Shadows and Light

sing?
    “Aiden,” Lyrra said softly. “Let’s go into the tavern. Now.”
    There was something wrong in the tone of her voice that pulled his focus away from music. He saw the men who had been on the street slowly walking toward them, a grim expression on every face.
    Trying to look relaxed, he loosely tied Minstrel’s reins and the packhorse’s lead to a post outside the tavern. As soon as Lyrra tied her horse, he took her hand and walked into the tavern with her.
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
    “It wasn’t you,” Lyrra said just as softly.
    Aiden smiled at the aproned man who came to greet them—or, perhaps, block them from entering farther into the room.
    “What’s your business?” the man growled.
    “A midday meal, if you’re serving,” Aiden said politely. “My lady is faint with hunger and could use a good meal.”
    “Aiden,” Lyrra whispered, sounding embarrassed. She smiled weakly when the man stared at her, studying her face.

    “We’ve beef stew today,” the man finally said. “It’s hearty. Sit yourselves down. I’ll fetch it.”
    “Thank you,” Aiden said, leading Lyrra to a table close to the door. The men on the street were drifting into the tavern. If he and Lyrra had to try to run for it, he didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of the room.
    The tavern owner returned with a large tray. He set down two bowls of stew, a small plate that held hunks of yellow cheese, and two plates that held thick slices of brown bread that were still warm enough to have the curls of butter melting into them. Last, he set down a small tankard of ale for Aiden and a cup of cider for Lyrra.
    Lyrra quickly spread the butter over the bread and took a bite. “Mmmm.” She chewed slowly. Then she gave the tavern owner a bright smile. “Oh. This is wonderful.”
    The man’s hard expression softened a little. “My wife will be pleased to hear it. She bakes the bread herself.”
    Wondering if Lyrra was going queer on him or if she really was desperately hungry, Aiden spread the butter on his own piece of bread and took a bite.
    Mother’s mercy, it was wonderful.
    Lyrra dug into her stew, gave the spoonful several quick little puffs of breath to cool it, then took the first bite with unfeigned relish.
    “You could write a song about this bread,” she said. She broke off a piece of cheese, then looked up at the tavern owner, who was still standing near the table watching them. “Aiden is the Bard. I’m the Muse.
    A poem might do for the bread, but a song would be better. What do you think?” she asked, turning to Aiden.
    She’d gone queer on him, that’s what he thought. Maybe she was pregnant. Women could go a bit strange during that time.
    Then he looked into her eyes and realized she’d been trying to send him signals—the same kind of subtle signals they used when they performed together. He’d missed them and didn’t have a clue what she was trying to tell him. Worse, her telling these men who they were hadn’t eased the tension in the room. If anything, the hostility had increased.
    “What would bring the Bard and the Muse to our little village?” one of the men standing near the bar asked.
    There was nothing friendly about the question, and the tavern owner continued to stand near their table, watching them instead of serving drinks and food to the other people in the room.
    To give himself time, Aiden took a spoonful of stew and chewed slowly. “We’re just passing through.”
    “Not many people pass through this way,” the tavern owner said. ‘Traveling the main road is easier.“
    “This road headed northwest, so we took the chance that it would join with the road to Breton.”
    “You’ve business with the baron there?” the man at the bar asked.
    Aiden suppressed a sigh. Why couldn’t these men just let them eat in peace and leave? “Actually, we’re headed for Bretonwood to talk to Lady Ashk.”

    A stillness filled the room. Then, as if a held breath was slowly released, some of the tension in the room eased.
    “You keep heading up this road, it’ll take you in the right direction to reach Breton—and Bretonwood,”
    the tavern owner said. He turned away then, going back to his place behind the bar.
    Lyrra let out a quiet, shuddering sigh.
    Aiden saw the slight tremor in her hand when she lifted the next spoonful of stew. His belly was knotted with tension, so he ate slowly, resentful that neither of them could enjoy a good meal. And, he thought