Page 34

T he sun hung low as I walked the riverside path, my shawl slung over one arm, ink-stained hands still marked despite a thorough scrubbing at the Archives' basin. The air was warm against my face, carrying the scent of jasmine from cottage gardens and the earthy smell of the river.

My steps slowed as our cottage came into view—still a strange thought, that something was ours—its weathered stone glowing golden in the fading light.

From the back garden came the low rumble of Uldrek's voice, not quite loud enough for me to make out the words. He sounded exasperated, which meant he was either talking to the weeds or to himself. Probably both.

I followed the worn dirt path around the side of the house, pausing when I saw them.

Uldrek knelt in the tangle of herbs, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, large hands carefully working at the base of some stubborn plant.

His back was to me, shoulders flexing beneath his shirt as he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a threat.

And there, beneath the crooked apple tree, Ellie sat on her blanket, hat askew, intently gumming her wooden rattle. Her face brightened when she saw me, and she waved the soggy toy with a squeal.

Uldrek turned at the sound. "Finally," he said, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. "Your daughter's been judging my gardening skills for the last hour."

"Better her than me," I said, smiling as I crossed to him. "What are you fighting with today?"

He gestured at the tangled mess before him. "Mint. It's choking everything else."

I crouched beside him, examining the twisted mass of stems and runners. "You're losing this battle."

"I am not," he growled, pulling at another stubborn root. "It's a tactical retreat."

"Of course." I reached over and plucked a sprig of mint, crushing it between my fingers. The sharp, clean scent filled the air between us. "We could dry some for tea."

He gave up on the root he was wrestling with and sat back on his heels, looking at me properly for the first time since I'd arrived. His gaze traveled over my face and lingered on my ink-stained fingers. "Good day?"

"Busy. Edwin has me cataloging the council minutes from last season. Not exactly thrilling, but—" I shrugged. "It's steady."

Uldrek nodded, understanding what I didn't say. The stability of it. The normalcy. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering a moment longer than casual. "You've got ink here too," he said, thumb grazing my cheekbone.

"I'm hopeless," I sighed, leaning into his touch for a brief moment before pulling back. "I'll wash up before dinner."

"No rush." He watched me, something warm and private in his eyes that made heat rise in my chest.

Eight days had passed since I filed the petition against Gavriel. Eight days of quiet, ordinary life in our little cottage. Every morning, I'd braced myself—for a letter, a courier, a figure at the edge of the street. Every night, I'd lain awake listening for footsteps that never came.

But there had been nothing. Just quiet. Just… this.

I hadn't let myself believe in this fragile peace we'd built. I'd held myself apart from it, waiting for the break. But somehow, despite my caution, it had begun to settle into me—into my bones, my breath, the way I moved through each day.

Ellie made a demanding noise from her blanket, and I smiled, breaking away from Uldrek's gaze. "I hear you," I called, crossing the garden to scoop her up. She smelled of sun-warmed cotton and the faint honey-sweetness of her milk soap. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling deeply.

"Someone's tired," I murmured as she nestled against my shoulder, the rattle still clutched in one tiny fist.

"She refused to nap today," Uldrek said, rising to his feet and dusting off his knees. "Kept watching for you."

A small, tight feeling bloomed in my chest. "I'm sorry I was late. Edwin needed help with—"

"Issy." Uldrek stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. "You don't need to explain. She's fine. We’re fine."

I swallowed, nodded. "I know."

He smiled slightly, leaning in to press a kiss to my head. "Sure you do."

I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could speak, a familiar voice called from around the side of the house.

"If you're done standing around, these wards need tending."

Hobbie appeared, rounding the corner with something clutched in her small, gnarled hand. Her usual scowl was set deeper today, her eyes narrowed against the evening light.

"What is it?" I asked, immediately alert.

She didn't answer immediately, just held out her hand. In her palm lay a blackened thread—one of her protective charms, now scorched and brittle.

"Left window frame burned last night," she said, her voice flat. "Thread turned to ash."

Uldrek stepped forward, examining the charred remains. "Which window?"

"The one beside the south door. Near the porch."

I instinctively tightened my hold on Ellie, who squirmed in protest. "Is he—"

"He's testing," Hobbie said, cutting me off. "Like a cat with a door."

The brownie tucked the burned charm into one of her many pockets and produced another bundle—this one made of twisted hawthorn stems, iron thread, and what looked like dried nettle. She moved past us toward the house, already muttering protective words under her breath.

Uldrek and I exchanged a glance. The comfort of earlier bent slightly, warping under the weight of what we both knew was coming.

Hobbie paused at the door, turning back to look at us. Her eyes, sharp and ancient, fixed first on Uldrek, then on me.

"If you're going to plant things," she said, nodding toward the garden, "be sure you're ready to keep them alive."

Then she disappeared inside, leaving us in the cooling evening air.

Uldrek straightened, stretching his back with a grunt. "I need to wash," he said, wiping dirt from his hands onto his trousers. "Won't be long."

I nodded, bouncing Ellie gently as she began to fuss again. "I'll start on dinner."

He headed for the water pump at the side of the house, a large basin already positioned beneath it. I watched him go, then turned toward the cottage door, only to pause as Uldrek pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

I lingered, unable to look away. The evening light caught on the planes of his back, highlighting the curve of muscle across his shoulders. He pumped water into the basin, then bent to splash his face and neck, the water running in rivulets down his chest.

There was nothing performative about the way he moved—just the easy grace of someone comfortable in his own skin, unaware of being watched. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, slicking it back from his face, then reached for a cloth hanging on the pump handle.

Something warm and liquid pooled in my belly as I watched, a now-familiar ache building. We didn't talk about it much—what had shifted between us. But it was there in the way he touched me now. The way I let him. We found each other in the quiet more than once.

I tore my gaze away and ducked inside the cottage, suddenly warm despite the cooling evening.

Hobbie was already at the hearth, stirring something that smelled of onions and herbs. She didn't look up as I entered, but I could feel her awareness of me—of us—in the set of her shoulders.

"You're cooking," I said, surprised. Hobbie rarely took over the hearth unless asked.

"You were busy mooning," she replied tartly, but there was no real bite to it.

I felt my cheeks heat but didn't deny it. Instead, I settled Ellie in her small chair near the table and moved to slice bread, the familiar motion calming my scattered thoughts.

Hobbie began to hum—something old and minor-keyed that I didn't recognize but that made me think of deep forests and stone circles. The sound blended with the soft bubbling of the pot and Ellie's occasional babbling, creating a quiet harmony that settled around us like dust motes in sunlight.

The door opened, and Uldrek stepped in, his hair damp, a towel slung over one shoulder. He crossed to where I stood and brushed a kiss to my temple as he passed, a casual gesture that still made my stomach flutter.

"Smells good," he said, nodding to Hobbie. "What is it?"

"Stew," she answered, not elaborating further.

He raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged, smiling. These small, wordless exchanges had become our own language—built of half-glances and familiar gestures, comfortable as worn shoes.

Ellie chose that moment to fuss, tired and hungry. Her face scrunched up in preparation for a full cry, but before it could build, Hobbie was there, scooping her up with surprising gentleness.

"Hush now," she murmured, settling the baby against her shoulder. "No need for that."

I watched, still a bit amazed at how easily Hobbie had taken to Ellie, despite her general disdain for most creatures. The brownie swayed slightly, patting Ellie's back in a rhythm that quickly soothed her back to contentment.

Uldrek moved to help me finish setting the table—bowls, spoons, the fresh bread I'd sliced. It was ordinary. It was enough.

He reached for his bowl just as three sharp knocks sounded at the door.

We all froze, the sound hanging in the air like glass about to shatter. The knocks came again—three quick raps. Not hostile, but precise. Official.

Uldrek's eyes met mine across the table. I nodded once, and he moved to the door, his stance shifting subtly into something more alert, more guarded.

He opened it to reveal a young man in council colors—blue and gray, neatly pressed, though his collar looked a bit tight—a courier, trying to hide how nervous he was to be standing on our doorstep at dusk.

"Summons for Miss Fairbairn," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. "Sealed file. Council-mandated delivery."

I stepped forward, my heart suddenly pounding, though I kept my face calm. The courier held out a sealed envelope, thick parchment with the council's wax seal.

"Sign here, please," he said, offering a small ledger.