Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel by Patricia Collins Wrede Read Free Book Online

the hearth. For a few minutes she concentrated on arranging the firewood to make a place for the tinder, giving her emotions time to subside.
    When she was sure her voice would remain steady, she said, “Is there anything else the gentlefolk will require? Something for the sick boy, perhaps?”
    “No, not now,” the black-haired woman said from the bedside. “Possibly later.”
    Ranira nodded and bent to strike sparks from the flints. “It is well that this is a corner room,” she said impulsively. “Its closet will keep the conversation in the next room from disturbing your friend, and on the other side is only the stairway and the hall. During the Festival, sometimes a few of our patrons celebrate overmuch and you can hear them shouting all over the inn, the walls are so thin. But you will be gone by then, of course. Still, if you find the noise disturbing while you are here, you have only to mention it. I am sure Innkeeper Lykken can arrange things to suit you.”
    A startled silence followed. Ranira smiled behind her veil. Let them wonder whether she had overheard or not! She leaned forward and fanned the flames with her hands. Slowly the wood caught. When she was certain the fire would not go out accidentally, Ranira turned back toward the center of the room.
    Jaren was still watching her, a slight smile on his face. Ranira sketched a bow toward him and repeated her question. “Is there anything else I can do?”
    “Not now,” Jaren said. “But we will think over your suggestions—carefully.”
    Ranira bowed again and slipped from the room, her head whirling. As she descended the stairs, she found herself trying to puzzle out what could have brought the strangers to Drinn, and why they intended to stay through the Midwinter Festival. It occurred to her that her oblique warning might not have been such a good idea as it had seemed at the time. Thoughtfully, she headed away from the kitchen, keeping a sharp watch for Lykken as she went.
    Lykken was in an excellent mood when Ranira finally decided to return to the kitchen. The dining hall was crowded, and as the Festival did not officially begin until the next morning, everyone was a paying customer. Nothing improved Lykken’s disposition like a large profit. The innkeeper didn’t even notice when Ranira slipped in, and by the time he looked in her direction she was busily scrubbing an enormous iron kettle, trying to look as if she had been occupied with that task for some time.
    For several hours, Ranira was too busy to pay much attention to the innkeeper except when his voice shouted some new job for her to attend to. Being spared the task of serving the raucous crowd outside made her too grateful to object to the pace of the work in the kitchen. She hated waiting on drunken patrons, who were usually eager to snatch at her veil or try to unfasten the ties of her tunic. So far, Lykken had prevented any more than these small humiliations but Ranira was under no illusion as to his motives: A virgin’s bond was worth more than that of a woman who had been “used.”
    As the hours passed into evening, Lykken’s temper began to worsen. Ranira watched in private amusement. The innkeeper’s frequent glances toward the stairs made it clear what was on his mind. The gates of Drinn would soon be closed for the night, and his unexpected guests must be gone by then. The strangers did not appear, however, and time continued to slip by. Ranira knew Lykken was trying to decide whether he should risk his fat fee by disturbing them, or whether he should wait a few minutes longer.
    The innkeeper had been driven nearly to distraction by the time Jaren finally sauntered into the kitchen and motioned to him. Marveling at the exactness of Jaren’s timing, Ranira set down the tray she was holding and slipped behind a rack of pots near where the man stood. She was just in time; Lykken came hurrying up at once.
    “Sir, it grieves me that you and your friends must leave so