Chapter 10 #2
Ryn hesitated for a second before shaking his head, drumming out another stock denial. “Moss is small, but it’s well-known in the local area. And, I say this with all possible modesty, but, the bakery is too. If someone was interested, they could visit. Or write to me.”
Oaklin shrugged, tipping their head to give Ryn a small smile. “I came here because there was a notice for the farm on the board in Riverdeep. If someone hadn’t posted it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Do I belong here?”
“Of course you do!” Ryn sputtered, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that at all, I just…oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Gods damn it, Jules is going to be so smug. I’ll think about it, okay?”
He shot a glare at the empty stool on the stage as if it could somehow reach Jules, then turned back.
“Anyway, I don’t know how we got on the topic of me and my issues.
All I originally was trying to say is that whatever happened to you, whoever you used to be, you’re here now.
We’ve got you, and we’re glad you’re here. ”
The words were just vague enough to leave Oaklin doubting.
Did Ryn suspect anything? Or was he simply assuming the general wartime trauma that so many people had experienced in recent years?
Oaklin drummed their fingers on the table to release some nervous tension and keep themself from constantly looking over their shoulder.
No need to confirm either way. Maybe it was better not to know. They’d be gone before it would ever matter.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Oaklin said after a long sip from their ale, the knowledge that they’d be leaving giving them a tiny rush of bravery. The weight of constant secrecy was so very heavy. Maybe just the tiniest bit of elaboration would be okay. Minimal consequences, all things considered.
“I just wanted you to know what you’re dealing with, I guess. I truly am starting over, in the sense that I don’t even remember who I used to be,” they said. “Brain trauma–induced clean slate.”
Ryn’s expression was almost painfully sincere. “That must be really hard, Oaklin. But also…maybe exciting? Right? The chance to make a completely fresh start doesn’t come along often.”
Was exciting really the word? They shrugged. “Yeah, maybe,” Oaklin murmured, giving in to the urge to cast their eyes around the room for anyone paying too much attention. So exciting I get to do it again, they added silently.
A cheer went up from the crowd, and Oaklin nearly jumped out of their chair, ready to bolt at the unexpected sound before they realized what—who—it was for.
Up on stage, Jules waved to the crowd and sat atop a tall stool, looking roguish and charming with his mandolin perched on his knee.
Lanterns with shades in every color decorated the edge of the platform, painting the wood floors in a chromatic spill of light.
With a strum of a bright chord, the colorful lights flared, leaping to the call of Jules’s strings.
“Good evening, everyone!” he called out. “We ready to have a good time?”
The crowd responded with gusto and familiarity, immediately singing along with drinks held aloft when Jules launched into a rowdy sea shanty.
He worked the crowd with ease and expertise, teasing the regulars and firing back at hecklers, a force of pure charm and confidence.
It was a joy to watch him perform—and to have a break from Ryn’s focus, which had fully shifted to hanging on Jules’s every note, a light flush staining his cheeks when Jules shot him a wink.
After a few songs, the chair beside Oaklin pulled out, prompting another near-flight…but it was only an exhausted-looking Lior. Ryn took one look at her and stood.
“I’ll go get you a drink,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder.
Lior mustered a weak smile. “You’re a true saint. Thanks.”
The crowd burst into raucous applause as Jules finished a song, the cheers quickly morphing into shouted requests. Oaklin took in Lior’s ragged expression and slumped posture with a grimace.
“That bad, huh?” Oaklin asked.
“Long. So long. And pointless,” she said, tipping her head back with her eyes closed. “Full of everyone taking cracks at me, of course.”
Oaklin’s brow furrowed, and they worded their next question carefully, as if the answer didn’t matter immensely. “Why? You have nothing to do with that inquisitor, right?”
Right?! their brain added frantically. They held their breath.
Lior snorted. “No. But they seem to think so.”
She heaved an enormous sigh and met Oaklin’s gaze for the first time since arriving, voice lowered below the din of the crowd and music. “This might make you hate me, but during the Enchantrix War, I didn’t ‘do my duty,’ according to the church.”
Oaklin’s heart lit with a tiny flicker of hope.
“What does that mean, exactly?” they asked, their tone carefully neutral and curious.
Lior squeezed her fist on top of the table, then forcibly relaxed it, staring down at the hand as if willing herself to be calm. “I know the cult of the Enchantrix did a ton of damage and hurt so many people, but they were all mind-controlled, you know?”
Oaklin’s throat closed up. It took too many eternal seconds to clear it enough to reply. “I’d…heard that, yeah.”
Lior blew out a hard breath through her nose. “Well, knowing that, I didn’t think it was right to use lethal force against them. I stood up to the church and some others followed me. Obviously they didn’t like that.”
“I bet not,” Oaklin murmured, looking away to hide whatever terribly revealing thing their face was doing. “What did you do then?”
Lior shrugged. “We still fought the Enchantrix, but in our own way. Sister Talla and most of the church leadership still hate me for it. So, you know…”
She slouched further in her seat and attempted to look unbothered, but there was a deep weariness in her eyes. Oaklin’s throat went thick with feeling, and they had to try several times to get their words out.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, and it was really brave of you to stand up against the church. I’m really impressed.” And grateful, they desperately wanted to add.
Lior gave a smile that looked like it was struggling to not be a frown. “I appreciate it. Truly.”
Oaklin tuned their ears into the clamor of conversation in the tavern, gauging the general mood.
Still no calls for pitchforks. Still plenty of Inquisitor talk, but more curious in tone than anything.
Nothing so heavy even as what Lior had brought up.
Like Oaklin’s friends had predicted, the Inquisitor was the talk of the village, but in a gossipy sort of way, just the latest thing.
Oaklin relaxed back into their chair and loosened their death grip on their ale, feeling their feet on the floor, the heavy, warm air around them, and smelling the tinge of wood smoke in the air from the hearth and oven.
Just an evening at the tavern with their friend, the paladin who had chosen not to kill.
After a beat, Lior waved her hand to dismiss the entire topic and put on a brighter smile. “But that’s enough of that—tell me how the market went! What did I miss?”
And, with a growing sense of tentative ease, Oaklin told her.
Oaklin and Lior chatted for a few moments until Ryn returned with Lior’s ale. Jules wrapped up his set a moment later and, after carefully setting his mandolin down onstage, joined their table.
“Break time! How’s everyone? Having a nice time?” The last bit was directed at Oaklin with a cheeky wink, who felt an unconscious smile lift the corners of their lips. Jules was still in full stage-presence mode, and the force of it was a lot.
“Yes! Great time! You’re so talented,” Oaklin said, unable to resist Jules’s charms.
“You have no idea. I have many talents,” Jules said with an eyebrow waggle at Ryn, who promptly choked on his ale. Oaklin picked up the conversation to give Ryn time to recover.
“Oh, do you dance and do tricks too? Is that your next act?” they shot back.
Jules only grinned wider. “You bet. The next song has backflips. Just you wait.”
The next song did not, in fact, have backflips, and Oaklin made sure to give Jules grief about it for the rest of the night, long past when they originally planned to make their excuses and leave.
The crowd eventually rotated to a new crop of drinkers and diners, and then thinned altogether as the sun fully set and more lanterns were lit.
Finally, after one last round of song, drink, and food, the evening began to wind down.
Oaklin, Ryn, Jules, and Lior settled their tabs and headed outside to walk the streets, laughing and talking in the crisp night air until an old man shouted out his window at them to “go home already, you menaces!”
It was clearly time to pack it in and get Grumpy Horse back to the farm, but Oaklin was full to the brim with the warm feelings that came with an evening well spent with excellent company. They didn’t want it to end.
Not just tonight, but ever.
They didn’t want to leave Mossley’s Rest. They wanted more time in this charming village, with these fascinating people. What they’d found here was rare, and the chances of finding it again in another place were nonexistent.
Mossley’s Rest was worth fighting for, and Oaklin wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe it was too soon to feel this attached.
They were still new here. There was an inquisitor lurking around the area, intimidating every small village with their showmanship.
Hopefully that was all it was: bluster and threats.
But Oaklin looked over at Lior, whose face was turned up to the moon as she laughed at something ridiculous Jules had said.
Lior, who stood by her principles when her church tried to slaughter people just like Oaklin.
Who stepped in to walk Oaklin home before she knew a thing about them, just because it was the right thing to do.
Oaklin really liked Lior. Liked Ryn and Jules too.
Maybe the opportunity to be with good people in a good place was worth a little risk.
Was any place in the world completely safe?
Probably not, no. They could have picked a place farther from Riverdeep, but they hadn’t.
They’d followed the strange tug in their heart that had pulled them toward the ad for Granny’s farm.
For Mossley’s Rest. It was done. And it was good.
Ryn and Jules broke off to head to their places, leaving Lior to walk Oaklin and Grumpy Horse to the edge of the village, enjoying each other’s company in the quiet of the night.
They glanced at Lior from the corner of their eye, catching the shine of the moon along her copper braid and the strong, sure way she took up space in the world.
For a brief moment, Oaklin was breathless, and the decision solidified in their mind.
They weren’t leaving Mossley’s Rest.
Not until they truly, truly had to.