“But you were never meant to carry all of it. That’s what wore you down. That’s what sent you to Hazel’s shop at midnight to eat truffles until you couldn’t move.” A faint ripple of laughter moved through the crowd. Barnaby’s ears twitched with embarrassment, but Brok pressed on. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
Brok held out his hand, palm up. The golden light of the Title gathered there, warm and concentrated, and then it split. Not violently, not with any sense of breaking. It divided naturally, as if it had always been meant to flow in two directions.
Half the light poured into Barnaby.
I could see the exact moment it settled. The quiet grandeur of his magical nature returned. Barnaby made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. His eyes were enormous and wet, and his nose twitched so fast it was practically vibrating. But the rigid tension that had lived in his frame was gone. He looked… at peace.
Then Brok stood and turned toward Vixen.
This was different. Barnaby was someone Brok loved. Vixen was someone Brok respected but didn’t particularly like. The distinction showed. He was tenser, his posturemore rigid. But he’d made a decision, and he wouldn’t turn back now.
Vixen watched him with their chin lifted and their tail perfectly still. Their amber eyes gave nothing away. Perhaps they expected rejection or a taunt. After all, Brok had been on their opponent’s side.
But that wasn’t the point of our plan. “Your joy matters,” Brok said, the way he said everything. Like a fact, not a compliment. “Surprise. Cleverness. The part of spring that’s wild and unpredictable and makes people feel alive. That was never wrong. And now, there will be a place for it.”
The remaining golden light gathered in his palm and flowed toward Vixen. It changed as it moved. The warm, gentle gold sharpened into something brighter, pulsing with the energy of a wild spring rain.
When it reached Vixen, they flinched. Just barely, just for a fraction of a second, but I caught it. Their eyes went wide. Their claws glinted, the crystals adorning the polish seeming to sing. And Vixen, clever, unflappable Vixen, pressed a hand to their heart.
Brok lowered his hand. Both halves of the Title glowed, and he stood between the two Heralds with nothing. He’d given it all away. Every scrap of ancient magic and authority, handed off to the two people who actually needed it.
He was just an orc again. My orc. Standing in Oberon’s meadow with empty hands and the quiet satisfaction of someone who’d finished the job.
Barnaby burst into tears. Full-body, hiccuping, snot-producing sobs shook his entire frame and made his ears flap. He stumbled forward and tripped over his own paws. Then he recovered and leaped at Brok with the desperate trajectory of a very emotional projectile.
Brok caught him. Of course he did. He was the steadiest and most stubborn person I knew.
Barnaby buried his face in Brok’s chest and wailed. “You could have told me! I spent the entire race thinking my best friend had stabbed me in the back. I ate four emergency stress chocolates during the maze section!”
“That explains the time,” Brok said thoughtfully. “After all that training, you should have done much better.”
I was already crying. I couldn’t help it. Because Barnaby was happier now than he’d ever been while eating my chocolates, and it was everything I’d ever wanted.
Then Barnaby pulled back from Brok, sniffled twice with impressive volume, and turned to me. I extended my arms toward him, and he collapsed against me, exhausted.
There were no more words needed now. I only patted his fuzzy head, and it was enough for both of us. Maybe it always had been.
A shadow fell across my shoulder. Not Brok’s shadow. I knew the shape of that one by heart. This one was leaner, more angular. Vixen.
“Hazel. As ever, you never fail to impress.”
“I’m not the one who was impressive.”
It was true. In the big picture, I didn’t think I’d done that much. It was Vixen and Barnaby who’d fought for their dreams today, and Brok who’d defeated the impossible odds. But neither Barnaby nor Vixen seemed to agree with that.
Vixen shook their head. “Darling, you need to stop selling yourself short.” They stepped around to face me, and their expression was something I hadn’t seen on them before. It was unguarded, just for a moment, the way it had been briefly in the bakery before they shifted into a fox and disappeared. “You were the one who made it possible. Which is more interesting.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. With Vixen, I rarely did.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Their voice had the particular satisfaction of someone who had been right about something and intended to enjoy it. “Back in that dressing room. I said you looked like a woman with something important to say.”
“You were also trying to point me toward Isengrim at the time.”
“I can be right about two things simultaneously.” They glanced over at Isengrim, who was watching from a few feet away. Something passed between them, quick and private. “The numbers didn’t win today, Hazel. That was the point I was trying to make in your shop. I just hadn’t anticipated the specific form it would take.”
Barnaby pulled away from me just long enough to meet my eyes. “Vixen’s right. I like Brok, but dear gods, he’d have never figured this out on his own.”
Vixen’s mouth curved. “No. He would have challenged someone to physical combat as a negotiation strategy.”
