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Of course it was Onni.
No one else could have managed it. Sigrun would forget until it was too late, while Emil would never think of it, Reynir would get so excited he couldn't articulate the requests, and Lalli was bewildered at the mere concept of birthdays.
So Onni had arranged all of this.
The Inn and Restaurant had only one meeting room, which Sigrun had just led Mikkel into. It had a single large wooden table, six heavy chairs around it, and a white frosted cake in the middle. And around the cake, dozens of thick candles, wider than his palm and half as long as his forearm, with paper wrappings with the Sundberg cat logo. Already lit, the candles filled the room with their rich, fatty odor. Without even counting, Mikkel Madsen knew there would be thirty-five candles, since August 11, Y91, was his thirty-fifth birthday.
Onni stood against the far wall, his arms folded but his posture relaxed and his eyes half-closed as a small smile played about his lips, projecting serene, guileless goodwill. Lalli flanked him on one side, staring off into space, and Reynir on the other, beaming at Mikkel as if he'd never been happier.
"Where did you find these?" Mikkel asked. "And why?"
"There are many traders," Onni said. "And I wanted you to feel at home."
Mikkel regarded the candles. Three months of cooking candles to add fat and vitamins to their meager meals hardly made them homey.
Emil appeared at Mikkel's elbow, slightly pink and already tipsy, holding a folded piece of paper with "Happy Birthday!" written across the front, crowded against the right edge. "We all signed it," he said, presenting the paper. "Even Lalli. Well, Lalli drew something. We're not sure what it is. Could be a cat. Or maybe a map."
Mikkel accepted the paper, unfolded it. There were indeed several almost legible signatures, and below them, a small sketch that was either a cat or a map. He refolded it with care and slipped it into his shirt.
"Make a wish and blow out the candles!" Emil urged.
"A wish! A wish!" Sigrun and Reynir cheered.
Mikkel rolled his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep breath.
Sigrun waved a hand before his face, making the candle flames waver. "Wait, what's your wish?"
Though he had a wish — that he should never lose these people — Mikkel shook his head again. That was not a wish he would speak aloud, lest the gods he didn't acknowledge take it as a challenge. Instead, he blew hard. Eight candles went out. He took another deep breath and blew again. Six more candles.
Twenty-one to go.
Sigrun giggled. It seemed she, like Emil, had had some drinks beforehand. With a quelling glance at her, Mikkel took another deep breath. Seven candles. Another breath, weaker. Five candles.
Nine candles still burned defiantly before him, and both Emil and Reynir had joined Sigrun in giggling at his efforts. Onni now grinned, an expression Mikkel had never seen on his face before and had not believed he ever would.
Though he hadn't been drinking, Mikkel was getting light-headed. He took another breath, blew, swayed, and straightened. Five more candles. Just four to go. Supporting himself on the table, inhaling for a last effort, Mikkel blew out the final candles.
Sigrun pounded him on the back hard enough to stagger him, Emil produced a mug of hard cider and pushed it into his hand, and Reynir bustled forward to cut the cake. Lalli snatched up a plate and held it out to claim the first slice.
"Next year," said Mikkel to no one in particular, "one candle. I'll count it as thirty-six."
Onni chuckled ominously.