Brewing Trouble at the Emberwood Inn

The faint creak of the inn's main door was enough to send Meralyth scrambling. She sat up from her makeshift pallet in the corner of the storage room, yanking the threadbare blanket off the floor and shoving it hastily into a crate. The cushions followed, shoved so far back on the shelf that she'd have to fish them out later. She grabbed the rag she'd been using earlier to wipe down the shelves and spun around just as Cassian stepped into the doorway.

Leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed, he raised an eyebrow at her. "Starting the day early, are we?" His voice carried that ever-present thread of amusement, though it was softer than the biting sarcasm he had worn yesterday.

Meralyth clutched the rag like a lifeline and turned back to the shelf, pretending to inspect a nearly empty row of bottles. "Someone has to make sure this place doesn't fall apart before tonight."

"Tonight?" Cassian straightened, his interest clearly piqued. "And what's so special about tonight?"

She glanced over her shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "I'm reopening the tavern. First drinks are on me."

Cassian blinked, his expression somewhere between skepticism and disbelief. "You're reopening tonight?"

"Is there an echo in here?" she shot back, finally turning to face him fully. "Yes, tonight. I don't see the point in waiting."

He stepped further into the room, his green eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't have a cook. You don't have drinks. You don't even have tables that won't collapse under the first person to sit on them."

She huffed, tossing the rag onto the shelf. "Details. I'll figure it out."

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. "And chaos ensues," he said finally, giving her a wry look. "Fine. I'll help—because I'd rather not watch this place burn down on your first night."

Meralyth narrowed her eyes. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Don't thank me yet." He turned toward the door, already walking away. "I'll find Freya. She might not kill me for dragging her back if she hears it's under new management. And I'll see about the drinks."

As he disappeared down the hall, Meralyth let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She didn't know who Freya was, but she hoped she could help. They needed all the help they could get.

She'd meant what she said—she wasn't going to let the state of the inn deter her—but Cassian's dry pragmatism seemed to poke holes in her confidence. Still, she couldn't afford to second-guess herself. Not now.

The Emberwood Inn had been neglected for far too long, and turning it into a functional business in a single day felt like an impossible task.

But impossible tasks had never stopped her before.

She dragged a wooden stool to the center of the front room and climbed onto it, reaching for a cobweb-laden lantern hanging from the low beams. The chain creaked as she jostled it free, a puff of dust escaping into the air. Wrinkling her nose, she carried it to the bar and grabbed the stub of a candle she'd found earlier, securing it inside the lantern's casing.

"Light and atmosphere," she muttered to herself. "It's all about the little details."

Her mother's voice echoed faintly in her memory, a reminder of countless evenings spent tinkering with furniture and rearranging shelves at their old workshop.

If it doesn't look inviting, no one's staying long.

Meralyth glanced around the room. Inviting wasn't exactly the word she'd use to describe the current state of the tavern. Dusty tables, mismatched chairs, and the faint scent of mildew weren't exactly the hallmarks of a warm welcome.

But it was a start.

She returned to the storeroom and dug through the remaining crates. Most of the linens were beyond salvaging, but she found a few cloth napkins with only minor stains and a stack of chipped plates. 

"Rustic charm," she muttered, trying to convince herself that it was better than nothing.

The room was no longer the disaster it had been when she arrived, but there was still work to be done. Meralyth climbed back onto a wobbly stool, broom in hand, and began sweeping cobwebs from the ceiling beams. The faint smell of old wood and dust filled the air as she worked, the bristles catching delicate strands that had likely hung there for years.

She stretched to reach the corners, nearly losing her balance as the stool rocked beneath her. Catching herself, she stepped down with a huff and surveyed the room. The tables were upright, the chairs no longer coated in grime, and the worst of the dust had been banished.

Still, the inn felt too quiet, too empty.

Crossing to the hearth, she knelt and placed a few carefully chosen logs onto the grate. With practiced ease, she struck a flint, coaxing sparks into life until a small flame flickered to life. The fire caught quickly, its warmth spilling into the room.

Meralyth straightened, brushing soot from her hands as the soft crackle of burning wood filled the space. The firelight reflected off the freshly cleaned surfaces, casting a warm glow that softened the inn's rough edges.

She moved through the room with brisk efficiency, adjusting table placements and wiping down surfaces that were already spotless. The mismatched plates and mugs she'd salvaged from crates the night before were arranged in neat stacks along the bar. Lanterns, cleaned and filled earlier, hung from the beams, their soft golden light lending the space an almost cozy atmosphere.

"Not bad," she murmured to herself, stepping back to assess her work. The imperfections were still there—scuffed floors, mismatched chairs, a faint musty smell that lingered despite her best efforts—but it was starting to feel like something more than a ruin.

Meralyth caught sight of a stray piece of lint on the bar and swiped it away with a cloth, her movements growing more deliberate.

The creak of the door startled her, and she turned sharply, half-expecting Cassian. Instead, a wiry boy with dark hair and a cheeky grin stepped through, balancing a crate on his hip.

"Delivery from Freya," he announced, the grin widening as he caught her puzzled expression. "You must be the new boss."

Meralyth blinked, caught off guard by his casual tone. "I… suppose I am. And you are?"

"Joryn," he said, setting the crate down with a thud. "I run errands for people. It's my job! Freya told me to bring these over and to tell you she'll be here soon. Oh, and not to panic."

"Who says I'm panicking?" Meralyth arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

Joryn gave her a look of mock innocence. "Nobody. She just figured she'd get ahead of things."

Her lips twitched despite herself. "Helpful of her."

"Always," Joryn replied with a mock bow, straightening his tunic as he glanced around the room. "You've done a lot with the place. Looks… less like a mess."

"High praise," she said dryly, though she felt a flicker of pride.

Joryn grinned again. "Freya's got good instincts. If she's willing to pitch in, this place might actually stand a chance."

Meralyth wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, but before she could respond, Joryn had turned on his heel and headed back out to his cart.

"Good luck!" he called over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him.

Meralyth ran a hand through her hair, brushing dust from her sleeve as she surveyed the room one final time. The Emberwood Inn had been transformed from the dilapidated shell she'd walked into just yesterday. It wasn't welcoming exactly but with the fire crackling warmly in the hearth and the mismatched lanterns casting a soft glow, it felt alive.

Her fingers tightened briefly on the edge of the bar. For the first time in hours, doubt crept in, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. What if it wasn't enough? What if the crowd tonight saw the cracks in her efforts and turned away?

The creak of the front door startled her, and she glanced up as Cassian stepped inside. He carried several bottles under one arm and balanced a large keg in the other, his smirk firmly in place. Behind him, a stout, gray-haired woman followed, her sharp eyes already scanning the room with the precision of someone accustomed to spotting flaws.

"Delivery," Cassian said, setting the bottles down with an exaggerated sigh. "And, as promised, Freya."

Meralyth blinked, taken aback. Freya looked her up and down with a critical eye, her hands resting on her hips. "So you're the one taking over this mess," she said, her tone blunt but not unkind.

"Uh, yes," Meralyth managed, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Meralyth."

Freya didn't take the offered hand but gave a curt nod. "Freya. I worked for your uncle—when he wasn't driving this place into the ground."

"Right," Meralyth said, her cheeks warming slightly. "Well, I'm hoping to change that."

Freya raised an eyebrow, then sniffed. "We'll see. I don't work for free, and I don't tolerate nonsense."

"She's a delight, isn't she?" Cassian drawled, leaning against the bar.

Freya shot him a withering look. "You're lucky I haven't gutted you yet."

Meralyth stiffened, glancing quickly at Cassian, but he only rolled his eyes. "Charming as ever, Freya."

"Don't push your luck," she replied before turning her attention back to Meralyth. "Do you even have a menu?"

"Not exactly," Meralyth admitted. "I was hoping you could help with that."

Freya's sigh was long and loud. "Of course you were. Fine. Let's go see the state of the kitchen, and hope this place has anything worth salvaging."

Meralyth gestured toward the back, and Freya strode off without waiting for her. Cassian caught her eye, his smirk softening into something almost reassuring.

"She'll come around," he said. "Eventually."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Meralyth muttered, grabbing a clean rag and wiping down the bar again, even though it was already spotless.

The hours passed in a blur as Meralyth and her makeshift crew worked to prepare for the evening. Freya emerged from the kitchen periodically, barking orders and muttering about "rusted utensils" and "idiotic systems." Cassian handled the drinks, moving through the bar with practiced efficiency, while Meralyth flitted between tasks, checking on the tables and making last-minute adjustments.

The soft creak of the door drew her attention, and she looked up to find Joryn slipping inside with another delivery.

"More supplies for Freya," he said cheerfully, walking the crate into the hallway and out of sight.

Meralyth shook her head, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

The room was almost ready. The tables were set, the drinks stocked, and the firelight lent the space an inviting warmth. As she stepped back to survey her work, Meralyth felt another flicker of pride.

It wasn't perfect—not by a long shot—but it was hers.

Joryn stepped out of the hallway and lingered for a moment, his grin softening into something more sincere. "Freya doesn't stick around for just anyone, you know. If she's still here, it means she thinks you've got a shot."

Before Meralyth could respond, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the door. "Good luck, boss!" he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the fading light.