Author's Note: Cleaned up and revised for consistency with recent changes.

Chapter 2…An Uncomfortable Homecoming

"Well, lass, I got you home in time for the Harvest Fair after all," Galen said.

Carona smiled with as much of a show of happiness as she could summon. Galen had offered to pay her off but Carona insisted on staying to help him set up his tent and unload the wagon. He accepted her help with the tent but when she began to arrange the trestle tables, he pinched her cheek and told her to run off and get it over with.

Am I that obvious? Carona forced her reluctant feet to walk the path to her old home.

"So. You have returned." Daeghun's voice was flat and expressionless. She stood before the elf, her pack hanging heavy on one shoulder and looked down into her father's eyes. She was taller than him now, Carona noticed. When did that happen?

"Just for a day or two," Carona said slowly. "If—if you permit." Daeghun inclined his head slightly.

"Your old room is empty," he said. "You may use it." Without apparent emotion, he added, "For as long as you wish."

As the uncomfortable silence dragged on, Carona realized she had been a fool to expect recriminations from Daeghun. Had she hoped for anger or resentment? Had she hoped to get thrown out of his house? Gods, I'd hoped for—something. I never learn, do I? Did he even notice I've been gone?

"Thank you," Carona said and she dropped her pack next to the chest by the door. She had been gone for five years and yet could think of nothing to say. "Have you been well?" she asked at last.

"Well enough," Daeghun said. "And you? You look well."

No recriminations—and no questions about what she'd been doing these past five years. Nothing had changed. Carona sighed.

"I am well," she said. "Is there something you need me to do?"

And with mutual relief, they turned to mundane tasks—preparing vegetables for the evening's stew, cleaning and honing tools, bundling up the furs Daeghun planned to trade for Galen's Duskwood bow in the morning.

"I understand you traveled here with the merchant," he said. "Perhaps you will take the furs to him tomorrow. I will be busy manning the archery contest."

"If you wish," Carona said, amazed that he would trust her with his furs after she had stolen every coin he had five years ago when she left. Had he even noticed the theft? But of course he wouldn't care about the money, any more than he cared about anything else.

She wanted to shake him, to shock him, to strike him, even. I'm a thief! I've stolen out of hunger, yes, but I keep stealing for the thrill. Do you know what else I've done? I've stabbed a man in the back, for no better reason than I didn't like the way he spoke to me. I killed a man because he frightened me. And I've slept with men I don't love because it's better than being alone.

But he wouldn't understand that, would he? He wouldn't understand any of it.

Once the stew was simmering and the chores were done, there was still enough daylight for Carona to head out to Lewy Jons's farm. Lewy had been a mentor of sorts during Carona's childhood and was one of the few in the village likely to greet her return with any sort of pleasure. Carona did take the precaution of bringing a bottle of mead to ensure her welcome. Lewy's temper was chancy.

But Lewy was in an expansive mood and the bottle of mead, although accepted with alacrity, was hardly required. He cracked the seal at once and they sat on the step of his rickety porch and drank as the sun set, passing the bottle back and forth. Lewy listened with flattering attention to the news from Neverwinter and in particular, what tidbits Carona shared about the Thieves Guild. The leadership had changed drastically since Lewy's days in their company but he still knew a few of the older members. He knew Janit.

"I think about heading back to the city from time to time," he told Carona. "But I don't know. I'm not as young as I was, you know, and it seems to me—"

"What?" Carona asked.

"Well, I don't know. It just seems like there are more rules than there used to be. It sounds like the brotherhood is all—political, like. Know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure."

Lewy scratched his beard.

"From all I hear, this new guild master, whoever he is, sees himself as more than a brother. It's like he's our lord or some such. Brushing elbows with Nasher and the like, I wouldn't wonder. What's the point of all these rules? Why can't things be like they were? We should be taking as big a slice of the pie as we can get, not worrying about trade routes and such. Leave such nonsense to Nasher and his kind."

"Things are different since the war, Lewy," Carona said. "The pie is smaller now. If we get too greedy, Lord Nasher will be forced to move against us. If trade improves, then the pie gets bigger and we all get a bigger slice. It just makes sense."

"Gah! The hells with all that. Fancy talk for cowardice, that's what that is." Carona shook her head but Lewy couldn't see it in the dark.

"And what's Janit thinking, sending you down here alone?" he asked. "Spying on the bandits? Gah! What's the point in that? He should have sent a dozen of us to wipe them all out. That's what we ought to be doing. They want to work our road, they got to pay. They don't want to pay, string them up by their guts. That's a message any fool can read."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"It will come to that. Mark my words. You think they're going to listen to a slip of a girl? The Thieves are soft now. Everyone knows it." He punched her knee. "Tell you what, Cary lassie. I'll come with you when you go after that scum. Slit some gizzards, we will."

Once the bottle was gone, Carona left Lewy chortling over some trick he planned to play on Orlen at the fair. She didn't stay to hear the details. She had forgotten how tiresome the old scoundrel could be, especially when he'd been drinking. Carona hoped he never returned to Neverwinter. Janit had worked hard to weed the thugs and bullies out of his district. Lewy knew some good tricks but he'd be a liability now.

Maybe he'd fit in at the Docks.

The Harvest Fair was always held on the full moon, so there was plenty of light to make her way back to Daeghun's house. She slipped into the darkened house and inhaled the familiar scents. Her father's house brought back memories that had been comfortably buried away. Herbs dried in the rafters; the bundle of furs sat on the chest by the door. Carona could even smell the oil Daeghun used to waterproof his boots.

Why had she come back? She had never been happy here. She had never felt at home. How could she have forgotten the endless, wordless grief she saw in her father's eyes every time he looked upon her?

When she was younger, she had asked what was wrong. Again and again, she'd asked. Every question drove her father deeper and deeper into silence. Eventually, she'd guessed her crime. She'd survived the catastrophe that made her his ward; so had he. He'd not forgiven either of them for doing so.

The day of the fair dawned bright and beautiful. Daeghun left early to set up the targets for the archery contest. With the house to herself, Carona couldn't keep from snooping around, opening cupboards and drawers, looking for signs of change, any change. She even searched her father's bedroom. She found nothing of note. Would he keep the house the same a century from now? Maybe so, not that she'd be alive to see it. How could he live this way—if this was living at all? Mired in his own unvoiced sorrow, he was a ghost, haunting himself.

Carona felt no sympathy. He'd made his choices as an adult. They'd been forced upon her as a child. If his grief held more charms than living, let him wallow in it.

She broke her fast with leftover stew and the end of the loaf in the bread box. She wondered if Elder Redfell still sold bread to those villagers who didn't do their own baking. Was she even alive? She'd been ancient when Carona left five years ago. Her son Georg was the head of the militia and was no doubt running the Harvest Cup competition—as good a reason as any for avoiding all the festivities. He had never liked her and the feeling was very, very mutual. Unfortunately she had half-promised to give Galen a hand so she couldn't just run off to the river and spend the day fishing.

Daeghun's hand cart was where he always kept it, so she loaded up the bulky furs and wheeled them to Galen's tent in the village green. The merchant was already busy with customers. Peddlers came through the village from time to time but Galen was the only merchant of any standing who came through regularly. He brought items that had been ordered from previous trips (mostly ironwork, since West Harbor had no smith) but he also brought a variety of merchandise chosen to appeal to a remote farming community. Spread across three tables was everything from lengths of fabric, sewing needles and pins to axe heads, fish hooks, skinning knives and kettles. A couple of girls she didn't recognize whispered to each other as they pawed through the rings, religious medals and bracelets in Galen's jewelry box, trinkets only. Carona had already checked.

"Ah, Daeghun's furs," Galen said. His face brightened when he saw Carona. "Take them around the back of the tent." He bustled back as soon as he had finished with his customer, practically rubbing his hands in anticipation. He untied the cords holding the bundle and examined the silky pelts with a little sigh of satisfaction. Yarek, who sat on the wagon whittling chips from a twig, put his knife away and looked over Galen's shoulder. He cast a scowl at Carona while the merchant's attention was on the furs.

"Exquisite, truly exquisite," Galen said. "There is such a demand in Neverwinter for pelts of just this color and quality—and you needn't tell your father I said so," he added, giving Carona a conspirator's smile. "To think I considered not coming to West Harbor this year. Hah."

The merchant pulled back the canvas cover over a corner of the wagon and pulled out a long bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. It was the Duskwood bow. "Here, Carona, take this to your father with my compliments." He frowned to himself, then opened his coin purse and gave her a handful of coins, hardly stopping to count them. "And give him this to sweeten the deal. I had to go all the way to Ember to find what he wanted but I think he'll be pleased."

He was pleased. He was very pleased. Carona thought she had rarely heard Daeghun express such heartfelt approval of anyone or anything. There was genuine warmth in his voice as his hands stroked the dark wood and he dropped all he was doing in his rush to string the bow and try it out. He waved her off when she tried to hand him the coins.

Carona walked away, wondering if she should be angry or amused, and wondering if she was actually stupid enough to let Daeghun's unpredictable moods upset her yet again. She wasn't twelve years old anymore; time to let it go.

On the way back to Galen's tent, she met her old friend Amie Fern. Despite the awkwardness of their last meeting, she greeted her with a delighted shriek of "Carona!" and a hug as well. She had grown from a pretty girl to a beautiful young woman. Carona was astonished none of the men in West Harbor had snatched her up. Amie grinned and punched her on the arm.

"For shame, Carona. All the times we talked about how I feel about marriage, and you don't remember."

"I remember," she said with a smile. Amie wanted to be an adventurer, like the mages in tales. Now how could I do that with a house full of kids, Amie had asked. Bevil had always mumbled something about how families were important too. Carona wondered if Bevil still had a crush on her and if he had ever summoned the nerve to speak. Galen was right. Little had changed in West Harbor.

"I thought you might have changed your mind," she said. Amie smiled back with the happy open smile Carona had always liked so well. "I'm glad you haven't."

"I guess you've been off having adventures of your own," Amie said. "Are you working for Galen now?"

"No—well, just for now," Carona said. She realized she hadn't come up with a credible excuse for her visit. Every single person in West Harbor was perfectly aware there was no sentimental attachment between Carona and Daeghun.

Daeghun himself had never asked why she was here.

Fortunately Amie was more interested in hearing all about Neverwinter and the people she'd met there.

"And you actually know Ophala Cheldarstorn? What's she like? Tarmas says she's a sorceress and magic comes to her easy as breathing. If only I were one. Does she go adventuring anymore? Have you seen her cast spells? Is she still with the Many-Starred Cloaks? Have you met any other mages?"

Carona tried to divert Amie with questions about her apprenticeship with the mage Tarmas but then Bevil joined them. He jumped straight in with questions about Lorne.

"You got my letter?" Carona asked. She had written Retta Starling when Neverwinter got the news of the loss of Lorne's unit. She hadn't been sure any official notification would reach her, with the record-keeping so bad during the war.

Bevil nodded. He was a full head taller than Carona and then some, a big sturdy Harborman, but he would never be the giant that Lorne had been.

"But they never found his body? So maybe—"

"A lot of bodies were never found, Bevil." And some that were—well, it would have been better for the families if they hadn't been. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Oh," Bevil said. He was silent a moment. "Listen, Carona, it's about time for the Tourney of Talent to start." Their eyes met and she knew that, like her, Bevil was remembering her last Harvest Fair, when Lorne had shown up with Carona on his arm. Like her, he remembered how this attempt to rattle Cormick had backfired so disastrously.

"So we've got to go," Bevil said, putting a possessive hand on Amie's shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak and Carona saw Bevil give her shoulder a squeeze. "Amie's got some new spells that are going to amaze everyone. Well, maybe not you," he added with a little laugh, "Since you've been living in Neverwinter and all. Maybe you'd like to watch?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Carona murmured.

Carona spent the day helping Galen or wandering the fair, hiding her boredom as best she could. She was pleased that Bevil, Amie and some kid they'd picked up managed to score enough points to win the Harvest Cup even though the Mossfeld brothers beat them decisively in the Brawl. There didn't seem to be as many competitors as in years past and there were a lot of dark murmurs about poor harvests and lizardling attacks. Bandits, on the other hand, did not seem to be a problem this far south. That made sense, since there was little merchant traffic to prey upon. Even the most hardened bandits would think twice before attacking any of the outlying farms in the Mere. Harbormen had a well deserved reputation for toughness after all and they defended their own.

Galen was well pleased with the results of his day's trading. He planned to spend one more day resting the oxen and concluding any last business before returning to Neverwinter. He assumed Carona would be remaining in West Harbor, and he paid her for her time, more generously than Carona had expected.

With vague plans of poking around the Fort Locke area, she went to sleep. In the night, everything changed.