Page 43

T he evening air held the first hint of winter’s edge as I walked home from the Archives.

Not cold enough for a cloak, but enough that I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders.

The streets of Everwood had begun their evening settling—shop doors closing, lamplighters making their rounds, the occasional burst of laughter from an open window.

I walked alone, my steps unhurried. I’d spent the day reorganizing old expedition journals—steady work that let my mind settle after the hearing.

Hobbie had collected Ellie at midday, muttering something about “infant brain development requiring sunlight.” Probably another of her improvised theories—but I was grateful.

A cart rattled past, the driver nodding politely. I returned the gesture automatically, then paused. Just a few months ago, I would have tensed at the sound of approaching wheels. Would have stepped into shadow, watching for threats, calculating escape routes.

Now, I just nodded and kept walking.

The Council hearing still sat heavy in my body—the confrontation with Gavriel, the weight of speaking the truth in a room full of strangers.

But it was done. And for the first time, I felt myself believing not just in safety but in stability.

In the possibility of years unfolding here, in this place. In this life that was becoming mine.

I rounded the corner onto my street and stopped.

Uldrek sat on our porch steps, the last golden hour light catching on his shoulders. His head was bent in concentration, a whetstone moving steadily across a dagger blade. The familiar rhythmic scrape carried clearly in the quiet.

The sight of him hit me with unexpected force—the broad line of his back, the careful precision of his hands, the way he occupied space so solidly. After the strange distance between us following the hearing, seeing him there made something in me soften with relief.

Last night, we had come together in hunger and need, our bodies finding the connection that our words couldn't. But afterward, the barrier remained—unspoken, intangible, but present.

I had spent the day wondering, worrying, replaying our conversations.

Searching for the moment when things had shifted.

But now, watching him sharpen that blade with such steady focus, I felt hope rise. Perhaps the strangeness had passed. Perhaps we would find our way back to solid ground.

I took a step forward, then stopped as a familiar voice called my name.

"Issy! Wait up!"

Leilan was hurrying down the street from the opposite direction, a basket over one arm and a bright smile on her face. Her silver braid swung with each quick step, and I could see the blue stains on her fingertips even from a distance.

"I was hoping I'd catch you," she said, slightly breathless as she reached me. "I wanted to show you the new indigo dye."

"It worked?" I asked, genuinely pleased. She'd been experimenting all week.

She grinned, pushing back her sleeve to reveal a patch of fabric wrapped around her wrist. The blue was deep and vibrant, almost glowing in the evening light.

"Mad Millicent says it's the best she's seen in years." Leilan's voice bubbled with pride. "She's letting me mix all the specialty dyes now, not just the basic ones. Says I've got the touch for it."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Your hard work is paying off."

"It is, isn't it?" She bounced slightly on her toes. "And she hinted that if things keep going well, I might be able to take over the dye shop when she retires. Years from now, of course, but still!"

I smiled at her enthusiasm. "You'd be brilliant at it."

Leilan's expression softened then, her eyes taking on that perceptive look that sometimes made me forget how young she was. "Look at us," she said, "finding our places. When I think about how we both arrived here..."

She shook her head, and we fell into step together, our pace unhurried as we grew nearer to my cottage.

Leilan glanced toward Uldrek. I did, too, something warm stirring again in my chest at the sight of him—solid, focused, quietly present.

"You've come so far, Issy," Leilan said gently. "Not just surviving anymore. Living." She shifted her basket to her other arm. "You don't need protecting anymore."

I studied the man who had stepped between me and danger so many times. Who had offered his name, his mark, his strength when I had nothing but fear and a baby in my arms.

And suddenly, it was clear—a truth that had been forming slowly, without my noticing. She was right. The constant terror that had driven me to Everwood, that had made me clutch at any offer of safety... it had eased. I had found my footing. Found my strength.

I didn't need his protection anymore. But I wanted him. Wanted the life we'd begun building. Not out of desperation or necessity but choice.

"No," I said quietly, the certainty of it settling into my bones. "I don't."

As the words left my lips, I saw Uldrek's hands go still, the whetstone motionless against the blade. His shoulders tensed slightly, head lifting. Our eyes met across, his expression unreadable in the fading light.

Then he looked down again, resuming his work with a deliberate focus that seemed different than before. More rigid. Less natural.

A small frown tugged at my mouth, but I dismissed the concern. He was probably just concentrating on a difficult spot on the blade.

"I should go," Leilan said, squeezing my arm gently. "These dyes need to be mixed before they set too long."

I nodded, returning her quick hug. With a final wave, she turned and hurried down the street, basket swinging at her side.

The last of the daylight clung to the edges of things as I walked the remaining distance to our cottage. Uldrek stood as I neared, tucking the dagger into his belt. His face was composed, but something in his eyes seemed distant.

"How was your day?" I asked, coming to a stop at the foot of the steps.

His expression didn't change. "Fine," he said, the word short but not quite sharp. "Yours?"

“Fine.”

I climbed the steps, studying his face, searching for some clue.

He stepped aside, holding the door for me with rigid courtesy.

If I had passed him on the street, I might have thought him merely reserved.

But this was Uldrek—my Uldrek—who had traced patterns on my skin in the dark, whose laughter I knew by heart.

"Thank you," I said, the words sounding stiff even to my own ears.

Inside, the cottage glowed with early evening light, warm and familiar. Hobbie was at the stove, stirring something that smelled of garlic and herbs. She nodded a silent greeting as I entered, her shrewd eyes taking in the tension that followed me through the door.

Ellie sat in her little wooden chair, happily gumming a cloth toy, her curls slightly damp from what must have been a recent bath. She looked up as I approached, face splitting into a wide smile that showed off her new teeth.

"There's my sweet girl," I said, kneeling to kiss her head. "Have you been good for Hobbie today?"

"Child has opinions about everything," Hobbie said, not turning from her pot.

I smiled, breathing in Ellie's clean baby scent. Behind me, I felt rather than heard Uldrek move to the far side of the room, where he began methodically sorting through a pile of leather straps—unfinished harness work he'd been doing for Thok's guards.

The silence that followed wasn't our usual comfortable quiet. It had edges, weight. Hobbie glanced between us, her expression unreadable.

"Stew needs more time," she announced abruptly. "Going for sage from the garden."

Before I could respond, she was through the door, leaving Uldrek and me alone with a happily oblivious Ellie. The door closed with more force than necessary—Hobbie's way of telling us to sort whatever this was.

I straightened, turning to face him directly. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?"

Uldrek didn't look up from his work, fingers testing the strength of a leather strap with practiced precision. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I intended. I softened my tone. "Don't do that. Something's been off since the hearing. I thought... after last night..."

His hands stilled, but he still didn't meet my eyes. "I heard you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "Outside, with Leilan. 'I don't need protecting anymore.' Clear as day."

Understanding began to dawn, slowly and with dread. "That's not—"

"No, it's fine," he interrupted, looking back down at the leather in his hands. "It's the truth. You don't. The bond is broken, Issy. Not quiet, not dormant. Broken."

"Broken?" I repeated, hand instinctively going to the claiming mark on my collarbone. It felt cool to the touch, ordinary—just skin where once there had been heat and pulse and connection.

"I felt it snap during the hearing," he continued, the iron control in his voice belied by his tight grip on the leather. "When he was taken away. When the threat was gone."

"That doesn't mean—"

"It means exactly what I knew it would from the beginning," he said, voice flat. "I know what I am, Issy. I know what I've always been. Useful until I'm not."

Ellie began to fuss, picking up on the tension in the room. I moved to her, lifting her from her chair and holding her against my chest. She settled slightly, a small fist gripping my shirt.

"That's not how I see you."

"No?" His eyes met mine, challenging. "Then why haven't you ever said you love me?"

The question knocked the air from my lungs. "What?"

"All this time. All these nights. You've never once said it." His voice was quiet now, almost defeated. "And I think I know why."

I swallowed hard, Ellie warm and solid against my racing heart. "Why?"

"Because you don't," he said. "You needed me. Maybe you wanted me. But love? That takes more than necessity."