25. Chapter 25 #2
He turned away. Put his back to us. As far as six feet would let him go.
The elder noticed. She leaned close, her voice pitched low.
"You have brought a shadow into our light, child."
The words landed with the grim weight of prophecy.
"I know." I met her eyes. "I didn't have a choice."
She studied me for a long moment. Whatever she saw made her sigh.
"I'll speak with the masters myself. We'll examine it together and see what's possible—whatever can be done, will be done."
She released my arm and disappeared down one of the winding paths. I stood at the edge of the celebration, Serenya somewhere behind me, Eryndor six feet away in the gathering dark.
The tether hummed between us.
Serenya tugged on my sleeve before I could spiral too far into my own head.
"Food," she said, grabbing my arm. "Real food. Come on."
The word didn't just land; it detonated. My mouth instantly started to water. The fear about the Hunter? Gone. The dread about the bond? Evaporated. The guilt about the Void eating the world? A problem for future Amaria.
The world narrowed to a single, blinding objective: calories that weren't hardtack. Calories that might possibly come in the gooey, delicious form of sweeties.
Serenya didn't get two steps before I was past her.
My hand found her wrist. Now I was the one doing the pulling—weaving through refugees, ducking under archways, following the smell of cooking fires like a hound on a blood trail.
"Amaria—slow down—"
No. Absolutely not. Slowing down was for people who hadn't spent weeks choking down leather strips and calling it dinner.
The celebration blurred past us. Music. Voices. None of it mattered. Only the smoke threading through the air, carrying promises of salt and fat and snacks.
We rounded a corner and I saw it.
A vendor's stall tucked into an alcove formed by two bent trees, laden with things I hadn't seen in weeks. Fresh bread. Roasted nuts. Dried fruits glistening with sugar. And there, in a clay dish at the center of the display—
Honeycomb.
Golden, dripping, thick with the kind of wild honey that only came from Liraethian hives. The kind my mother used to buy for me on festival days, breaking off pieces and letting me lick the sweetness from her fingers.
There was one piece left.
Nothing else mattered but that single square of wax and sugar.
Unfortunately, there was a Maxx in the way.
He was already at the stall, leaning against the wooden counter with that easy smile he used when he wanted something. "—and I'm just saying, we've had a very difficult journey, and my companions and I would be deeply grateful for—"
"Move."
I shoved past him and slapped my hand on the counter. "The honeycomb. How much?"
The vendor—a round-cheeked female with clever eyes—looked amused.
"Three coppers."
I didn't have three coppers. I didn't have anything. I'd fled the Crownlands with the clothes on my back and a price on my head.
"I'll owe you."
"Flameheart." Maxx's hand landed on my shoulder. "I was here first."
"You were talking. I'm buying."
"With what collateral?" Maxx scoffed, leaning over my shoulder with a skeptical brow raised. "Your sunny disposition?"
The vendor laughed and pushed the clay dish toward us, the amber wax glistening under the sun. "Consider it a welcome gift," she said, her eyes twinkling with a knowing sort of kindness. "On one condition."
I reached for it instantly, but she pulled it back just an inch, out of my grasp.
"You share it," she insisted. "Refugee rules. No hoarding."
"Deal," Maxx said, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
"Fine," I lied.
She handed over the dish. Maxx and I both grabbed for it at the same time—his fingers on one side, mine on the other. We glared at each other. Tugged. Neither let go.
"Wonderful. Thank you. Blessings upon your stall," Maxx called over his shoulder as he backed away, pulling me with him, the honeycomb suspended between us like a hostage.
We made it maybe ten paces before the negotiation began.
"I saw it first," Maxx said.
"I want it more."
"That's not a metric."
"It should be."
Serenya appeared at my other side. "We could share it. Split it evenly between all of us."
"There's one piece." I didn't take my eyes off the honeycomb. "You can't split honeycomb five ways."
"Four ways," Eryndor's voice came from behind me. "Dreadscale won't eat it."
"Fine. Four ways. That's still—" I gestured at the honeycomb. "Look at it. It's barely a mouthful for one person."
"Then we should determine distribution fairly." Eryndor stepped up beside Maxx, his arms crossed. "Based on contribution. Who has done the most to ensure our survival should receive the largest portion."
Maxx snorted. "So you're saying you should get it."
"I'm saying there should be a system," replied Eryndor.
"I have a system. We gamble for it." Maxx produced a coin from somewhere—I didn't ask where. "Flip for shares. Winner takes the largest piece, loser gets crumbs."
"That's not a system, that's chaos," Eryndor retorted.
"It's fun. You should try it sometime."
"Equal portions," Serenya said again, patient as always. "We break it into four pieces. Everyone gets the same amount. It's the only fair way."
"Oh, we're pretending everyone contributed equally now?" Maxx's eyebrows shot up. "Because I distinctly remember being terrorized by a dragon today. I have bruises." He rolled up his sleeve. "Many bruises. From Dreadscale's dragon, I might add, which he failed to warn us about—"
"The dragon saved your life," Eryndor reminded him.
"The dragon terrorized me. I deserve compensation. In honeycomb."
"That's absurd."
"You're absurd," Maxx shot back.
"Both of you are absurd," Serenya cut in. "Can we please just—"
They all stopped.
Looked at me.
Looked at the empty plate.
Looked at my cheeks—stuffed with honeycomb like a squirrel hoarding for winter, honey dripping down my chin, the empty dish still clutched in my fist like a trophy.
Dead silence.
I chewed. Swallowed. Licked honey from my fingers.
"You were taking too long," I told them.
Maxx's face cycled through several emotions—outrage, disbelief, and finally admiration.
"I have never respected you more."
Serenya covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking.
Eryndor's jaw tightened. His eye twitched. The mask was fighting for its life.
It lost.
The laugh broke out of him like something escaping a jail cell. Then another. His hand came up to cover his mouth but it was too late; his shoulders were shaking, his composure crumbling, and for one impossible moment the Crownforged was laughing.
Maxx clutched his chest. "I'm hallucinating. The dragon traumatized me and now I'm hallucinating."
"Did he just—" Serenya whispered.
Eryndor dragged a hand down his face, pulling himself back together. But when he looked at me, he still had a shit-eating grin on his face.
"You are a menace," he said.
I licked the rest of the honey right off that plate.
"Worth it."
The tether purred between us, like a cat in sunlight.
Don't get used to it, I told it.
It didn't listen.