Mirela’s instinct was to refuse. She had nothing to offer in return, but Claire pressed the food into her hands.
“Eat,” she said simply. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Mirela looked at her hands. She hesitated but eventually took a bite. The meat was smoky and tender, the juices warm on her tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut as the flavor sank in. This was different from anything Ferron hadever given her. When she looked back at Claire, the other woman was already watching her with a smug little grin.
“You’re staring,” Mirela said, half shy, half teasing.
“I like watching you discover things,” Claire replied, tilting her head, her smile unwavering. “You make it look…” she looked away, trying to hide her face, but Mirela noticed the darkening of her cheeks. “Sacred.”
Mirela chuckled then rolled her eyes, though her heart gave a funny little stutter. “It’s just food, Claire.”
“Not to you.” Claire’s smile softened. “And that makes it special.”
Before Mirela could think of a reply, Claire handed her a small tart, the crust golden and glistening with sugar and smelling of apples. Mirela took it gingerly, as if afraid it might crumble in her hands.
“Claire, that’s too much—“
“I got it for free.”
Mirela arched a brow and then narrowed her eyes at Claire.
“I have my charm. Now eat,” Claire said, pushing Mirela’s hand to her chest.
Taking a deep breath, Mirela decided she would repay Claire for it later. She bit into the tart and gasped. “It’s sweet,” she murmured, astonished.
This was what she wanted now. To taste. To learn. To see the world through her own eyes and not through thecracks of the cathedral. And she wanted to do it all beside Claire.
After swallowing, she smacked her tongue inside her mouth and turned to Claire. “Very, very sweet…”
Claire laughed, delighted. “Not a sweet tooth?”
Mirela scrunched her nose and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Right! Then I will get us some more meat. How about that?”
Claire was gone before she could stop her. Mirela dashed through the crowd to her, devouring what was left of the tart. Next to her, Claire studied the streets as music became louder.
“Come,” Claire said, taking Mirela’s hand and pulling her toward the music.
The sound grew louder with every step. She could make out tambourines jingling and drums beating. When they turned the corner, Mirela saw them: a group of travelers gathered around a brightly painted wagon, its wooden sides carved with swirling patterns and draped in colorful fabrics. Some played fiddles and drums, others clapped along while an older man sang in a raspy voice. A few children darted between the dancers, laughing, while nearby, women displayed embroidered scarves, bracelets, and handmade instruments for sale.
Claire’s eyes widened, her lips parting in wonder. “I know them!” she said suddenly, barely containing herexcitement. “They came near my village once—by the farm. They’re good people.” Her voice softened on the last word. “My parents didn’t think so, but they were kind to me…”
Claire swallowed hard, and before Mirela could ask what had happened, Claire clapped along with the rhythm.
A group of young dancers moved into the square, their skirts flaring with every spin. Mirela, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Claire. Something was aching within Claire, and Mirela couldn’t pinpoint what it was. It was as if her mind still hesitated to let her be free.
Mirela felt a tug deep inside her chest.
Claire belonged to this kind of light. She belonged to the laughter, the movement, the music that broke through every wall Mirela had ever known. How could she not give that back to her?
Without a word, Mirela stepped closer, her hands finding Claire’s waist. Claire barely had time to gasp before Mirela gave a playful push, enough to send her spinning into the circle of dancers.
For a moment, Claire froze. Then one woman caught her hands and pulled her in, spinning her twice before Claire’s laughter rang out. Her skirt flared, her raven hair caught the light, and her joy spilled into the square.
Mirela couldn’t look away. Every laugh, every movement, every flash of her smile struck her like a revelation.
This…This was what freedom looked like.
