Page 54

His eyes found me instantly, then flicked to Ellie in my arms. Something in his face softened, the edge of weariness replaced with quiet affection. He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides, tucking a wrapped bundle under one arm as he came.

Without ceremony, he pressed a kiss to my temple—warm, a little rough from stubble and sweat—and murmured, "Missed you."

Then he held out the bundle to Ellie. “For you, little wolf.”

Ellie seized the cloth with both hands, immediately trying to stuff a corner into her mouth.

"Food first, cloth second," I laughed, gently extracting it from her grip and unwrapping what turned out to be honey-glazed buns, still warm from the bakery. The sweet scent filled the air, making Ellie reach with renewed determination.

"Let's take these outside," I suggested. "I have news."

The steps were sun-warmed and pleasant despite the crisp autumn air.

We settled side by side, Ellie happily chewing a piece of bun in my lap, her face quickly becoming a sticky mess.

The courtyard before us was filled with the usual midday bustle—scholars hurrying between buildings, messengers carrying scrolls, and a group of young apprentices practicing spells under a tree.

As we ate, I told Uldrek about the promotion, the key, the permanence of it all. He listened without interruption, his eyes on my face, his expression open and attentive. When I finished, he nodded once, as if confirming something he'd long known.

"They finally figured out what I already knew," he said.

"And what's that?"

"That you belong here." He brushed a crumb from my cheek, his touch lingering. "That you're exceptional at what you do."

I leaned into his hand slightly. "So are you. Daric looks up to you."

"Kid's got potential. Good instincts. Just needed someone to beat some discipline into him." He grinned, then grew more serious. "It's good work. Different than I expected."

"Different how?"

He considered for a moment, watching Ellie as she abandoned the bun to reach for a fallen leaf.

"When I was fighting in the war, everything was immediate.

Life or death. No time to think." He picked up the leaf she'd dropped and handed it back to her.

"This is... slower. Teaching someone takes time.

You don't see results right away. But when they come. .." He shrugged. "It matters."

I understood. We were both finding our way into lives built on creation rather than survival, on patience rather than urgency.

It wasn't always easy—there were still nights when I woke gasping from nightmares, still moments when Uldrek's hand would drift to a weapon that wasn't there.

But those moments were growing fewer, the spaces between them wider, filled with ordinary joys: Ellie's first words, meals shared with friends, evenings by the hearth with books and quiet conversation.

"I was worried it might be boring," I admitted, breaking off another piece of bun for Ellie. "After everything—the running, the fighting, the hearing. I thought maybe normal life would feel... flat."

Uldrek snorted. "You chase a toddler around all day and tell me it's boring."

As if to prove his point, Ellie chose that moment to lunge for a passing butterfly, nearly tumbling from my lap. Uldrek's hand shot out to steady her, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

"You know what I mean," I said, readjusting her on my knee. "The stakes feel different."

"They are different," he agreed. "Smaller, maybe. But not less important." He glanced at me, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Though I still think you're better with a fire poker than a quill."

I bumped his shoulder with mine. "And I still think you look better without a shirt than with one."

He laughed, a full, unguarded sound that drew glances from passersby. Uldrek laughing was still new enough to be remarkable—both to me and, apparently, to everyone else. It transformed his face, softened the hard lines of battle and survival into something almost boyish.

"That's just practical," he deadpanned. "Shirts get in the way."

"Of what, exactly?"

His hand found my knee, squeezing gently. "Lots of things."

Despite the cool air, the heat in his eyes made my cheeks warm.

After all this time, his desire for me still had the power to make my pulse quicken.

We'd made love just that morning—slow and tender in the gray light of dawn, before Ellie woke—and already I was thinking about the next time, about his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine.

We lapsed into an easy silence, watching Ellie plop from flower to flower like a very determined butterfly herself. At one point, she stood unaided for a full two seconds before tipping over sideways with a delighted squeal.

I laughed, shaking my head. “She’s going to be walking any day now.”

And then—to prove me right—she planted both feet, wobbled upright, and took two steps toward us before promptly sitting down with a soft grunt and a face full of determination.

Uldrek laughed. “There it is.”

“Oh no,” I muttered, grinning as I half-reached forward to grab her.

“She’s off,” Hobbie called from somewhere behind us, arms crossed and mouth twitching at the corners. “Seven help us all.”

Uldrek shifted beside me and, without thinking, reached over and brushed his fingers across the hollow of my collarbone.

I felt it as it happened—the claiming mark answering with a low, steady thrum beneath my skin. Not a flare. Not a burning pulse. Just warmth. Presence. Like the steady beat of a heart long healed but still strong.

He felt it, too. His hand stilled against my skin. We looked at each other. No words. We didn’t need them.

I raised an eyebrow. “Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re getting sentimental.”

He laughed—soft, full, real. “Stars help me, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. And it wasn’t breathless or new anymore. It was settled. Strong. Like stone laid into foundation.

We sat there a little longer, sunlight warming our shoulders, Ellie babbling to a beetle she'd cornered under a dandelion. Somewhere behind us, the bells of the civic tower chimed the hour. A scribe called out a greeting to someone just outside. Life moved on—quiet and unremarkable.

And maybe that was the whole point.

Once, I had run toward silence because it was the only place I could breathe. Now I sat in it, not as an escape, but as a life I had built. A life I had chosen and kept choosing, every day.

Not because I had to. Not because I owed survival to anyone but myself—but because I saw the shape of peace within my reach, and I reached back.

The ache was still there sometimes—ghosts didn’t vanish just because the house was warm—but they no longer ran the place.

I was no longer made of fear.

I was made of names spoken freely, of sunlight on stone, of letters signed in ink under my own name.

Of baby's breath against my neck and a grumpy brownie refolding my wash.

Of a hand steady on my back and a voice that asked instead of commanded.

Of a kiss shared between bites of honey bun and the soft thrum of a bond that burned not to control, but to connect.

"I'm happy," I said aloud to no one in particular.

Uldrek didn’t answer. He just leaned in, pressed his forehead to mine, and breathed me in like he believed it, too.

Ellie squealed at something only she could see, sticky hands flapping with triumph.

And I sat between them—my daughter, my love, my peace—watching the light shift across the stone.

Not waiting for the next thing. Not guarding against the past. Just.. . here. Finally.

Home.