For a moment, Alina saw what he might have been, had he never been forced into exile and war: a gentle, steady force, a man whose care shaped people instead of merely defending them. She wondered if, under all his armor and anger, that version of him still lingered, waiting for a world where it could be safe to exist again.
They made their way out of the village center, leaving the festival preparations behind. Kael greeted every person they passed: the smith at her anvil, the weaver mending a net, the cluster of old women spinning wool and gossip at the same time. Each encounter seemed to leave him lighter, as if pieces of his burden were being quietly lifted away by the people who needed him only as himself.
Alina kept pace beside him, noticing the villager’s glances toward him. Some were curious, some appraising, a few were even openly grateful. None looked at her with fear, or the suspicion that always lingered in palace corridors. She was a guest here, a curiosity, but not a threat.
The houses thinned as they continued, the sky widening above them. The sounds of the village faded to the soft rush of wind and, beneath it, the distant rush of water. Kael’s steps slowed further as the path turned to packed earth and finally to a scattering of steppingstones. At the edge of the settlement, a mossy stone bridge arched over a river that rushed and tumbled below, its banks streaked with new ice.
Kael stopped when they reached the crest of the bridge. He leaned with both hands on the cool, damp stone of the parapet, staring out across the water as if he’d forgotten Alina was there. For a long moment, he seemed suspended between the world behind him, full of warmth and light and voices, and whatever waited on the far side of the river.
“This place isn’t perfect,” he said, voice distant. “But it’s worth fighting for. That’s why I do what I do. Not for revenge. For this.”
Alina nodded, her mind spinning with the impossibility of it all. She thought of her mother, her father, the lessons pounded into her bones since childhood. She thought of the Caves, the rebels, the endless cycle of betrayal and violence. Then she looked at Kael, the way the sunlight made his eyes gold and alive. Maybe, just maybe, something new truly was possible.
By the time the sun dipped behind the hills, the village had transformed. Shadows bled long across the snow-crusted ground, and in every doorway, windowsill, and patch of open earth, someone was lighting a lamp or candle. Alina watched as ropes threaded with hundreds of lanterns were hoisted into place, spanning the crooked lanes from roof to roof. She had spent the rest of the afternoon with Hella, making honey cakes as promised, and was full from the dough she had snatched. Now, the lights glowed faintly gold at first, uncertain in the dusk, but as the darkness thickened, each flame seemed to gather confidence, multiplying until the whole village was alight with a gentle, impossible warmth.
She’d heard of the Festival of Lights—every region had its own version, but in the palace, it was more an excuse for speeches and enforced charity than anything like this. Here, the day seemed to belong to the people. No soldiers patrolled the streets; no one barked orders or counted coins. Instead, everyone was busy, fully involved with the celebrations.
Alina found herself drawn into the preparations, conscripted without ceremony by a stooped woman with silver hair and fingers stained yellow from years of herb-work. The woman handed her a basket filled with stubby candles and led her along the low stone wall that ringed the square.
“Here, dear. Press the wax in the cracks like this, else the wind will take ‘em,” the woman instructed. Her voice was rough, but not unkind. Alina nodded, mirroring her movements. The woman demonstrated once, then let Alina take over, watching with the appraising eye of a craftswoman inspecting her apprentice.
As they moved down the wall, Alina risked a glance at the woman’s scarred hands, the knuckles knotted and strong. Whenthe woman reached across to steady Alina’s grip, their fingers brushed. The contact was electric—not magic, just human.
“I can see you’re a city girl,” the woman said, voice pitched low. “But you do good work. Most of your kind, they don’t know how to set a candle right.”
Alina smiled, flushing with pride and surprise. “Thank you,” she said, realizing it was the first time in a long time anyone had praised her for anything.
They finished the row and stepped back to admire their work. The wall glowed in the gathering dark, each candle a tiny, defiant star.
Kael appeared at her elbow, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a hint of soot smeared across his cheek. “Nice touch,” he said, nodding at the candles. “You’ve just doubled the village’s illumination budget for the year.”
Alina rolled her eyes, but the joke landed softer than she expected. “I aim to impress,” she replied.
“Mission accomplished,” said Kael, and there was this smile again, something seen so rarely from him, unguarded and boyish, almost shy. He fixed his gaze on her face and reached out his hand. With his index finger, he wiped her cheek, then held it up to her and said: “Flour.” Caught by surprise, Alina blanked; for once, no witty reply was forthcoming. But Kael didn’t seem to care. He only continued to smile and gestured her to go with him. In all those weeks at the Caves, Alina had not seen Kael smile so much as she had in these few hours here in the village. It positively transformed him, and she couldn’t get enough of it.
They wandered to the market square, drawn by the pulse of music and the rich, sweet smell of baked apples and spiced wine. Iron braziers lined the open area, each one manned by a differentlocal personality: one man with a beard that reached his belt, a trio of young women in matching shawls, a child who looked barely old enough to stand but who turned the roasting spits with solemn, professional pride. Every few steps, someone pressed a cup into Alina’s hand, or a hot bun, or a twist of sugared nuts. She tried everything, delighting in the variety and generosity on offer.
In the center of the square, musicians played flutes and small, bell-like drums. The music was unfamiliar to Alina, urgent but lilting in nature, a dance that seemed to travel up the spine and out through the feet. People gathered in clusters, talking, laughing, swaying in time to the music. Even the children joined in, linking their hands to circle the braziers as they shrieked with laughter.
Kael was constantly in motion, weaving through the crowd, touching shoulders, clasping hands, accepting claps on the back and half-hugs from old friends. Just as during the day, Alina saw a version of him she’d never glimpsed in the Caves. He was warm and open, genuinely at ease for a change.
He introduced her to everyone they met. “This is Alina,” he’d say. No titles, no explanations. There was no recognition or awareness of her prior life; they truly seemed to have no idea. She was just a person, and that alone seemed to be enough for the villagers. A man with the arms of a blacksmith and the voice of a singer gave her a mug of wine so strong it made her eyes water. Two girls, both named Lissa, dragged her into a game that involved chasing each other around the braziers until everyone was breathless and dizzy.
As the night deepened, the festival reached its peak. Lanterns glowed in a hundred colors, the air thick with laughter and the aroma of roasting meat and melting wax. Kael found her at the edge of the square, where she’d paused to rest and catch her breath.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, sitting beside her on a rough-hewn bench.
Alina nodded, a little breathless. “It’s wonderful. I’ve never seen so many people happy all at once.”
Kael watched the crowd, eyes distant. “They live hard lives, but they know how to savor what they have. That’s something your palace could never understand.”
She took a sip of the wine, letting the heat spread through her chest. “I was taught that the Gift was something dangerous. That it had to be exterminated, or it would destroy everything it touched.”
Kael laughed, a soft, genuine sound. “And yet here we are. No destruction, just lights and songs and too much wine.”
Alina watched him, searching for the person she’d seen in the Caves, the one who carried the weight of every decision, every failure, every hope. She found him here still, but he was lighter, the burdens set aside for one night.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said, the words tumbling out without thought.
