He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. Just lifted his hand when she reached him, palm open, waiting.
This time, she didn’t hesitate before taking it.
Twenty-Five
Market Square looked different now that Maude wasn’t bracing for pitchforks. Lanterns from the festival still hung above, but instead of dripping molten glass, they only swayed in the morning breeze, faded streamers fluttering like shed skins. The stalls glittered with sugared fruit and polished trinkets, vendors hawking the last of their autumn charms and spiced brews before the town turned its face toward the winter rites. It happened every year—one final frenzy, a chance to wring the dregs of the harvest into coin before the holly and frost took over.
The air was thick with honeyed nuts, mulled wine gone sour at the rim, woodsmoke laced with pine. Merchants shouted their specials over one another like it was a blood sport. Children tore past shrieking, rolling dramatically across the cobbles in some invented game about demon hunters.
And at the center, beneath the wyvern fountain, the Weftmark ring glowed faintly—a reminder that things could break and still be held together.
People glanced at Maude as she passed. Not all friendly. Not all kind. But no longer with that sharp suspicion. They were…curious. Uneasy, yes, but no longer ready to shove her into the river. It was, she thought, exactly the kind of scene that used to make her scowl until her jaw ached. The kind that smelled too much like hope and humanity and all the things she’d once sworn didn’t fit her bones.
But today, she walked through it. Coffee in hand. Grim perched imperiously on her shoulder, tail curled around her neck like a furry necklace. Andstill—most shocking of all—Wesley at her side, matching her stride so easily it looked rehearsed.
He handed her a pastry, like he’d somehow known she wanted it. She pretended at innocence after snatching it out of his hand.
“Breakfast number two,” he said mildly.
“Your concern for my blood sugar is touching,” she replied around a bite.
Oli swept toward them in a coat that looked like it had devoured three others just to achieve maximum drama, a magistrate’s sash slung across his chest.
“My constituents!” he cried. “Rejoice, for I have graced you with my presence.”
A child immediately hurled a half-eaten roll at him.
Oli caught it midair and took a bite. “Delicious. See? Democracy works.”
“Saints help us,” Maude muttered.
“My favorite witch and her besotted baker,” he sang, sweeping into an extravagant bow. “And Grim, of course—our true ruler.”
“Bow lower,” Maude said without missing a beat. “Maybe you’ll reach your humility.”
Selene appeared behind him, hair mussed from the morning rush at the Lantern Ward, an armful of jars balanced precariously. “Don’t encourage him, Maude. He hasn’t stopped talking about his magistrate’s seat since sunrise. I had to pretend a patient was vomiting blood just to get him to leave.”
“I saw through it,” Oli said smugly.
Selene rolled her eyes.
“Next time, fake your own death,” Maude said, not looking up from her coffee. “More convincing.”
“Careful, witch,” Oli said, sweeping into theirpath. “You’re positively radiant this morning. A week in bed with a baker will do that, won’t it?”
Wesley choked on his coffee, but Maude didn’t miss a step. “At least mine delivers more than breadcrumbs.”
Oli clutched his chest like he’d been fatally wounded. “I’m under appreciated in this friend group,” he declared. “History will remember me as the glue.”
“Glue that never shuts up,” Maude muttered.
Wesley pinched her arm. “Rude.”
“Please,” Selene laughed. “The only thing worse than his monologues is his…wheezing.”
“Excuse me,” Oli said, “I am a delight.”
“You snore.”
