At last, the silence became too charged to endure. “So, Cedric,” Finn ventured, trying to keep his tone conversational, “how long have you lived in this village?”
Cedric took a sip of the cider he’d brought, his gaze thoughtful. “I don’t live in the village, but near enough. It’s been a few years now. Duskridge is a peaceful place, for the most part. Though we do get the occasional excitement.” His lips curved slightly, as if at a private joke. “Like battered knights stumbling in asking about dragons.”
Finn groaned, letting his head tip back against the bench. “Ah. You heard about that.”
“Word travels fast in a small village,” Cedric said, far too pleased with himself. He popped a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before adding, “Though I have to say, ‘knight wanders into town ranting about dragons’ isn’t the usual fare for local gossip.”
“I was not ranting,” Finn muttered into his skewer, glaring at it like it had betrayed him.
Cedric scoffed, entirely unconvinced. “Oh, of course not. Just making an impassioned speech in the middle of the tavern, voice raised, perhaps a dramatic gesture or two?—”
Finn shot him a look. “You weren’t even there.”
“I didn’t have to be.” Cedric’s grin was bright with good humor. “I have a vivid imagination.”
Finn huffed, trying (and failing) not to find Cedric’s amusement ridiculously distracting. He was supposed to be getting information, not charmed out of his wits.
“I hope you won’t take offense,” Cedric continued, his gaze colored with something just on the edge of serious, “but may I ask why you’re so interested in dragons?”
The question, asked so politely, set an uneasy tremor through Finn. Just how much does he already know? He swallowed a chunk of roasted pepper and wrestled with how much truth to reveal. Something about Cedric—his calm confidence, his quietly intense gaze—made Finn want to confess more than he intended. Which was ridiculous. He hardly knew this man.
“It’s…complicated,” he said finally, lowering his voice as though the details might be overheard. “I was sent here on a mission.” A lump rose in his throat when he thought of Princess Gwenna scowling at him from the outpost. “To slay a dragon.”
Cedric turned, fixing him with a look that was far too intense for someone who carved wood for a living. “Why do you want to slay this dragon?”
It was a simple question, but there was something off about the way he asked it. Too careful. Too calm. And was that…a hint of irritation?
Finn shifted on the bench, suddenly feeling as if he was the one under scrutiny. “The dragon is holding the person I’m here to rescue hostage. It’s a monster,” he said, almost like he was convincing himself. It took my father.
For a long moment, Cedric was silent. He ran a fingertip through the condensation on his mug, drawing aimless patterns. When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued, laced with a hint of sorrow. “Perhaps the real monsters are not the ones we expect to find in dark caves, but the ones hiding behind polite smiles and noble causes.”
Finn stiffened, a spark of indignation flaring in his chest. Does he mean me? He pinned Cedric with a sharp look. “What exactly are you implying?”
Cedric met his gaze head-on, and damn him, he didn’t flinch—not even a little. The intensity in those molten-gold eyes made Finn’s breath catch, which only annoyed him further.
“Good and evil, heroes and monsters…these are comforting labels, but they often fall short of the truth.” He took a slow sip of cider, as if he hadn’t just upended everything Finn had been taught about right and wrong. “In my experience, most beings—human or otherwise—are capable of both great kindness and terrible cruelty. It’s our choices that define us, not our nature.”
Finn stared at him, stomach tightening. There was a weight behind those words, a personal knowledge that Finn couldn’t quite place—but felt.
And worse? It left him at a loss for a good retort. So instead, he scoffed, chewing another piece of meat with unnecessary force. “You talk like a philosopher.”
Cedric’s mouth twitched. “And you argue like a man who thinks he already has all the answers.”
Finn shot him a narrow look. “I get the feeling that was an insult.”
Cedric took another bite from his skewer, chewing with an infuriating slowness. “Was it?”
Oh, this man was going to drive him insane.
Finn exhaled sharply, rubbing at a sore spot on his wrist. “I’m doing what duty dictates,” he said at last. The words felt flimsy.
“Duty,” Cedric echoed softly, as though tasting the word. He let out a humorless laugh. “I know a thing or two about duty.”
Intrigued despite himself, Finn leaned back, bracing his arms on the bench. “And what has duty taught you?”
Cedric’s lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That it can be both a shield and a cage. It can protect us from our darkest impulses, but it can also blind us to greater truths.” His gaze flicked to Finn, eyes simmering with what could only be described as righteousness. “Tell me, Sir Knight, have you ever questioned the orders you’ve been given?”
Finn stiffened, indignation flaring. Of course he’d questioned orders before—hadn’t he? But it wasn’t his place to—No. He pushed the thought aside. That wasn’t the point. “My orders come from those wiser than myself. It’s not my place to question them.”
