4
Malea sat near the edge of the small gathering, cradling a cup of mint tea between her hands.
Mira had fallen asleep curled up beside her, wrapped in a patchwork shawl, and Zhara was busy chatting with one of the young men from another wagon.
For the first time in days, Malea had a quiet moment to herself.
A shadow shifted at the edge of the lantern light. She looked up in surprise.
“Kurt?”
He froze, blinking at her as if he’d just spotted a ghost. Or a goddess.
“Malea?” His voice was laced with disbelief and something softer, deeper. “By the flame… It is you.”
She rose slowly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t know you were with the caravan.”
He let out a breath and stepped closer, firelight catching in the pale strands of his hair.
“I’m traveling with the caravan leader, Master Avery, and his family.
I joined at the last town. I have my own horses, but sleep under their wagon at night.
” He paused, his gaze roaming over her. “You’ve changed. ”
“So have you,” she replied, feeling her cheeks heat. He was broader now, taller, with a quiet, contained strength in the way he moved. The boy she remembered had become a man somewhere on the road between apprentice and craftsman. “I’ve heard that you’re a full craftsman now.”
Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I passed my trials two years ago. I’ve been mostly on the road since.”
She nodded. “Mistress Isolde was very proud. She said you handled everything she threw at you, as well as a few things she didn’t plan for.”
He chuckled. “That sounds about right. And you? On your journeyman trial, I assume?”
“Just started,” she said. “Master Goldman sent me north to find good gem rough, and maybe something special to earn my craftsman status. He’s trusting me to source gem rough for the next season, which is a big responsibility. Frankly, I’m a bit scared I’ll let him down.”
“He wouldn’t send you out on your own if he didn’t believe in you,” Kurt reassured her.
She hesitated, then added, “He made sure I traveled with people he trusted.”
“A good precaution,” Kurt said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “These roads aren’t as quiet as they once were.”
“Is that why you’re headed north?” she asked, tilting her head.
He gave her a half-smile, his tone light. “I’m chasing obsidian. Heard there might be some worth seeing.”
“You’ve been listening to Mistress Isolde’s tales of her dragon friends bringing her obsidian from their ice caves,” she teased.
“It had to come from somewhere,” he replied, his smile warming. “But what about you? I hear you’re not traveling alone. Did a virkin accompany you?”
“Lady Keera came with me.”
As if summoned, the small blue virkin lifted her head and fanned her wings where she perched on top of one of the lanterns. She must have landed silently while they were talking, and the heat of the lantern did not dissuade her. Fire was the virkin’s friend, just like it was to dragons.
“It’s good to see you again, Lady Keera.” Kurt bowed his head politely to the virkin, sending his thoughts silently. He sent it in such a way that Malea could hear the exchange as well.
“Nice to see you too, Kurt,” she replied the same way, then fluttered off into the darkness, leaving Kurt smiling as he watched her go.
“It’s nice to see she stuck with you all these years,” Kurt commented to Malea.
“We’ve been friends for a long time. Just like you and Sir Arch. I thought I saw a flash of green yesterday, but Keera was being secretive.” Malea grinned up at Kurt. He had grown a few more inches since the last time she’d seen him. It had to have been years ago, now.
Kurt just looked at her for a long beat, and she felt the heat creep into her cheeks.
“What?” she asked, brushing an invisible wrinkle from her skirt.
“I just…” His voice dropped slightly, the crackling fire and soft music wrapping around the pause.
“I remember you as a clever girl who was wicked fast in our ball games with the dragons. I didn’t expect you to turn into—” he caught himself, clearing his throat before he went on, “—such a fine gem cutter.”
Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she laughed softly, a little breathless. “Well, I didn’t expect you to end up sleeping under wagons.”
“They’re warm wagons. And the company’s good.”
Their eyes met again, and the moment dragged on just a beat too long to be casual.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said softly. “Really.”
“I’m glad to see you too,” he said, more earnestly than he intended.
She glanced toward the red and gold wagon. “I should get Mira back inside. She fell asleep waiting for more tea.”
“Of course,” he said, stepping back, still watching her. “It was good to catch up.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “See you on the road?”
He nodded. “Count on it.”
She turned, helping the sleepy girl to her feet and guiding her toward the wagon. As she walked away, Kurt exhaled and scrubbed a hand over his face.
Back in the wagon, Malea tucked Mira into bed, her thoughts already straying back to the firelight, and the man who had once been a boy in the glassmaster’s shop. She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heartbeat hadn’t yet slowed.
Neither of them got to sleep easily that night.
The next day, they arrived at Middletown just after the noonday meal. The journey had been planned that way to give them time to set up their wagons and tents on the village green, preparing for the festival that would kick off that night with a big bonfire.
The village green buzzed with life as wagons rolled in and colorful tents sprang up like mushrooms after rain.
Children darted between poles and canvas, chasing each other with shrieks of delight while dogs barked and someone started tuning a fiddle near the fire pit.
At the center of the square, villagers were piling thick logs into a towering bonfire-to-be, each piece of wood stacked with care and laughter.
Malea adjusted the strap of her pack and eyed a promising space near the edge of the green, not far from the Rasim family’s tent.
She turned just in time to spot a familiar tall figure riding a good-looking horse into the clearing, leading an equally lovely pack horse.
The one he rode was a glossy bay, the other a shaggy roan, each were carrying a pair of bulging leather saddlebags.
Kurt saw her at the same moment and smiled.
“Looks like we both had the same idea,” he said, nodding toward the patch of open grass between a row of wagons and a freshly pitched tent.
Malea returned the smile, already feeling the warmth creep into her cheeks. “You setting up shop?”
“Figured I’d try to sell a few things. I’ve got a box of those little colored bottles the children like. Glass dragons too.”
She laughed. “Of course you do.”
Kurt dismounted smoothly and led his horses toward the patch of grass. “What about you? Jewelry, I’m guessing?”
Malea unbuckled her pack and knelt to begin sorting her wrapped pieces. “Pendants, mostly. A few brooches and rings. I traded stones for silverwork with a smith’s apprentice. It’s not high-end, but it’s good quality and sparkles well.”
Kurt crouched beside her and peered at a wrapped pendant she revealed—a delicate teardrop of faceted quartz set in a filigree cage of silver. “You’ve got a good eye. That’ll catch someone’s attention. You do lovely work.”
She glanced up shyly, brushing hair from her face. “Thanks.”
He looked around, then gestured to the open area. “How about we set up next to each other? That way, we can take turns grabbing food or stretching our legs without leaving our tables unattended.”
Malea hesitated only a moment before nodding. “That sounds… Actually, yes. That would be nice.”
“I’ll grab a table from the Averys.” He jogged off with long strides.
Lady Keera peeked her little blue head out of Malea’s satchel, blinking at the activity. “Your heart is beating rather fast,” she observed.
“Shh,” Malea muttered, unwrapping another piece of jewelry.
By the time Kurt returned carrying a folding table under one arm, Malea had already arranged a length of velvet across her borrowed table and begun laying out the pieces, each on its own small pouch of soft black cloth.
Kurt set up beside her, his table a neat display of glass vials, bottles and trinkets in every shade and shape. Some were purely decorative—blown into tiny birds or dragons with spiraled wings—while others were stoppered and ready for potion-sellers or food storage.
A green shimmer of movement announced Sir Arch’s arrival. The small virkin glided down from the top of the pack horse and landed delicately on the table, inspecting the display with a satisfied hum.
“Arch likes things orderly,” Kurt explained with a wry smile. “He’ll rearrange the entire table if I don’t keep it tidy.”
Keera hopped up beside him, folding her wings primly. “He has excellent taste,” she said, eyeing the little glass dragon Kurt had set near the edge.
Arch gave a proud sniff and nudged the dragon into a more central position.
“You two are friends?” Malea asked, half amused, half nervous.
“Apparently, they’ve been spending their days together, traveling on top of various wagons,” Kurt replied. “They’re the talk of the caravan, according to Master Avery.” He chuckled, sending Malea a conspiratorial wink that made her insides feel warm.
“There’s not much to do as we travel, so we might as well chat,” Lady Keera said primly, walking over Malea’s table and adjusting the cord on one of the pendants to lay straight.
Sir Arch said nothing, and Malea let it go. The virkin did as they pleased, and no amount of teasing or asking would get anything out of them if they didn’t want to talk about it. Malea knew that from long experience.
Kurt and Malea worked side by side, adjusting their tables as the sun slid lower in the sky and orange-gold light bathed the green. All around them, the village filled with voices and motion. The firewood stack was now waist high, soon to be lit in a blaze that would kick off the festival.
But before the bonfire, they had an hour or two to showcase their wares and perhaps make an early sale or two.
Already, Malea could see some young women of the village scoping out her table and waiting somewhat impatiently for her to finish setting up before coming over.
Malea hurried and finally took a step back to examine her setup.
She tweaked a few things to better show off their sparkle.
Kurt watched her. “It’s good to see you like this,” he said quietly as she moved back around to the business side of her table.
She looked up and met his gaze. “Like what?”
“Independent. On your own journey. Confident.”
She gave a shy smile, eyes shining. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t realize how much I missed the old days at Isolde’s. It was fun when you, me and Hunter were the only ones who could hear the dragons talk, and we had to interpret for everybody else. I’ve…missed you.”
For a heartbeat, neither spoke as heat flooded her cheeks. Then a burst of laughter near the bonfire broke the moment.
“I’ll grab food in a bit,” Kurt said, stepping back. “After the first rush of customers. You want stew or roasted potatoes with gravy?”
“Both,” she said, grinning now, glad the potentially embarrassing moment had passed.
“Done.” He grinned at her, then turned to see the first customers approaching. “Here we go,” he whispered to her, and that’s the last time they spoke to each other for at least an hour. They were both too busy talking to the villagers and making deals for their wares.
The sky had begun to shift from gold to dusky lavender, streaked with pink clouds that caught the last rays of the sun.
Around the green, villagers bustled with excitement, drawn toward the towering pile of wood and branches at the center, which stood ready but unlit.
The stacked wood was like a promise of warmth held in check.
Malea carefully nestled her final brooch into its padded wrap, tying the cloth with practiced fingers. Across from her, Kurt was closing up a small box of delicate glass dragons, their translucent wings catching the last of the light before he lowered the lid.
“Not a bad afternoon,” he said, stretching his arms overhead with a satisfied grunt. “Your stones make some fine pieces. That citrine pendant practically sold itself.”
Malea smiled as she slid her velvet display cloth back into her pack. “Your glass was popular too. I noticed that little green glass fox sold within five minutes.”
“Arch was insulted,” Kurt said, gesturing to where the green virkin sulked, pretending to sleep under the wagon wheel. “Apparently, he liked that one.”
Keera, perched nearby, flicked her tail with amusement. “He has expensive taste.”
Kurt chuckled and brushed off his hands. “Well, since we’ve both earned a few coins today, how about we spend some? There’s roast squash, curried rice, apple dumplings, and I spotted a bread-bowl stew stand earlier. Dinner’s on me.”
Malea glanced up, surprised. And more than a little pleased. “Really? You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He grinned, then tilted his head. “But I’d like to.”
The warmth in his voice made her heart flutter. She hesitated only a beat. “All right. Let me drop my pack back at the wagon for safekeeping. I’ll meet you back here?”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said, his voice softer now.
She nodded and swung the strap over her shoulder. “Ten minutes.”
Kurt watched her go, the evening breeze tugging gently at her braid. Behind her, the growing murmur of villagers rose in anticipation of the night ahead. Soon, there would be music, food, and firelight on the eve of celebration.
Sir Arch crept closer and flicked his tail. “You’re courting her.”
Kurt raised a brow. “We’re just having dinner.”
The virkin made a dismissive huff. “You’re hopeless.”
Kurt glanced toward the bonfire, then back at the path Malea had taken. He smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
The sun slipped lower, kissing the horizon, and the first torch-bearers emerged, ready to ignite the flame that would mark the start of the festival…and maybe something else too.