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“Who is this Misha you speak of?” the thin-faced man asked.

“The usual server,” the local man answered. “You would like her, Marv. She is pretty, sassy, and always good for a chat and a laugh.” As they continued to discuss Misha’s supposed virtues, Yurtin held himself aloof. Leaning back in his chair, he eyed the kitchen door as though watching for Rue.

Rue soon appeared through the door, laden down with a tray full of cider mugs. Behind her, Misha followed, expression turning sullen as the pair of them wound their way through the tables toward the large party of diners.

“Misha!” The local man stood up and spread his arms wide. “I told the men about you, and they all want to meet my favorite tavern maid.”

“Little me?” Misha blushed and grinned. “Surely you couldn’t have come all this way just to see me.” Balancing her tray in one hand, she passed out mugs of cider. Flashing an extra brilliant grin at Yurtin, she commented, “You didn’t tell me you had such handsome friends, Kline.” She winked at Yurtin as she handed him his mug.

As they fell fluidly into a flirtatious dialogue, Rue moved around the far side of the table, serving the men farthest from the pair.

Despite his flirtation with Misha, Yurtin kept glancing Rue’s way. Although that was concerning enough, what I found even more disturbing was that each time he did, Rue flinched. Even when her back was turned, when his gaze fell on her, her shoulders hunched until he looked away.

The women withdrew, Misha to check on the other occupied tables, and Rue to return to her table scrubbing. Most of the men resumed their conversations about the festival. Only Yurtin didn’t contribute or even bother to appear interested. Instead, he focused on Rue. Unease growing in my gut, I finished my cider in watchful silence.

When the group finally left, Yurtin lingered behind the rest, openly watching Rue.

Misha noticed and bumped Rue with her hip. Saying something lost to the general noise, she jutted her chin over her shoulder in Yurtin’s direction.

Rue shook her head and kept her back to him. Taking that as a clear indication of her wishes on the subject, I rose from my chair and approached the man, waiting until I was right next to him to speak.

“Your business is complete. Time to leave.”

Startling, Yurtin jumped and swung around to face me. I took a small measure of pleasure in his discomfort. About time the roles were reversed. He had been making Rue uncomfortable for over an hour, and by his expression, he clearly intended to do worse.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded. A handful of inches shorter than me, he had to look up to meet my eyes.

Staring down at him, I moved my hand to the hilt of the knife on my belt. “You have paid your bill, correct?”

“Yes.” He glanced at my hand.

“Then it is time for you to leave.” I stepped to the side and motioned to the door, encouraging his slow mind to make the connection.

“But—”

“She clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, Yurtin. Go and seek out other company.”

Puffing up like an offended kitten, he thrust out his chest. “Now, see here—”

The door burst open and the red-haired man thrust his head through. Surveying the room, he spotted Yurtin. “There you are. Malick challenged Torentin to a duel. You aren’t going to want to miss this. The odds are already twenty to three.”

With one last glance in Rue’s direction, Yurtin turned toward the door. “I will be back later,” he promised the room at large.

Behind me, Misha lectured Rue. “If you don’t encourage a man, you will never escape that awful place.”

“Some men are more dangerous than living at the foundling home,” Rue responded.

“I don’t know. Yurtin looked like he might be fun. At the very least, he clearly has money, which is something you lack.”

“Fun like the black eye that Sal gave you last spring?” Rue asked.

“Don’t use my poor relationships against me.” Misha grabbed a tray and turned to approach the dirty tables.

I returned to my usual place. More patrons appeared, and the rhythm of the tavern returned to normal.

After the evening meal rush, when the common room had settled into a quiet lull before the last patrons appeared before closing, Rue approached silently and placed my dinner before me. The plate overflowed with a double portion of cottage pie and a steaming half loaf of bread, more than twice my portion.

“Does Hobb know you are giving me so much?” I studied her across the table. Her dark hair escaped her braids, twice the usual number of loose curls dangling around her bent face, obscuring from view.