feel special, full of light and hope and the promise that even the longest night would end.
Now Lira was doing the same for Wayside, carrying on a tradition she hadn't even realized she was mourning until she'd started planning for the festival.
“Are you okay?” Korl asked, his dark eyes warm.
Lira nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Gran loved the solstice. Used to say it was the most magical night of the year."
Korl considered this for a moment before speaking. “She wasn't wrong. There's something about celebrating dark turning to light that makes everything feel possible."
The chai pot bubbled gently on the stove, and Crumpet fluttered from a pot overhead to Lira’s shoulder, chittering softly.
Korl was right. Everything felt possible, including the feeling that her gran wasn’t gone—not really. The woman who’d raised her was still with her in the recipes she’d passed down and the lessons she’d taught. Today, more than on any other day of the year, Lira felt her presence.
She cut the shortbread into neat rectangles and transferred them to a baking sheet. Then she reached for the sugar to dust them, the fine white crystals catching the light like stardust.
"All right," she said, looking at the orc who’d captured her heart with his kindness. "Let's make this a solstice Wayside will never forget."
CHAPTER2
The morning had passed in a flurry of flour and butter and the steady rhythm of baking. Lira had lost count of how many trays she’d pulled from the oven, but the kitchen table was now covered with cooling racks laden with spiced shortbread dusted in powdered sugar, ginger cookies shaped like suns and moons, and mounds of sugared nuts.
Lira wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “I need a break and some air.”
Korl straightened from where he’d been checking the stove temperature. “I should go help Val with the garlands anyway. Tinpin said he’d need our height.”
Lira smiled at him, warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the heat of the kitchen. “I’ll walk out with you.” She pivoted to the flutterstoat perched on the windowsill. “Can you keep an eye on the kitchen for a bit, Crump?”
Crumpet chittered his agreement, whiskers twitching as he nibbled a nut held in both paws.
Lira laughed as she took off her apron and hung it on a hook by the doorway, hoping the creature wouldn’t eat too many nuts before they had the chance to serve them. Korl held open the swinging doors for her, and they walked into the tavern’s great room, which now boasted a crackling fire and Sass bustling around polishing tabletops. Swags of greenery adorned the hearth’s mantle, adding a scent of fir to the air, and wreaths of holly curled around the hurricane candles on the tables.
“We’re going to pop in to the village to see how the festival preparations are going,” Lira called to the dwarf. “And Korl agreed to help stream garlands with Val.”
Sass tried not to visibly perk up at this information, shrugging and flapping a hand at them. “Go on with you, then.”
Lira and Korl exchanged an amused glance as they left the tavern and stepped out into the winter afternoon. She drew in a deep breath of cold air, which was a welcome change after the heat of the kitchen.
But after they’d walked to the end of the lane, Lira had to pause to take it all in. If the village had been lovely in the pre-dawn darkness, it was absolutely magical now.
Silver and gold streamers stretched between buildings like metallic ribbons, catching the diffused sunlight and sending sparkles dancing across the snow-dusted street. Star-shaped lanterns hung from every available hook and nail, and luminaries lined the dirt road, the chandler’s handiwork clear in each paper bag’s sun cutouts. Tinpin and his decorating committee, which was truly just the gnome haberdasher, had truly outdone himself.
“Sweet simmering cauldrons,” Lira breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
Korl grunted in agreement, but Val had already caught his attention by waving at him from across the road. The guardswoman stood beside Tinpin, who appeared to be gesticulating wildly while pointing at a gap between two buildings.
“We need the garlands to swoop! To swoop!” Tin’s voice carried across the square, his pointed cap flopping back and forth as he gestured. “Not droop, swoop! There’s a difference, a very important difference!”
