Page 37

CORA

T he Hearth & Hollow Inn had never smelled sweeter.

Cora padded across the creaky wood floors of the upstairs hallway, wrapped in one of Miriam’s thick knit cardigans and clutching a still-steaming mug of peppermint tea.

Sunlight poured through the lace-curtained windows, soft and golden, and the scent of lemon and clove drifted up from the kitchen. Hollow Oak was healing, and so was she.

Her muscles ached. Her magic fluttered in odd bursts like a bird still remembering how to fly, but she was whole.

Alive.

And the Veil had sealed.

She paused at the window overlooking the square, watching the town stir to life.

Rufus Tansley was already arranging glowing jars in front of the Hollow Mercantile.

Twyla swept the café steps with an enchanted broom that was too chatty for its own good.

Maeve stalked past them both, coffee in one hand, and flipping her dagger in the other, yelling at someone to fix the tavern’s lantern post “before the wind spirits finished it off.”

Cora smiled. It felt good to be part of it all now. Not a guest. Not a curse walking on borrowed time.

She sipped her tea and turned back toward her room.

Her muscles sighing from the effort. Her green wrap dress had been traded for cozy leggings and a soft tunic, her hair braided loose and tucked over one shoulder.

Miriam had insisted she rest here for a couple of days, and though Cora had protested at first, the truth was her body welcomed the peace. The cabin with Callum would wait.

Callum.

Her chest pulled tight with the thought of him. He’d left just after sunrise, his voice low with that ever-present rumble as he kissed her slow and told her he’d be back by dusk. The Veil needed walking. The trees needed listening. And so did the people.

“You’re not sleeping all day, are you?” a voice called from down the hall.

Cora turned as Twyla climbed the steps, arms full of something wrapped in velvet and grinning like she knew every secret the world had ever whispered.

“Depends on if I get bribed with scones,” Cora said, easing into the doorway.

“I brought better than scones, sweetheart.” Twyla swept into the room, laying the bundle down on the bed with a dramatic flourish. “A little something from Hollow Oak.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Is this a post-saving-the-town gift?”

“It’s a welcome-home gift,” Twyla said, smoothing the velvet open.

Inside lay a delicate charm with braided silver cord wound with strands of glimmering lion fur and soft, dried moonflower petals. At the center hung a teardrop-shaped piece of polished amber that caught the sunlight and seemed to hum faintly with something old and kind.

Cora reached for it, fingers trembling slightly. “What is it?”

“Protection and recognition,” Twyla said. “Moonflower blooms only for those the forest accepts. And the lion fur… well, that came with Maeve’s blessing. Took some convincing. She plucked it right off Callum’s patrol cloak when he wasn’t looking.”

Cora laughed, the sound catching on something deep and grateful. “This is beautiful.”

Twyla tilted her head. “So are you. Especially when you finally believe it.”

Cora looked down at the charm again, then tied the cord carefully around her wrist. The moment the knot held, a soft pulse fluttered through her palm—magic and something more. Home.

Twyla rose, brushing off her skirt. “Now that you’re officially part of the forest’s good graces, there’s one more thing to do.”

Cora blinked. “There’s more?”

“Oh yes. You need to get your potions registered.”

“Registered?” Cora followed her down the steps, mug in hand, braid swinging. “Like, with paperwork?”

Twyla grinned. “Official Hollow Oak Craft Registry. Edgar’s been asking about it all week.”

Cora stepped out onto the front porch. The sun warmed her cheeks, and the breeze carried birdsong and the smell of fresh bread. She never thought she’d live somewhere that wanted to claim her name. Now she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“I didn’t think anyone would want what I made,” she said, more to herself than to Twyla. In all honesty, Cora didn’t know anyone knew she made anything outside of Twyla and Miriam.

The café owner paused at the bottom of the steps, turning back.

“Honey, we’ve all been using your pain balm since the last storm knocked out half the tavern roof.

Edgar swears your sleep draughts helped Varric dreamwalk finally after ten years.

And the lemon-verbena elixir you brewed last week made Rufus cry. ”

Cora blinked. “Rufus Tansley cried?”

“Just a little,” Twyla said with a wink. “He said it tasted like memories.”

Cora pressed a hand to her chest, overwhelmed by the quiet truth of it all. Her magic wasn’t dangerous anymore. It wasn’t wild and broken. It was part of this town now, stitched into its rhythm. Into the people.

Into Callum.

She followed Twyla across the square, waving to Miriam at the café window and dodging a playful nudge from Maeve’s broom, who apparently now flirted with everyone after Callum jokingly gifted it to her.

Her satchel bumped at her hip, full of sample vials and dried herbs wrapped in labeled parchment.

It felt oddly official. Like she was walking toward a version of herself she never knew was waiting.

The registry building was tucked beside the old stone well, nestled beneath an ivy-draped roof.

Inside, Edgar stood behind a counter surrounded by shelves stacked high with scrolls and dried herbs and magical ingredients of every kind.

He adjusted his glasses when he saw her and smiled like he’d been waiting.

“Well, if it isn’t our newest resident enchantress,” he said, beaming. “All ready?”

Cora nodded. “Think so.”

They filled out a form—handwritten, ink smudged from her still-shaky hands. Twyla handed over a certificate scrawled in her looping script and wrapped in blue ribbon.

“There,” she said, tapping the seal. “Now you’re official.”

Cora traced the edge of the parchment. “Thank you. Really.”

“No, thank you ,” Edgar said, voice softer now. “This town’s been through its share of darkness. You brought light back. That matters.”

She blinked against sudden tears. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“No,” Twyla agreed, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But you did it. And that counts.”

The rest of the day passed in slow warmth.

People greeted her like they always had, but with something new behind their eyes.

Respect. Gratitude. Familiarity. She spent the afternoon helping Miriam steep herbs and shelve jars.

Maeve popped in with Callum’s patrol update and two small cuts that Cora patched with salve.

The kids near the fountain brought her wildflowers.

Every moment reminded her she’d chosen this life.

And that it had chosen her back.

When dusk painted the sky in hues of amber and rose, she returned to the inn to find Callum waiting on the porch, arms folded, leaning against the post like he hadn’t moved all day.

His golden skin glowed in the warm light, shaggy brown hair ruffled from the wind.

His eyes found her, and the soft smile he gave lit every part of her chest.

He straightened and opened his arms.

Cora walked straight into them.

“You look better,” he said, voice rumbling against her cheek.

“I feel better.” She pulled back slightly, cupping his face. “I’m registered.”

His brow lifted. “Legally dangerous now?”

“Legally helpful.” She grinned. “I’m told my sleep draughts made Rufus cry.”

“I’d pay good coin to see that.”

She kissed his chin. “I’m starting to think I belong here.”

Callum leaned in, his lips brushing her forehead. “You do.”

“Forever?”

“If you want.”

“I do.”

He kissed her then, long and slow and sure. When they finally pulled apart, the moon had risen behind the trees, and Hollow Oak exhaled around them, alive and whole.

They stood there for a while, hand in hand, wrapped in quiet and promise.

Home.