Chapter 20
Twenty
As the sun finally began to set on the longest day, a very relieved Oaklin saw the other farmers begin to pack up their wares and gratefully followed suit.
Not that there was much left. The middle ground strategy had worked incredibly well; there had been enough variety that nearly every visitor walked away with something, and they’d earned many a compliment over the quality of their produce and rarity of their magical goods.
Several of the out-of-town customers had vowed to return during the regular weekly markets; apparently many of the magical reagent vendors had disappeared during the war, making Oaklin unique indeed.
All that remained after the long day of selling was a single crate of mixed vegetables limp from sitting out in the summer heat, just enough to feed Oaklin for the next week.
They’d had to pull out a second coin purse to hold all the earnings, a first, and Oaklin’s heart swelled with pride.
As they stacked their empty crates onto the small cart hitched to Grumpy Horse, a figure approached, backlit by the bonfire.
Lior, dressed in an outfit Oaklin had never seen on her before: a pair of soft brown leggings and a rich blue tunic in the same shade as her usual doublet, accented by gold and silver stitching at the cuffs, hem, and neckline.
A crown of woven local wildflowers perched atop her head, and she held a matching one gently in her hands.
She gestured with the crown, meeting Oaklin’s eyes for a brief second before looking back at her hands.
“Do you mind? It’s traditional for, uh…dates to wear matching ones,” she said, her flush visible even in the low evening light.
Oaklin briefly considered cracking a joke to break the mounting tension, but the expression on Lior’s face was so painfully earnest that they quickly discarded the thought. They tossed the last crate onto the cart and turned with a bashful smile.
“Yes, please, crown me! I’m all yours for the evening.”
Oaklin stood perfectly still, breath held, as Lior smiled shyly and stepped close to set the crown atop their black curls.
Once the petals rested against Oaklin’s forehead, Lior’s hands settled on their shoulders, the space between their bodies humming with potential.
Around them, fire crackled and laughter rang out over the strains of cheerful music as Jules led locals and visiting bards alike in an impromptu band.
Bodies twirled and pressed, and the air filled with the scent of sizzling meat, smoke, and fading sunlight.
Lior seemed to suddenly notice how long the moment had lingered and stepped away, reaching into her bag. “Here, I saved you one of Ryn’s festival rolls. They’re always sold out by the end and I didn’t want you to miss out.”
Oaklin’s stomach audibly growled as they snatched the sweet roll out of Lior’s hand. “You are the best. I’ve barely had time to eat all day, despite standing in front of a stall full of food. I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten about three bites of lettuce since the market opened.”
The roll disappeared in record time, and it was like Oaklin’s whole body sighed with relief.
The pillowy bread was luxurious and sweet without being messy somehow, stuffed with sugar, spices, and dried fruit, quite possibly the best thing Ryn had ever baked.
The bar just kept getting higher. Lior smiled.
“There’s more where that came from,” she said. “Want to see someplace fun?”
An intriguing edge of mischief danced in Lior’s voice, and Oaklin found themself grinning in return.
This un-paladin was always full of surprises.
“I love a good mystery. Let’s see this ‘fun place’ of yours.
But can we please stop off somewhere I can change first?
I’ve been sweating my face off all day.”
And, on the off chance Oaklin and Lior shared another kiss that evening, Oaklin wanted to be wearing something a little fresher.
“No problem,” Lior said, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. “Come on, this way.”
Oaklin grabbed their bag with their change of clothes stuffed inside, then followed Lior through the crowd, past Jules’s jam band, past Ryn’s still-busy booth, and beyond the crowds of revelers: Dara being relentlessly hit on by Bhet as Ms. Chanda shook her head nearby, Alin and Bram dancing arm in arm, Grer with one of his little girls on his shoulders, and many more besides.
Once they reached the outskirts of the festival sprawl, Lior ducked into the dark alley between the bakery and the clothier next door with a furtive look over her shoulder.
“Are you going to murder me in a dark alley?” Oaklin quipped, approximately ninety-eight percent joking.
Lior snorted. “Nah, the Three would frown on that.”
“Oh, of course, my mistake. But if not for the Three—”
Lior face-palmed with a laugh. “Oh, stop. I’m actually nervous here, give me a break! Come on, we’re nearly there.”
She paused at the back of the bakery building and slipped a key into an inconspicuous door, then held it open for Oaklin. “Ryn gave me a key to his place. You want to change here really quick?”
Oaklin’s curiosity was piqued; they’d never seen where any of their new friends lived.
It was a bit weird to be seeing Ryn’s space without him there, but a change of clothes needed to happen, and they had permission, so they ducked inside.
Lior closed the door, standing guard out in the alley to give them privacy.
Oaklin was instantly disappointed. Ryn’s room was absolutely…
blank. There was not a single hint of the man who was unfailingly kind and welcoming, who worried about his friends, who sported incredible tattoos and an ever-present twinkle of mirth in his eye.
It did, however, reveal a different part of Ryn Oaklin was beginning to know well: the man who spent all his time in the bakery storefront and likely used this room only for sleeping and bathing.
There were a handful of personal objects—a sturdy comb, a washbasin, a jar of goat’s milk lotion, a lantern, and something hanging from a loop of cord next to the bed that somehow felt too private to study closer.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the sense of seeing something they shouldn’t, Oaklin turned and peeled their tunic off, breathing a sigh of relief when the sweat-soaked garment gave way, taking the stress of the day’s market with it.
It was still plenty warm even with the sun down, but the clean fabric of a fresh tunic against their skin felt incredible.
That done, they shoved the old tunic into their bag and stuck their head out the door to find Lior leaning against the wall.
A ladder had appeared from somewhere, propped against the side of the stone bakery building, looking perfectly new and sturdy.
“There’s no way to get on the bakery roof from the inside?” Oaklin asked, putting two and two together.
“No, and the lady who owns the building doesn’t like anyone getting on the roof either,” Lior said with a wry grin. “But I asked, and Ryn said yes, so we’re going for it!”
Ah. That explained the caginess. “Ooh, didn’t know Ryn had it in him to be such a rebel.”
Lior scoffed. “Hey, no matter what Ryn would have you believe, there’s a rebellious streak there. Come on up!”
She placed one foot on the ladder and tested its sturdiness, then climbed up with an easy, sure strength.
Once she reached the top, she turned to offer Oaklin a hand up over the ledge, bits of wispy loose hair dancing in the warm breeze.
Oaklin scrambled up with considerably less grace, but months of hard farm labor had given them plenty of strength to handle the short distance between the top of the ladder and the edge of the roof.
Lior kept hold of their hand even after they were securely up, leading them over to the center of the roof where a sturdy woven wool blanket had been laid out, a basket of snacks and a small cask of wine beside it.
“Oh!” Oaklin said, taking in the setup and the sights.
The bakery was only two levels high, but the view was breathtaking all the same.
Fires flickered throughout the village, with the blazing light of the main bonfire at the center, and music and raucous laughter from the crowds drifted on the breeze along with the hazy smoke.
But it was all muted up on the roof, rather than overwhelming.
Lior turned away from the festival, facing instead toward the vast expanse of dark night sky stretching over the fields surrounding the village.
“There aren’t many places to bring someone in Mossley’s Rest. It’s pretty much the tavern or home, and I didn’t think a bunk room inside a temple would really do it for you,” Lior said.
“But it’s such a nice night, and I thought this might be something a little different.
We can still go down for the bonfire dance later if you want, but… ”
“No, this is perfect,” Oaklin hastened to reassure. “Honestly, after a whole day at the market, it’s nice to be away from people for a bit.”
Lior lowered herself onto the blanket and looked up at Oaklin. “I feel the same. I’m actually well-suited to library work and questing as a paladin. Help people when they need help, but have plenty of time to yourself in between. The perfect balance.”
Lior lay down on the rooftop, arms under her head, and stared up at the emerging stars. Oaklin knelt on the blanket beside Lior, hesitating for a moment over how cozy to get before laying down close enough to touch, but not yet touching. A good middle ground, surely?