Molly took the news in stride.

  "Safe, you say?" She stood in the inn's doorway, arms crossed, looking Leon up and down.

  "The dungeon is sealed by a Grand Magister," Leon said.

  She studied him, then nodded once. "Good. Then we need a party." She turned, already barking at her granddaughter. "Elara! Get your father and the Fletcher boys. We're setting up in the square. Tables, benches, everything we've got. And someone tell Old Baern to break out the good ale, not that watered-down slop he serves on market days."

  "Grandmother, that's—"

  "Now, girl!"

  Elara fled. Molly strode after her.

  Leon blinked. "I expected an interrogation."

  "She likes you." John grinned.

  The square erupted into chaos. Dozens of people moved with purpose. Molly stood at the center of it all, directing traffic with sharp words and sharper glances.

  Long tables appeared from barns and back rooms, benches lined up in rows. Lanterns were strung between posts, their light warm and golden as the sun began to set. Someone cleared a space in the center for dancing, and an old platform got dragged out to serve as a stage.

  The smell of cooking food filled the air.

  The villagers arrived in their best clothes. Farmers fresh from fields, guards still half in armor, craftsmen with sleeves rolled up and faces already flushed from ale. Children darted everywhere, shrieking, chasing each other between tables and scattering whenever Molly barked a direction.

  They brought platters of roast meat, baskets of fruit, loaves of steaming bread. Someone produced a fiddle, another a drum, and an older man with a beard like snow began tuning a battered lute.

  The griffins had their own feast at the edge of the square. Whole sides of beef, pork, and baskets of fish. They tore into it with gusto, feathers ruffling and beaks snapping, letting out pleased chirps between bites.

  As darkness fell, the lanterns glowed brighter. The first notes of music drifted across the square, a jaunty tune that had feet tapping.

  "This is nice," John said quietly.

  Beside him, Lia nodded. "It is."

  John filled his plate twice and still couldn't sample everything. Roasted meat that fell apart at the touch, bread with butter that melted like sugar. Pies and tarts and pastries that made his previous life's desserts seem like cardboard by comparison.

  Leon appeared beside them with his own plate, settling onto the bench. He surveyed the spread, then reached across the table without warning and plucked a berry pie directly from Lia's plate.

  "Hey!" Lia's hand shot out too late, fingers closing on empty air.

  Leon took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "This is excellent."

  "That was mine!"

  "Was." Leon took another bite.

  Lia swiped at his arm, missing by inches. "You're impossible."

  "I'm efficient." Leon finished the pie and set the empty plate between them like a trophy. "There's more on the table."

  And it was endless.

  Roasted potatoes, spiced pork, and bread warm enough to steam in the cool night air. Villagers came by to offer thanks or shy compliments. One little boy handed Lia a wildflower crown and then ran off before she could respond. She smiled, genuinely, as she set it on her head.

  Lia spotted Garren at the edge of the crowd. She gathered a small plate and wandered over.

  As she handed it to him, a group of laughing children tore past. One of them snatched the bread and sprinted away. Lia gasped and took off after them.

  "Halt, thief!" Her dignified facade cracked as she hitched up her skirts and weaved between tables.

  Leon settled back against the bench, watching with a smile. After a moment, he reached into his storage ring and produced a small flask. Even capped, faint purple wisps curled from the seal like smoke trying to escape.

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  Leon uncorked it and took a drink. He exhaled slowly, looking more relaxed than John had ever seen him, and took another pull.

  John finished his plate and stood, stretching. He grabbed two foaming mugs of ale from a table and headed toward where Garren stood alone at the edge of the square.

  "Do you never rest?"

  He accepted one with a nod. "It's my job not to."

  "You do it well. At the gate. You gave me the opening I needed."

  Garren's expression didn't change much, but his voice softened. "She wouldn't flee. My lady would be dead if you hadn't killed the Mother." He paused. "I don't forget debts like that."

  Before John could respond, one of the village guards approached with a question about parrying techniques. Garren moved off to demonstrate, drawing a practice blade from his belt as a small crowd gathered.

  John turned to see Erin sitting on a bench, surrounded by children. A dozen at least, all of them begging for stories about Frostfeather. She bore it with surprising patience, occasionally gesturing as she described aerial dives and near misses. Frostfeather, lying behind her now, made expressive noises at all the right parts. The kids gasped and giggled, utterly enchanted.

  The music picked up. Fiddles and drums joined in harmony. The melody became something wild and rhythmic, made for stomping boots and clapping hands. People began to dance. Laughter rose with the tempo.

  Molly's granddaughter, Elara, appeared in front of Leon.

  "Dance with me," she said.

  Leon blinked. "I—"

  "You saved my village. You can dance with me." She grabbed his hand. "Now."

  Leon looked to Lia for help. Lia just grinned. "He'd be delighted to."

  Elara dragged him to the dance floor. Leon moved stiffly at first, but the girl was relentless. By the second dance, he'd relaxed enough to actually smile.

  John noticed Lia watching them, her foot tapping to the rhythm. She looked like she wanted to join.

  He glanced around. Several young men stood at the edges of the dancing area, stealing glances at her.

  Right. She was Lady Lia Valebrant.

  Who would dare?

  He timed it perfectly. Stepped close just as the circle of dancers swung past and pushed her forward. Lia stumbled into the pattern, immediately swept into the rhythm by two villagers who pulled her along. She spun once, startled, then again, laughing openly this time, the sound bright and clear above the music.

  Before he could retreat, an older woman caught him by the arms with a grin. "You too!" she declared.

  The dance floor was chaos in the best way. Couples spinning, children weaving between legs, old folks clapping from the sidelines. John had no idea what he was doing, but they guided him through the steps, laughed when he stumbled, encouraged him when he got it right.

  By the time he finally escaped the dance floor, his legs were burning and his throat was parched. He made his way toward the ale barrels, weaving through clusters of celebrating villagers, accepting pats on the back and called thanks as he went.

  "Wasted my damn time, you know."

  John turned to find the red-haired adventurer captain from the search party. The one who'd led the group while John had gone toward the actual dungeon. His name was... Brennan? Something like that.

  "Sorry?"

  "My whole team." Brennan gestured broadly, slightly unsteady on his feet. "Spent two days combing through fields and forests. Found nothing. Not a single monster. Not even a bloody rabbit warren." He pointed at John. "Because you already knew exactly where it was."

  "I mean, I—"

  "Could've saved us a lot of riding." Brennan's stern expression cracked into a grin. "But I suppose you also saved lives. So I'll forgive you. This time." He shook John's hand hard. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if that big bastard over there can actually drink as much as he claims."

  He weaved off toward Marcus's table, already calling out a challenge.

  Marcus had claimed a table near the ale barrels and was locked in a drinking competition with two of the village's largest farmers. Tankards clashed. A crowd cheered.

  An adventurer approached Erin nearby. Young, nervous, with the kind of earnest expression that screamed bad decision. He cleared his throat.

  "Excuse me, Lady Erin, I was wondering if you might—"

  Frostfeather's head snapped up. The griffin fixed him with an unblinking stare, pupils contracting to pinpoints. A low rumble came from deep in her chest.

  The children around Erin gasped. One little girl grabbed her friend's arm. "She's gonna eat him!" she whispered, half-terrified, half-delighted.

  "Do it! Do it!" a boy chanted quietly, bouncing on his toes.

  The adventurer went pale. "Never mind!"

  He fled.

  The children erupted into giggles.

  Erin sighed. "Every time."

  "Can Frostfeather really eat people?" the little girl asked, eyes wide.

  "Only if they're very rude," Erin said, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling. The children gasped again, delighted by the answer.

  Her gaze drifted to where Marcus was arm-wrestling Brennan, both men laughing and shouting. Her expression shifted for just a moment before she turned back to the children.

  "Tell us another story!" the boy demanded, tugging on her sleeve.

  She smiled and launched into another tale about a storm they'd flown through. The kids settled around her again, captivated.

  John watched her go back to storytelling, then noticed Marcus glance up, tracking her movements before Brennan slammed his hand down and declared victory.

  Interesting.

  The night air carried the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, woodsmoke and ale. Music drifted through the square, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the happy shrieking of children still running wild despite the late hour.

  This was good. All of it.