"I feel overwhelmed." Delia took a small sip of her drink. "In a good way. I think. It's just—a lot. Everyone's been so..."
"Welcoming?"
"Kind." The word came out thick. "I keep waiting for the other thing to happen. For someone to say I don't belong, or demand something in return, or—" She shook her head. "I can't stop expecting cruelty."
"That will take time."
Delia swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "You sound like you know."
"I do." Thessaly's face held old shadows. "I wasn't born into the Mountain Clan. I came here from the southern forests fifteen winters ago, running from something of my own. It took me years to stop flinching at kindness. But I did. Eventually." She nudged Delia's shoulder with her own. "You will too."
They sat together in comfortable silence, watching the fire.
"So," Thessaly said eventually, her tone turned teasing. "Brenneth offered you work."
"How do you already know that?"
"Small outpost. Fast gossip." Her grin was unrepentant. "You are already making a place for yourself. Skill of your own, work of your own, independence from your captain—"
"I don't want independence from Ralvar."
"No. But having it matters anyway." Thessaly's voice was surprisingly serious. "He can give you protection, and safety, and all the worship that massive heart of his holds. But he can't give you purpose. That has to come from you. Today, you took a step toward finding it."
Delia thought about the vambrace still tucked in her satchel. About the promise of tomorrow—work of her own, payment of her own, a place in this stronghold that existed separate from her connection to Ralvar.
Not because she wanted separation.
Because having something of her own made what they shared even more meaningful.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For bringing me to Brenneth. For—all of it."
Thessaly waved a hand. "What are friends for?"
The word landed somewhere deep in Delia's chest and took root.
Friends.
She'd never really had those before.
Chapter 21
Delia was sitting on a low wall near the main courtyard, watching the first stars emerge above the mountain peaks, when a shadow fell over her.
"There you are." Ralvar’s voice was warm with relief. "I've been looking."
"Meetings done?"
"For now." He settled beside her on the wall, his thigh pressing warm against hers. "How are you feeling? Today was—a great deal."
Delia considered the question.
She thought about the elder's hand on her shoulder. The drums and the mead and the feast. The way warriors had welcomed her without reservation. The work waiting for her in Brenneth's shop. The friendship offered in Thessaly's knowing eyes. Everything she'd been given, freely, without cost.
"I feel like I belong somewhere," she said slowly. "For the first time in my life."
Ralvar made a low sound in his chest and pulled her against his side.
They sat like that for a long moment, watching the stars multiply as the sky deepened from purple to black. The sounds of the stronghold had gentled with evening—distant voices, the clatter of dishes being cleared, the occasional bark of laughter from the great hall.
