The tavern hummed with warmth and laughter, its wooden beams covered with garlands of dried herbs and paper stars. Fir branches braided with crimson ribbons hung from the walls, their scent mingling with the sharp tang of spiced mead.
A bard perched near the hearth played a cheerful tune, his hat tipped jauntily as patrons clapped or hit the tables with fists in time to the beat. Plates of honeyed pastries and sugared nuts made their rounds, passed from table to table with generous smiles.
Taryn slumped into her seat at the corner table, peeling off her gloves. "Remind me why we're doing this."
"Because it's Bountiful Hearth Day," Lucien replied, sliding her a large mug of mead. "And because you need a reason to scowl that isn't me."
As if on cue, a roar erupted from the bar. A large man in a patchwork coat stood on his chair, tankard raised high. "To our Bountiful Hearth!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the room.
