“You are,” he agreed, his step never slowing.
“As long as that’s settled.” She relaxed into his grip—only to stiffen as a firm object in her cloak pocket poked her side. She pulled her cloak up, digging in the pocket to find the small, damaged notebook she’d saved from the brazier in Brint’s office.
“Here.” She held it out to Anadae, who walked in step with them. “It’s… magey stuff. I think.”
Calya thought she heard a muffled snort, but Anadae took the notebook without comment as they exited the cave. A string of horses waited in the clearing, some saddled and others still hitched to plain carriages.
“I’ll see if we can use one of the carts,” Anadae said before walking away, leaving Calya alone with Lowe.
Carefully, he set her on her feet, then moved to take a respectful step back. Calya tightened her fist in his shirt, holding him close. His hand jumped as if to touch her cheek before he stopped himself. Instead, he settled for brushing his knuckles against her arm.
“Calya,” he murmured, face solemn. Not his usual frown, but moody in its own way.
“I—” She swallowed, emotions rising. It had to be left over from the stress, of course. She cleared her throat. “Thank you. For coming back. You didn’t have?—”
“I never should’ve left.” He huffed, raked his fingers through his hair, and shook his head ruefully. “I never should’ve left you.”
“Yes, well…” Calya forced herself to release his shirt, patting it back into place. “I wasn’t very nice to you.”
His lips curved with a faint smile. “You had me all figured out from the start, too. I don’t care much for a nice woman.”
Calya preened. “I’m certainly not that.” Seeing a horse-drawn cart coming their way, she murmured, “Where does that leave us?”
Lowe’s gaze went to the mark still burned into her hand.
“We’ll revisit once I get this removed,” Calya said, turning toward the cart. “I haven’t finished enjoying my time with you.” Then she looked back over her shoulder, adding in a quieter voice, “I’ll see you at the inn?”
He inclined his head. “I promise.”
She hummed softly, gaze lingering on him for a moment before she let her sister help her into the cart.
After five glorious days of being waited on hand and foot—and having drunk what felt like a barrel’s worth of healing infusions Eunny insisted upon—Calya was a new woman. Though her sister and friends weren’t around for much of her recovery, called away to assist in getting the false wellspring safely closed down, Froley came by often. They delivered updates and the freshest bake of the day Roxana had whipped up.
“The mayor tried to run for it,” was delivered with a breakfast of cheese toast and apples. “Dockmaster rolled on him, and the young lieutenant found him trying to hide under the catch on a fishing boat. Threw him in with Avenor. Without a wash.”
Spiced, fruit-stuffed hand pies accompanied, “The last member of Matthias’s team is up. Weak, but no poison.”
Amazingly, Brint had been telling the truth: none of the Sylveren mages had died. Over a dozen had been locked away in the bowels of the cavern, some in dire condition. But for what it was worth, Eren Galwynd had been true to his word. He’d informed the king of Rhell of the failure at the Landing, and King Jeron had sent three ships out immediately to aid his youngest brother. Between the healing tea and a pair of strong menders who’d arrived on one of Jeron’s ships, the desperately ill pulled through.
Still, surviving the cursed point didn’t come without cost. More than half of the afflicted mages’ magic had burned out, among other lingering side effects, and not even the miracle tea could restore that which had fully been lost. Calya quietly kept a record of names and conditions, of the losses the Coalition had caused. She would prove her past self wrong, prove that people could be evidence. If she had to present them as numbers and damages, then so be it, but the Coalition would pay.
The fifth day dawned cold but bright, a bite of frost in the air. Winterfest was around the corner. Froley greeted Calya with a fresh-from-the-oven muffin the size of her face and a wicked grin.
“Might want to eat this down at the dock,” they said. “The Rhellians are taking Avenor back today. To the Valley. Guess your Sentinel claimed authority.”
“With entertainment like this, the Landing is bound to be discovered,” Calya teased.
She wandered down to the water, her good humor waning a touch as troublesome thoughts arose. Her Sentinel. If the Rhellians were leaving, would Lowe go with them? Given all that had transpired, her forced convalescence, and his Sentinel obligations in the cleanup efforts, they’d hardly had a moment of privacy. Not that it should’ve mattered; they were both returning to the Valley, so it wasn’t as if she’d never see him again.
Still, the notion of him sailing separately—sailing without her—caused a tightness in her chest. It was a feeling too close to sentimentality for her liking, yet Calya couldn’t shake it. Focus. HNE. You came here for HNE.
She spotted Anadae standing with Eunny and Ollas and waved, making her way toward them. Anadae hugged her, then held her at arm’s length, eyes sweeping over her with concern. “Are you feeling all right? Do you need another mending? Eun, you should?—”
Calya fended them off, batting Eunny away when she reached for Calya’s forehead with a glowing hand. “I’m fine. Goddess break, I already have one mother, and I’m not looking to add any more to the roster.”
Anadae snorted. “She hasn’t any nurturing instincts left.”
Calya gasped, hands pressing to her chest in dramatic fashion. “Are you, Anadae the Eldest Daughter, The Perfect One, casting aspersions on our mother’s name? Will wonders never cease.”
