Smitter rolled his eyes. “You get funnier by the moment, Rye. And yes, Hannah, Hermes got away without a punishment. And no, Captain Lou, he’s not worse than a pirate.” Smitter held up a finger. “But he did regret what he had done to his brother and offered Apollo his lyre as a gift.”

“Ah, finally the lyre. Thought you forgot how this story started,” Ketner said. The white markings on his chin brushed his mug as he took a gulp to cover his mocking smile.

I crossed my arms and leaned backward. The lyre appeared in a lot of the imagery and adornments at the castle. In fact, besides the griffins, it was the most replicated symbol of the gods in the palace. I wondered if this story might tell me why.

“Aren’t we all jesters this evening,” Smitter said in a biting tone. “Anyway, Hermes crafted the lyre himself from the shell of a turtle. He ordained that Apollo should become a master of the musical arts. To repay Hermes for his kindness, Apollo gifted him a golden staff to guide the flocks and declared that Hermes would become the messenger of the gods. Familial peace was restored on Mt. Olympus, and a strong friendship began between the brothers.”

“I still don’t get why the tavern is named after the story,” Lanard asked.

Rylander leaned forward, removing his foot from Bernard’s chair. “Because the original lyre is here at the pub.”

Chapter twelve

Lou

Gasps sounded all around as Rylander disclosed what we all assumed couldn’t be true. Why would a god leave their most prized possession at a human pub in the town square of Cava? At least if they didn’t guard it in Mt. Olympus, you’d think it would be placed at somewhere like the palace, not a hole in the wall where any ordinary man could try and steal it. Even though my father boasted of a famous lyre, I had no idea it was a divine object.

“That’s not all that’s surprising,” Bernard offered in a drunkard’s whisper. “Rylander here can play it. He’s quite exceptional at it as well.” Bernard slapped his hand onto Rylander’s back, causing him to hitch forward.

“You can?” Via asked. She pressed her hands together as if in prayer. “Please play for us.”

Rylander glowered at Bernard, his face as sharp as diamonds.

“Yes, please,” Krinny added her voice.

Before Rylander could refuse or accept, Smitter stood next to him, lyre in hand.

I blinked at Smitter in disbelief and sniffed my ale, wondering for a moment if it had been laced. No one could move that fast.

“Here you go, Captain,” Smitter said, handing over the lyre. His lips twitched as if holding back a smile.

Rylander reluctantly took it.