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Her mother glowered at her. “I won’t suffer my daughter to gossip about the people around here, either. You understand me?”
Leyna quickly sobered under the intense look. “Of course, Mama.”
Lorraine nodded. “Youdidsay you were heading toward Märchenfeld, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Just making sure. I’ll let you know what I hear.” She bustled back toward the kitchen.
“No gossip,” Leyna muttered as soon as her mother was gone. “The thing is, I think she might actually believe it.” She leaned across the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. “But I guarantee she and my father started this innbecauseshe loves to gossip, and everyone knows a public house is the best place for it.”
The door opened, bringing with it a crisp breeze and the smell of fresh-baked bread. Leyna perked up, eyes brightening. “And look at that. Here comes the best gossip in town right now. Good morning, Madam Professor!”
A petite woman with fair skin and auburn hair paused a few feet past the door. “Oh, Leyna, when are you going to start calling me Frieda?” She hoisted a basket up higher on her hip. “Is your ma around?”
“She’s just gone to the back,” said Leyna. “She’ll be right back.”
As if on cue, Lorraine reappeared behind the bar, already beaming.
“Watch this,” Leyna whispered, and it took Serilda a moment to realize she was talking to her.
“Frieda! What good timing,” said Lorraine, strangely breathless, when she’d seemed fine a moment ago.
“Is it?” said Frieda, setting the basket down on the bar.
“We have a guest from out of town who is interested in the history of Adalheid and its castle,” said Lorraine, gesturing toward Serilda.
“Oh! Well. Perhaps I can … um.” Frieda glanced from Serilda to her basket. Back to Serilda. Back to the basket. Up to Lorraine. She seemed flustered, her cheeks pinkening, before she gave herself a little shake and lifted a napkin from the basket. “First, I … I brought some cinnamon-pear cakes for you and Leyna.” She pulled out two small cakes wrapped in cloth. “I know they’re your favorites this time of year. And I received a delivery from Vinter-Cort yesterday.” She started pulling leather-bound books from the basket. “Two new volumes of poetry, a translation of folktales from Ottelien … the history of various trade routes, an updated bestiary, the theology of Freydon—oh! Look how lovely this is.” She produced a codex with thick vellum pages. “The Tales of Orlantha, an epic adventure written in verse hundreds of years ago. I’m told there are sea monsters and battles and romance and”—she paused to visibly temper her enthusiasm—“I’ve been wanting to read it since I was a little girl. But … I thought I would let you choose first? If there’s something you wanted to borrow?”
“I’m still reading the book you brought last week!” said Lorraine, though she did pick up one of the volumes of poetry and flip through it. “But I’ll come to the library to choose something new as soon as I’m finished with it.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Very much so.”
Their eyes met, both filled with mutual smiles.
Leyna shot Serilda a knowing look.
“Good. Wonderful,” said Frieda, starting to pack the books back into the basket. “I hope to see you at the library soon, then.”
“You will. You’re a gift to Adalheid, Frieda.”
Frieda’s cheeks went scarlet. “I’m sure you say that to everyone, Madam Mayor.”
“No,” piped up Leyna. “She really doesn’t.”
Lorraine shot her an annoyed look.
Clearing her throat, Frieda returned the napkin to the top of the basket and backed away from the bar. She turned to Serilda, a bit of a bounce in her step. “You’re interested in learning more about Adalheid?”
“Before you get her to talking,” interrupted Lorraine, “I’ll warn you, I’ve heard that Roland will be waiting for you at the south gate in twenty minutes’ time.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Serilda. She shot an apologetic look to Frieda. “You must be the town librarian?”
“That’s me. Oh! I know just the thing. I’ll be right back.”
Without an explanation, Frieda bustled out of the public house.
