Because of course, none of them know that I’m actually over five hundred years old.
I just look like a young, innocent girl who’s being tortured with puns by her comrades.
“It would be theChurn of the Century,” Zan deadpans.
“You’re both dead to me.”
“Well there you go, now you have a shop slogan too,” Zan drawls. “’If ice cream doesn’t solve your problems, we can try murder’.”
“Too real, Zan,” I tell him primly, only for more people to laugh.
And in that way, the morning passes. Nomi leaves us soon after to do her own work with a rueful nod of acknowledgement—that Zan is very muchnotisolating me—and with Zan’s support and my own gift for learning, I quickly don’t even need her help.
No one is more surprised by that than me.
Most people who come for ice cream are lovely. On the occasion that I do want to lash out at someone, Zan redirects them or me—mostly by whispering sexy puns in my ear.
It turns out puns involving the word ’cream’ are legion and distressing—before the day is done, he’s hit me withLucid Cream, Cream Power, Spice Cream,and the one that gets me to glare at him only to see answering heat in his eyes:Churn Me On.
Because of course, he barely has to try with me.
Nomi was right about one thing. Itisdifferent to actually see people enjoying the ice cream I made.
To see their joy; to know that I caused it.
And more than that, to see people reacting to me—and tohim—like I am a person. The same kind of person they are.
This is more humans than I have ever interacted with on a single day in my life, but I understand why Nomi thought I needed to be here.
With Zan at my side and Teren supporting me too, it’s...
Fun.
It’s a lot, but it’sfun.
Who knew I could enjoy this? Definitely not me.
But as the day goes on, it’s not only the possibilities that begin to illuminate themselves to me, but also the challenges.
People are wary of opening themselves up to ice cream, to joy, only to have it taken away from them again. They have no reason to believe my ice supply will last, after all.
People are talking about priests being seen in Crystal Hollow—priests who didn’t seem impaired.
People are wondering about the dampening field weakening. So far no one has tried to climb the mountain, but it’s only a matter of time.
No one is speculating about sages—with the godsdamned pretty bow in my hair, no one can see my true eye color, and anyway, no one but Zan thought the Sage of Wrath was still alive. The priests don’t exactly share their information with the public.
The line does eventually slow, and only after I have slumped back against Zan, who wraps an arm around me to hold me up like it’s a thing he does every day—andcouldn’tit be?—do I realize it’s because people are starting to pack up from the market.
“For these vendors, mornings are for selling, and afternoons will be for getting ready for the next market day,” Zan explains. His voice is quiet, next to my ear, and I suppress a probably inappropriate shiver.
“You didgreat,” Teren tells me. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you this, but staying on your feet and actually interacting with people is the best way to make sales. Not that it mattered in this case,” he finishes with a laugh.
“And you’re in your element here, aren’t you?” I ask thoughtfully. I would have assumed he was most at ease at home, but here—with a steady stream of people to welcome and set at ease and help make choices that bolster who they are—Teren really thrived.
He smiles as he carefully folds the remainder of the crafts on the table. “I enjoy knitting, but market days are a rush.”
And he’s probably gotten an extra rush today makingmemore comfortable—and not even using his magic to do it.
