Page 6 of Greed of Giants

I collapsed onto a stool, my bag thudding to the floor.My stomach growled while Yonnie moved behind the counter with practiced grace. She pulled down two mugs of hammered copper, old and dented, pouring generous servings of honey-colored liquid. “First drink’s on the house, so’s the food. You’re practically swaying on your feet.”

“Thank you,” I said politely, hands wrapped around the mug.

“We make the mead here. The soil is rich for growing fruit, and honey is the sweetest this side of the mountain.”

She paused, watching me carefully as I took a sip. Flavors lingered on my tongue: honey and wildflowers, with a dark undertone of something oak and earthy. It warmed me from the inside, loosening the knot in my chest that had been there since the beating. “This is delicious,” I breathed. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

Yonnie winked. “I know. We send crates of it to the city, but there’s nothing like getting it fresh. Something about the mountain air improves everything.”

She swung into the kitchen, and a moment later, set down a plate. Fresh bread steamed, its crust cracked and golden. Beside it lay a wedge of sharp cheese, dried meat, and sliced apples. My stomach growled, and memories of home returned. The scent of yeast always reminded me of Mother kneading dough and working with cheeses, vegetables, cinnamon, or sugar. She wasn’t a baker, but those who knew her always came to trade: fresh milk for a loaf of bread, a round of cheese, wool, cloth, and that other, more mysterious item she tried to hide from me. Eventually, I discovered what she did in secret when she hoped noone was watching. I knew what it was like to seek a substance to either numb feeling or heighten emotions.

Now I forgot about bruised ribs and the judgment of the scholars, and relaxed for the first time since the scandal. I ate and drank, the honey mead dulled my discomfort while the salt of the meal cut through the sharpness of the cheese, balanced by the warm bread and sweetness of fruit.

Yonnie sat down at the corner of the bar and took a long drink from the second mug she’d poured. She watched the room, keeping an eye on the patrons, attentive to any potential needs.

“What do you know about the ruins?” I asked around a mouthful of bread.

The temperature in the room dropped, a fork clattered loudly, and I sensed eyes watching me, ears straining to hear our conversation.

“What doyouknow about the ruins?” Yonnie’s eyes dropped to her mug.

I shrugged. “The ancient city used to belong to the giants, but there were tales of their brutality and violence, or so the scholars taught us. One day fire came from the heavens and destroyed them, leaving behind the ruins. Everything burned except the stones with runes burned into them that none could read. Many have studied them, but the House of Scholars sent me to record the runes for the official records.”

Yonnie set down her mug, and for the first time, the twinkle in her eye faded into something serious. “There you have it. That just about sums up the tale.”

“Wait.” I touched her arm. “That's just a story, but itcan't be the whole of it. You live right here, so close to it, surely you have your own tales.”

She stood and turned away, busying herself wiping down the already pristine counter. “We stay away from the ruins. You’ll want to speak to Harlan. He’s the only one who goes there. He’ll take you across. Tomorrow.”

“How far away is the island?” I asked, wondering how to get answers without her shutting me out completely.

“About two miles offshore. You can see it when the mist clears, but it doesn’t clear often. Your hut’s out there too, they sent word ahead. Supplies, firewood, everything you’ll need for your stay.”

I sensed the conversation had ended, yet my heart thudded behind my ribs. Curious. No, more than that. She was frightened, I was sure of it, and a glance around the tavern told me the others were wary too.

I turned back to her. “Any chance of a bath?”

3

Ilaris

Music woke me. The sound of wind moving through rocks, or breath through wood. It stirred a strange yearning, and I woke with wet eyes, a longing thick in my blood.

Last night, after a hot bath and multiple mugs of mead, I’d fallen into bed, feeling as though I were floating on air. I hadn’t slept so well in weeks.

Now I dressed slowly, and at the last minute, tugged on the armor. It settled cold against my tunic, the weight of it pressing the bruised length of my ribs. It fit me perfectly, even though it had been made for my grandmother. The silver and gold edges shone in the light, and the metalwork braided around the edges looked like lace. It was armor meant for ceremony, not for battle, and certainly not for a stroll around the ruins. Yet I felt safer in it, my ribs secured against whatever might come.

I shouldered my bag and went downstairs. The tavernwas quiet in the morning, and I helped myself to a biscuit and an apple, leaving a few bronze coins behind as payment. As I let myself out into the damp air, a golden shimmer winked around me before fading into the mist. A man leaned against the tavern wall, playing a flute. He paused when he saw me, then held up a bony finger for me to wait while he finished his ditty.

I studied him while he played. Neat brown hair tied at his back, mostly hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, tilted back to reveal his weathered face, sunken eyes, and a dusting of white hairs across his chin. He was shorter than me, loose clothing hanging off his wiry frame. I guessed him to be twenty years my senior.

At last he took the flute from his lips and tucked it into his bag. “You must be the scholar?”

He eyed my armor, the question hanging between us. Scholars weren’t supposed to arrive in armor crafted from silver and gold. I supposed people imagined scholars walked around in flowing robes, with ink-stained fingers and scrolls in hand. I adjusted my bag. “Are you my escort to the ruins?”

He touched two fingers to his forehead and settled the hat more firmly on his head. “Harlan, at your service. I’ll take you across.”

I fell in step with him. “So you know about the ruins? Do you visit them often?”