Chapter 25 Mav
MAV
The last traces of sunset clung to the treetops, a fading bruise of gold.
Our campfire crackled in the center of the grove, throwing restless flickers of light against moss-draped trunks and the worn outlines of our bedrolls.
The horses were tethered beyond the ring of trees, quiet save for the occasional impatient chuff.
Thistle sat cross-legged by the fire, chewing on something charred with the unyielding conviction of having declared it edible and refusing to believe otherwise.
Vesper snored from where he’d curled in the deep fold of Thistle’s hood.
Branrir was asleep, one arm slung loosely across his chest, the other curled protectively around a wineskin he had no intention of sharing.
His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, threatening to topple entirely should he lean an inch farther.
Quinn sat across from me. She stared at the flames, though I doubted she truly saw them—her gaze was distant, unfocused.
I shouldn’t have been staring, but after a day spent wading through tense silence, I couldn’t stop myself.
I wondered if I’d destroyed the only thing that had ever been real in my entire wretched life.
She hadn’t looked at me much since the rhyming confessions, and not with the same softness as before.
And it was my fault.
I jabbed at the fire with a stick, watched a scatter of sparks leap upward and die in the cooling night. Quinn shifted. I glanced up in time to see her rising to her feet, brushing dirt from her palms. She caught my gaze and tilted her head toward the trees in silent invitation.
I pushed to my feet, falling into step behind her as we slipped into the dark. We didn’t go far, barely beyond the reach of the campfire’s glow.
Eventually, Quinn stopped beneath an old cedar and faced me. “That rhyming grove,” she said, voice dry. “Might have saved us.”
“Didn’t feel much like saving at the time.”
Her soft laugh loosened the knot in my stomach. “It was ridiculous,” she admitted. “But I think if I had attempted to speak with you without being enchanted into couplets, I may have shouted.”
I winced. “I would’ve deserved it.”
Quinn’s gaze dropped to her fidgeting hands.
“I was frustrated and hurt. Last night, you kissed me, then this morning you acted as if nothing had transpired between us. And I—” She shook her head, brows knitting.
“I have learned to expect people will change their minds about me. And when you went quiet, I assumed the worst.”
My throat tightened. Her voice was soft, but every word was a blade aimed inward. I didn’t know how to fix it, but I could at least own my part.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words thick with everything I hadn’t managed to say before. “I handled it badly. I didn’t know what to do with how I felt. I still don’t. You deserve someone less…” My jaw worked. “…less me.”
“Mav,” she said, pinning her gaze to mine. “If none of this had happened—if I had lived the life I was once supposed to live—I never would have met you.”
My breath snagged.
She raised her shoulders as if it wasn’t a world-shattering confession. “I have lost much to the spell that I shall never get back. But if it brought me here—if it brought me you—then perhaps I am grateful for it.”
I stared at her, not because I didn’t believe her, but because it was the last thing I’d expected her to say. It was also exactly the thing I hadn’t let myself hope for.
A shaky laugh scraped from my throat. “You know I’m not great at taking compliments, right?”
“I am aware.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “You’re brilliant and stubborn and terrifyingly powerful. And me? I’m a disgraced ex-knight with a half-broken lute and a mind that never stills.”
Quinn stepped forward enough to erase the gap between us. “You are also the reason I am still alive,” she said, the words steady and unwavering. “And the only person who has ever made me feel like I could be something more than what I was born to be.”
My heart made a sound I didn’t know hearts could make. “I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” I admitted, my voice low and raw.
Quinn looked at me as though she didn’t need me to be anything except exactly who I was.
No one, in my entire life, had ever looked at me that way.
And she kissed me.
Not the wild rush of last night. This kiss was slow, trembling, a question asked in the language of lips and breath.
Her fingers brushed the edge of my jaw, tentative at first, before threading into my hair.
I grasped her waist gently, afraid she might vanish if I didn’t hold onto her.
The world fell away. There was nothing but the taste of her and the quiet hum of the tether.
When we parted, she gave me a sleepy, satisfied smile that nearly knocked me to my knees.
“Goodnight, Mav,” she murmured.
I watched her walk away until she reached her bedroll and curled beneath her blanket. Then I did the most dangerous thing I’d ever done.
I let myself believe that maybe she’d meant every word.
Four days.
That’s all we had left.
Four more nights. Four more mornings. Four more chances to hear her laugh, to watch her braid her hair, to tease her until she rolled her eyes at me. Four more days before she slipped into another century of silence.
I told myself not to think of it like a countdown. Told myself we’d find a way—I’d find a way—to undo this, to shatter whatever ancient decree had bound her fate to servitude and sleep. But the number wouldn’t leave me. It drummed beneath my ribs in an unrelenting beat.
Four.
Four.
Four.
My gaze locked on the sky above, where stars scattered themselves like freckles across a field of ink. Perhaps they might blink back the answer I needed.
It’s not love.
It can’t be.
You don’t fall in love that fast, at least that’s what I kept telling myself, but the words sounded unconvincing, even in my own mind. Because love hadn’t struck like lightning. It hadn’t roared or burned. It crept up slowly, quietly.
It was the sound of my name in her mouth.
The curve of her smile when she tried not to show it.
The silence between us that somehow said more than words could hold.
It was all too much, too fast. And yet, Saints help me—if I lost her, I didn’t know how I’d survive it.
Not only the silence she’d leave behind, but the absence of her.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, sleep pulled me under, still wrapped in the thought of her and hearing the relentless tick of time.
Sunlight spilled across the floor of a crooked, charming kitchen.
I smelled flour, rosemary, and something sweet baking in the oven.
A breeze stirred the lace curtains framing the open window.
Light danced across the floor in a quiet game.
Quinn stood by the table, brushing flour from her apron with the back of one wrist, a streak still smudged along her cheek.
She was laughing at something I didn’t hear but knew I’d said.
Her hair was pinned up haphazardly, a few dark curls slipping free around her ears.
I watched her move through the kitchen like it belonged to her. Maybe it did. Did it belong to us?
A shift.
We were in a garden.
Dusk-blue blossoms curled along trellises, their vines stretching toward the stars. A path wound through beds of unfamiliar blooms, things I didn’t have names for—but Quinn did. She whispered them, her fingertips brushing petals and leaves as if she were greeting old friends.
I knelt in the dirt beside her, hands muddy to the wrists. She passed me a trowel. I could sense the rhythm of it—this quiet, rooted life.
Another shift.
I woke to find her curled beside me in bed.
Early light kissed the slope of her shoulder.
I reached out and brushed my thumb beneath her eye, tracing the curve of her cheek.
Somewhere outside, a bell chimed. Beyond the walls, children’s laughter rang.
I didn’t know if they were ours, but it didn’t matter.
The sound felt like home. She felt like home.
Scenes bled together like watercolors running across a canvas. The sun caught in her hair. Rain tapping against a roof. A book on a nightstand, half-filled with stories we hadn’t finished. Two sets of boots by the door. Every breath was a promise. Every glance was an answer.
A peace I’d never known.
Underneath it all, I felt fear. What if this wasn’t real? What if this was nothing but a scrap of hope my mind and heart had stitched together? I reached for her hand. Even if it was only a dream, it was one I wanted to stay in for as long as the world would let me.