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“Can I keep this?” Aster asked, running her fingers over the calcified branches.

Evelyn nodded. “Of course. Kept it for you.”

Aster smiled. “Thanks. My parents are in town for the festival. They won’t believe it!” She eyed both Evelyn and Cyrus. “Damn dandelions, you’re both attending the festival, right?”

“What does it celebrate?” Cyrus asked, more relaxed now and undoing Bleu’s saddle.

Aster beamed. “The new harvest, the fall crop, the end of storm season! We enjoy the autumn splendors and kick off the harbor opening back up.”

Dread doused Evelyn like a bucket of cold water. The end of storm season only reminded her that with ships and trade, news would spread to the shores of Sorin. It was inevitable.

“When does the storm season officially end?” Evelyn asked, her throat dry, her hands cold.

“One week!” Aster said. “It’s great to see the docks full again, the market booming. Helps my shop, too.”

When we solve the murders, after we kill the vampyr, what will you do? Where will you go?

Cyrus’s question from that morning resounded in her mind. If she went back home, she could come clean to her sisters, admit the truth. She’d left because she’d lost her flame, but now it was back. How would they take it? Would they be angry? Disappointed?

What of her betrothed?

Evelyn looked to Cyrus, who was discussing with Aster the booth her parents had down the street.

She’d meant what she said that morning. Whatever she did next, she wanted him to be a part of it, and felt the need for him to be. Her growing feelings for Cyrus and her magic’s draw to him filled her with equal parts fear and excitement. She knew the possibility of what this could be, but feared he’d reject her the moment he learned everything.

Cyrus’s kind eyes met hers. Fucking flames, why had the Goddess done this to her?

“It sounds as though this is an event we cannot miss,” he said.

“Miss the Autumn Festival?” Aster said, laying a hand over her heart. “I absolutely forbid it. You must attend!”

Evelyn laughed, despite her never-ending thoughts, the still-hovering doubt, and the ache in her stomach from worry. Aster’s perspective on life had a way of overshadowing things, her light far too bright for any shade of darkness.

“What do you say, Princess?” Cyrus asked. “Will you accompany me to the festival?”

His polite tone, hopeful eyes. How could she say no?

“Huntsman, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were asking me on a date,” she said, unable to not smile.

Aster threw her hands in the air. “Well, of course he is! He’s absolutely smitten with you.”

Evelyn’s mouth dropped open. “Aster!”

“What? The entire town knows it! He can’t even take his eyes off you for a moment.”

Mortified, Evelyn was close to dragging Aster from the scene, but Cyrus laughed, a pure and genuine sound spilling from him. “Aster is undoubtedly right in her assessment. Therefore, I will be devastated if you turn me down.”

Aster gripped Evelyn’s arm. “Did you hear? Devastated, Saige. Put the poor man out of his misery and say yes.”

Evelyn smiled, warmth spreading in her belly.

“Yes,” she said. “All right! I’ll go!”

Cyrus’s smile grew, and Aster clapped with glee.

Evelyn knew she had things to figure out. What about the prophecy? What about going home? Her duty and homeland nagged at her and yet . . . the thought of an evening with Cyrus filled her with so much hope, so much eagerness she refused to let her worries overshadow it all. She sighed them away. She’d figure out what to do next. How to tell Cyrus everything.

Later.