Across the kitchen, Barl was leaning heavily against a wooden support beam, staring blankly at a bubbling pot of beef stock. The teenager let out a loud, exaggerated sigh that puffed his cheeks out.
"I'm so bored," Barl complained, dragging a wooden spoon lazily through the broth. "If I have to stare at this soup for another ten minutes, I think my eyes are going to fall out of my head."
Gorn, the massive tavern owner, was currently engaged in his third pass of wiping down the bar counter. He paused, tossing his damp rag over his thick shoulder, and fixed Barl with a heavy scowl.
"If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean, boy," Gorn grunted, his deep voice carrying easily across the empty dining room. "The grease traps under the stove haven't been scrubbed since last week. You want me to fetch you a brush?"
Barl instantly stood up straight, suddenly finding the beef stock incredibly fascinating. "No, boss! I'm stirring! The broth needs constant attention, you said so yourself!"
Rebecca, who was sitting on a stool near the server's station polishing a pile of dull pewter mugs, let out a soft laugh. She shook her head, her vibrant red hair catching the firelight. "Leave him be, Gorn. There hasn't been a new customer in an hour. Even the stray dogs are staying out of this rain."
Gorn looked out the small, smudged front window of the tavern, watching the rain streak down the glass. He let out a heavy sigh, running a massive hand through his greying beard. He was a businessman, and a slow day meant less coin in the register, but he also possessed a surprisingly soft heart when it came to his staff.
"Right, that settles it," Gorn declared, turning his back on the window. He walked over to the cash box, pulled out a few silver coins, and slapped them down on the counter. "I'm calling it. The evening rush isn't going to happen with this mud outside. Rebecca, Lencar, grab your daily wages. You're going home early today."
Lencar paused his chopping, setting the knife down and wiping his hands on his apron. "Are you sure, Gorn? I can stay and prep the root vegetables for tomorrow's stew."
"And let them sit in the cold pantry all night losing their crispness? Absolutely not," Gorn waved him off aggressively. "Get out of my kitchen. Go spend some time with those little monsters of yours. Barl and I can finish wiping down the front and lock up."
"Wait, I have to stay?!" Barl whined, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"You're the apprentice," Gorn shot back with a wicked grin. "Suffering builds character. Now fetch the mop."
Rebecca was already unfastening her serving apron, a bright, relieved smile on her face. "Thank you, Gorn. Truly. The kids have been cooped up all day because of the weather, they'll be thrilled to have us back before dark."
Lencar untied his own apron, hanging it neatly on the wooden peg by the back door. He grabbed his dark traveling cloak and Rebecca's worn woolen one, handing it to her as they moved toward the front of the tavern.
"Have a good evening, boss. Try not to work Barl entirely to death," Lencar called out as he pushed the heavy front door open.
"No promises!" Gorn yelled back, already handing the miserable teenager a bucket of soapy water.
The walk back to the Scarlet household was peaceful. The rain had slowed to a light, misty drizzle that clung to their cloaks. The cobblestone streets of Nairn were slick and shiny, reflecting the dim gray light of the late afternoon. Lencar and Rebecca walked side by side, enjoying the quiet. There was a comfortable, easy silence between them that didn't require constant conversation to fill.
When they reached the familiar wooden structure of the Scarlet house, they could hear the muffled sounds of chaos from the street.
Lencar pushed the door open, and before he could even take his boots off, a small, heavily-freckled blur launched across the room.
"Lencar! Rebecca!" Marco yelled, skidding in his wool socks across the floorboards. "You're home early! Luca wouldn't let me build the pillow fort near the hearth, tell her I'm the designated architect for today!"
Luca poked her head out from behind a large, overturned armchair in the corner. "You were building it too close to the fire, Marco! Rebecca said we can't put blankets near the embers!"
"I agree with the Commander of the Hearth on this one, Marco," Lencar said smoothly, shrugging off his wet cloak and hanging it on the hook. "Safety first when constructing defensive fortifications."
Rebecca moved into the room, scooping up little Pem, who had been sitting on the rug attempting to eat a wooden spoon. "And what have you three been doing all afternoon besides arguing over pillows?"
The rest of the evening settled into a warm, domestic routine. Because they were home early, Rebecca had time to prepare a more elaborate dinner—a thick, hearty chicken and dumpling stew that filled the entire house with the smell of rich broth and herbs. Lencar took over the task of entertaining the kids, completely shedding the quiet, intense demeanor he carried outside the house.
He helped Marco refine the structural integrity of the pillow fort, ensuring it wouldn't collapse on their heads. He listened to Luca explain a very long, very complicated drawing she had made of a horse with wings.
After dinner was cleared and the rain outside began to fall heavier, drumming a steady, comforting rhythm against the wooden roof, the children dragged their blankets to the center of the living room.
"Storytime," Marco demanded, wrapping himself tightly in a quilt. "You promised yesterday, Lencar."
Lencar took his usual seat in the sturdy wooden armchair by the hearth. Rebecca sat on a stool nearby, resting her chin in her hands, looking entirely ready to fall asleep right there.
"A promise is a promise," Lencar agreed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The firelight cast warm, flickering shadows across his face, making him look perfectly ordinary. "Have I ever told you about the King who tried to catch the wind?"
The kids violently shook their heads, their eyes wide with anticipation.
"Well," Lencar began, lowering his voice into a hushed, theatrical whisper. "Long ago, there was a King who lived in a massive stone castle. He had everything a man could want. Gold, food, clothes made of the finest silk. But the King was greedy. He wanted to own everything he saw. One day, a terrible storm blew through his kingdom, tearing the roofs off houses and knocking down his prized apple trees."
Marco gasped quietly, completely hooked.
"The King was furious," Lencar continued, using his hands to gesture grandly. "He demanded his guards arrest the wind. But you can't put handcuffs on the wind, can you?"
"No!" Luca giggled, covering her mouth.
"Exactly. So, the King hired the greatest mages in the land. He told them to build a massive, magical box made of solid iron. When the next storm came, the King stood on the highest tower, opened the box, and commanded the wind to get inside."