Book II: Chapter 2 – Warmth Has a Price
We approached the gates with eyes narrowed and blinking against the snowfall, looking exactly like what we were: exhausted newcomers trying very hard not to stare too openly at the scale of Thronstadt.
The walls rose above us in dark stone layered thick enough to outlast kingdoms. The gate itself loomed high overhead beneath iron portcullis teeth blackened by age and winter weather. Snow gathered in the cracks of the masonry while long banners snapped overhead in blue and gray.
Two guards flanked the open passageway, both wrapped in heavy fur over metal armor, thick cloaks stirring in the wind. Each had a brazier nearby, iron baskets warped by constant heat, flames snapping and hissing beneath the falling snow.
Compared to the recruiters?
They honestly looked welcoming.
The younger one had a black beard so thick and tightly braided it covered most of his face beneath the fur-lined hood. Every time he leaned near the brazier, firelight caught in those braids and turned them ember-red.
The older guard beside him wore a similar beard, though age had streaked his gray. These were men used to standing in the cold.
Firebeard glanced our way and muttered something to the older guard.
“Marrowpine.”
The older guard snorted. “For sure. Threads of Fortune craft and style is a dead giveaway.”
That got my attention.
I gave them a wary look as we approached, boots crunching through packed snow.
Kit stepped up beside me immediately, ears still flattened against the cold.
Perri was far too busy shivering to posture at anyone, bundled half into my side and half into Raka’s warmth like she was trying to survive winter through proximity alone.
Raka, meanwhile, looked increasingly comfortable the colder it became, which honestly felt a little unfair.
The guards watched us approach with the relaxed ease of men standing behind walls that had outlived generations of problems.
Firebeard finally nodded toward our gear. At least, I assumed he did. Hard to tell from beneath all that beard.
“Marrowpine, right?” he asked. “Gear gives you away. Temperate climate. Probably just starting to get cold there.”
His eyes drifted toward shivering Perri before he jerked a thumb toward the warming brazier beside him.
“Come on, little one. Warm up before you freeze solid.”
Perri accepted instantly with a tiny grateful sound, hurrying forward toward the fire. Honestly, so did I. Kit was not shy about joining either, crowding in beside the brazier with zero dignity the moment warmth became available.
I had to nudge Enora gently before she followed.
Soon enough, hands were being rubbed warm over snapping firelight while snow hissed softly against the iron basket.
“The two of us pass the time guessing which of the six starter towns new arrivals come from,” Firebeard explained with obvious amusement. “You lot are definitely Marrowpine.”
The older guard grunted his agreement, eyes drifting across the five of us before lingering briefly on the Crystal Skull of the Spectral Choir in Enora’s hands.
His expression flattened slightly.
Then visibly shifted into the look of a man deciding he was underpaid for whatever story that involved.
“First time in Thronstadt?” Firebeard asked, already knowing the answer.
“Six?” I asked, taken aback.
Firebeard continued like he had been waiting for that exact question.
“Yes. All six lead here through that gate you just passed through. The fact that you’re still cold, underdressed, and confused means you didn’t make a hasty choice of guilds upon first arrival.”
He gave the faintest shrug beneath all that fur and beard.
“Probably a good idea.”
The older guard snorted, then echoed, “Probably.”
“We were approached by…” I started.
“The Silverwing Sovereigns,” Firebeard finished. “We saw.”
He smirked beneath the beard, or at least the beard moved in a way that strongly suggested smirking.
“Since you didn’t follow him back to their tent, you probably pissed them off somehow.”
His eyes moved over us again, more directly this time.
“That alone makes you interesting.”
Kit’s grin appeared instantly.
Dangerous.
“I like these ones.”
“Anyway…” Firebeard continued, eyes drifting over Kit and Perri’s lighter leathers before briefly catching on Enora’s form-fitting robe. “Those outfits aren’t going to survive a Thronstadt winter. You’re north of the Shivermaw Mountains now. It’s only fall, and you’re already freezing.”
He jerked a thumb toward the city beyond the gates.
“Markets are probably closing up by now. If I were you, I’d find someplace warm for the night before the real cold rolls in.”
Kit had already warmed noticeably toward him despite the fact that his eyes had absolutely lingered a second too long on her cleavage.
“Yes,” she agreed smoothly. “Someplace warm sounds ideal.”
Firebeard’s eyes immediately drifted somewhere much safer.
A smirk tugged through the beard.
Apparently, even men raised in Thronstadt were not entirely used to seeing that much exposed skin in winter.
The older guard snorted again, sharply catching the exchange.
“Emberwell Inn,” Snorts tossed it out like a lifeline to Firebeard.
“Good call,” the younger one agreed immediately. “Warm, close to the market, not too far from here. Little pricey, but that’s a problem for when you’re warmer.”
He pointed past the gate and farther up the main thoroughfare disappearing into snowfall and lanternlight.
“Three blocks. Bright burning kettle hanging out front on the left. Can’t miss it.”
It sounded honest enough.
“Thank you,” I said.
Getting everyone away from the warming braziers took more effort than expected. There was muttering from Kit, visible reluctance from Perri, and even Enora lingered near the firelight a second longer before drifting after us beneath the shadow of her hat.
Still, Emberwell Inn sounded increasingly appealing as we finally passed beneath the massive gates and into Thronstadt proper.
Firebeard called after us over the wind.
“Stay out of the Frost Warrens at night!”
We looked back.
“And if somebody says they can get you into a raid queue without guild sponsorship…”
He paused just long enough for Snorts to sigh beside him.
“…they’re either lying or planning to rob you.”
I nodded, not really understanding what a raid queue even was, but the sincerity behind the warning carried clearly enough through the cold.
In the late-day gray light of winter, Thronstadt looked bleak and unforgiving, with warmth surviving only in pockets.
A shop here.
A market stall there.
A bakery window fogged gold from the heat inside, trays of dark bread and sugar-crusted twists stacked behind the glass like treasure. A smithy farther down the street threw orange light across the frost, hammer strikes ringing out beneath a black iron sign shaped like an anvil. Across the road, a narrow storefront glowed blue behind frosted panes, its hanging placard marked with a painted eye and a ring of tiny stars.
Mostly, though, the city seemed large, busy, and entirely occupied with its own agenda.
Guild flags rippled in the wind over most buildings, marking them less like decorations and more like territory. The roads were frost-covered but clear, snow shoveled aside and packed into alleys already drowning in blue shadow. Adventurers, townsfolk, laborers, and city guards moved with purpose, few lingering long in the cold.
“I hate this city already,” Kit announced.
That earned a soft laugh out of me.
“We’ve been here five minutes.”
“Five terrible minutes.” Her ears flattened harder as a gust shoved snow across the street. “And I have yet to receive a cloak, a warm mug, or a personal apology from the weather.”
Perri stayed tucked close between me and Raka, eyes wide as she stared at the towering stone buildings around us.
“It’s so big.”
“Marrowpine had maybe five streets pretending to be a town,” I said. “This has… districts.”
“That sounds worse,” Kit muttered. “I miss our cozy apartment already.”
That landed softer than her usual complaining.
Not because she hated the city.
Well, not only because she hated the city.
The apartment had been ours. Small. Warm. Earned.
Thronstadt was stone, banners, and strangers deciding what we were before we ever got indoors.
Raka breathed deep beside us, her breath fogging in the cold.
“It smells alive,” she said quietly. “Smoke. Iron. Too many people.”
That sounded less like criticism and more like observation from a wolf deciding whether a forest was dangerous.
Perri’s gaze caught on the bakery window as we passed. For one hopeful second, her shivering eased.
“Do you think they have honeycakes here?”
Kit immediately looked betrayed by her own interest.
“They better.”
I smiled despite the cold. “Food first. Warmth first. Then honeycakes.”
“Wrong order,” Kit said.
“Terrible order,” Perri agreed softly, which somehow made Kit look deeply proud of her.
Enora said nothing.
But I noticed her gaze lingering on the guild banners overhead, pale eyes tracking them one by one beneath the shadow of her hat. Not curious exactly. Not afraid either.
Memorizing, maybe.
Or measuring.
Huddled together and more than a little overwhelmed, we followed Firebeard’s directions three blocks toward the hopeful warmth of Emberwell Inn.
Just as Firebeard had promised, three blocks down on the left, Emberwell Inn came into view.
It was a large stone building, four stories tall and draped in deep red banners that survived the wind better than cloth had any right to. Brightly burning fire-kettles hung from chains along the balconies above, dotting the frontage with suspended pockets of orange light. They warmed what would have otherwise been stark stone and made the whole place glow like it had decided winter could wait outside.
Out front, a small patio sat mostly unused this late in the year, its tables stacked and chairs chained down against the weather. At the center of it all, a massive iron cauldron hung from blackened chains between four stone pillars, fire roaring inside its belly.
Probably meant to warm the courtyard.
It looked just as intimidating as it did inviting.
Kit slowed beside me, eyes narrowing at the hanging cauldron.
“Well,” she said, “that is either an inn or the entrance to a soup cult.”
Perri leaned around me just enough to look at it, ears lifting despite the cold.
“It’s warm.”
“That is not a denial,” Kit said.
Raka breathed in once, then nodded with grave approval.
“Good fire.”
“You are very easy to impress today,” I told her.
She looked at me like I had said something stupid. “It is cold. Fire is good.”
Hard to argue with that kind of battlefield logic.
A painted sign swung above the door, the image of a bright iron kettle spilling golden flame instead of steam. Warm light glowed behind thick glass windows, and through them I caught movement, shadows, tables, a few cloaks hung near the entry, and the promise of food I could smell even through the wind.
Perri made a small sound.
Not quite a whimper.
Not quite prayer.
“Food,” she whispered.
Kit’s ears perked immediately. “Real food?”
“Warm food,” Perri corrected, as if that made it holier.
Enora lingered half a step behind us, silent beneath the brim of her hat. Her gaze moved from the fire-kettles to the red banners, then to the cauldron and the door.
“It’s better than standing in the street.”
Another place she did not yet know how to trust.
I understood the feeling.
The Feisty Dwarf had become familiar one meal at a time. This place was just stone, fire, strangers, and prices we probably did not want to think about yet. Coin wasn’t really the problem anymore. Not after the Briar Witch’s hoard. Reckless spending, though? That was still a problem wearing a nicer coat.
Still, the wind pushed snow against my back.
Kit shivered hard enough to mutter something uncharitable about northern architecture.
Perri pressed closer.
And even I had to admit the glowing windows looked like mercy.
“Alright,” I said, stepping toward the entrance. “Let’s see how pricey ‘a problem for later’ really is.”
Kit smiled faintly.
“If they have honeycakes, I may forgive this city slightly.”
“Only slightly?”
Her hand slipped into mine. “I’m freezing, Master. My mercy is limited.”
I opened the door and stepped inside.
Warmth hit me immediately, followed by a heavy humidity I could not quite reconcile with the frigid air outside. For half a second, it felt like walking into someone else’s held breath.
The interior was warmly lit against dark stone, with deep red carpets draped across nearly every floor and stair except the immediate foyer, where melted snow and muddy boots had apparently won that argument long ago.
The common room beyond was quiet in the way meant for evening dining, but loud enough to tell people were still discussing their day over warm drinks, hot food, and the kind of low voices that carried more weight than volume.
The doors closed quickly behind us, shutting out the wind with a thick wooden thud.
And just like that, Thronstadt became muffled.
Held outside… for the moment.
A slight elven woman near the entry looked up from behind a carved host stand that nearly made her seem shorter than she probably was. Her auburn hair was pinned back with red lacquered sticks, long ears swept neatly through the arrangement, each tipped with tiny gold cuffs. Her expression held the calm professionalism of someone who had survived hundreds of half-frozen newcomers before us.
“Welcome to Emberwell Inn,” she said, already reaching for a stack of folded cloths. “Please wipe your boots before the carpets. Rooms, dinner, or both?”
We answered all at once.
“Warm rooms,” I said.
“Roasted meat,” Raka added.
“Honeycakes,” Kit said, with the authority of someone naming a contractual obligation.
The Hostess did not blink.
“Rooms are available individually or by suite,” she replied smoothly. “Tonight’s dining has just begun, and tables are available. Glazed caribou is the evening special.”
Raka’s attention sharpened immediately.
The Hostess’s eyes flicked to Kit next.
“And Emberwell’s dessert menu is… extensive.”
Kit’s mouth parted slightly.
Perri made the smallest hopeful sound beside me.
Then the Hostess delivered the killing blow.
“Warm steam baths are also available in the hot springs below the main floor, at a premium. Individually or as a group.”
For one perfect second, none of us moved.
Then Kit’s voice rang through the bond, clear as a temple bell and twice as devout.
“I love her.”
Enora could not hear it, of course.
But the faint smirk tucked beneath the brim of her hat said she agreed with the rest of us anyway.
The Hostess had easily won this round.
My girls turned toward me with pleading eyes as my coin purse quietly choked in my pocket.
I looked from Kit’s hopeful smile, to Perri’s shivering ears, to Raka’s sudden focus on the words “glazed caribou”, then finally to Enora’s small, almost-hidden smirk beneath her hat.
I sighed.
“All of that,” I said.
The Hostess smiled like she had expected nothing less.