Chapter 8
Pippa
Collect the wishes. Bind the book. Keep the Hearth burning. Simple enough, except nothing about this week had been simple.
The festival glowed as the sun dipped low.
I moved from basket to basket, gathering the wish pages people had left throughout the day.
Some were folded into neat squares, others crumpled like afterthoughts.
A few sparkled with enchantments—protective charms or blessing spells woven into the ink.
Each one carried weight, hope, dreams whispered onto parchment and left for the Solstice to carry into the coming year.
At the jewelry booth, an older fae woman with silver-streaked hair caught my hand as I reached for her page. Her fingers were warm, surprisingly strong.
"Wait," she said softly, her voice carrying the musical cadence of the Summer Court. "I wrote my wish for my daughter."
I paused, my hand still in hers. "That's lovely."
Her eyes, pale blue like winter sky, held mine. "For her to find love that makes her stronger, not smaller."
The words hit me like a physical blow, settling somewhere deep in my chest and spreading outward. I tried to keep my smile steady, but something must have shown on my face because her grip tightened gently.
"Love should be freedom, little one. Not a cage."
I nodded, throat suddenly tight, and carefully tucked her page into my basket. "Thank you."
As I walked away, her words echoed in my head. Love that makes her stronger, not smaller. I wondered—if my mother had written a wish, what would it have been? For my father to stop straying? For herself to stop hoping he would? Or maybe... maybe for me to never make the same mistakes she had.
I tried to laugh it off, shaking my head as I moved to the next stall. But the ache lingered, settling somewhere between my ribs like a bruise I couldn't quite ignore.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. You're being ridiculous.
But as I walked through the festival, collecting wishes and watching couples laugh together over shared plates of honeyed pastries, I couldn't stop thinking about love. About independence. About the two men who had somehow become part of my days in ways I hadn't expected.
Callen's intensity—the way his steel-gray eyes seemed to see straight through me, past all my jokes and deflections to something I wasn't sure I wanted him to find.
The controlled power in his hands when he worked magic, the way his voice dropped to that commanding tone that made my stomach flip in ways I absolutely refused to analyze.
And Jarek... Jarek with his fox-fire warmth and that grin that had been getting me into trouble since we were children. The way he looked at me now, like he was seeing something new. Something he wanted.
For a moment—just one terrifying, electric moment—I let myself admit that I felt something for both of them. Something that went beyond friendship, beyond the easy banter and familiar comfort.
But the thought scared me more than I cared to admit. What if loving means losing myself? What if I became like my mother—waiting, hoping, diminishing myself piece by piece until there was nothing left but the echo of who I used to be?
Before I could sink too far into that particular spiral, a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Working too hard again, Keeper?"
I looked up to find Jarek sauntering toward me, that fox grin firmly in place. There was something different about him now—Dragon Rider training had changed him, honed him into something sharper and more dangerous.
"Someone has to," I replied, trying for my usual sass but hearing the slight tremor in my voice. "The wishes won't collect themselves."
He plucked a stray page from my stack—one that had been fluttering in the evening breeze—and tucked it carefully into my basket. His fingers brushed mine, warm and calloused from sword work and dragon reins.
"Enough wishes for now," he said, his voice dropping to that lower register that made my pulse skip. "Time for a little sparkle."
Before I could protest, he took my hand and started leading me toward the ornament-making stall. His palm was warm against mine, rough in all the right places, and I had to resist the urge to intertwine our fingers.
"Jarek, I really should—"
"Should what? Work yourself into the ground?" He glanced back at me, amber eyes serious for a moment.
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. He had a point. A frustrating, inconvenient point.
The ornament-making stall was bright and bustling, covered in ribbons, charms, and enchanted paints that shimmered in the air like captured starlight.
The air smelled like pine resin and sweet spellfire, with an undercurrent of something floral—maybe the fae woman running the booth had brought a touch of eternal spring with her.
"I don't have time for this," I insisted, even as Jarek guided me to an empty spot at the worktable.
"You have time," he said firmly, settling beside me. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, could catch his scent—leather and woodsmoke and something wild that was purely him. "The festival isn't going anywhere."
I selected a glass sphere and some silver wire, determined to create something beautiful and get this over with quickly. Jarek picked up a wooden star, turning it over in his large hands with surprising delicacy.
"Remember when we used to make these out of twigs and berries?" he asked, threading a thin gold ribbon through the star's center. "Your grandmother always said mine looked like they'd been assembled by a bear."
"They did," I said, focusing intently on my wire-wrapping to avoid looking at him. "A very enthusiastic, very clumsy bear."
His laugh was low and warm. "At least I was enthusiastic."
"You were something, all right." The words came out more fondly than I'd intended, and I felt heat creep up my neck.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He leaned closer, and I caught a hint of that mischievous grin in my peripheral vision.
"Nothing," I said quickly, but my pulse was doing that annoying flutter thing again.
Was he flirting? It felt like flirting, but with Jarek, it was impossible to tell.
He'd always been touchy, always been the type to tease and charm.
But there was something in his voice now, something in the way he was looking at me, that felt. .. different. More intentional.
"Come on, Pippa. What did I used to be?"
I risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it. He was watching me with those amber eyes, his expression soft and almost tender, and my heart did a little skip. "Trouble," I whispered. "You were always trouble."
"Was I?" His voice dropped lower, and the question felt loaded with meaning I wasn't sure I was ready to unpack. "And what am I now?"
Gods help me, I'd always been weak to that grin.
Even back in our village, when we were just kids running through the autumn woods, he'd been able to talk me into all sorts of trouble with nothing more than a smile and a dare.
But this felt different—older, more dangerous.
Like the stakes had changed when I wasn't paying attention.
The moment stretched between us, heavy with unspoken things, and I felt my cheeks burning under his steady gaze.
I opened my mouth to deflect with another joke, and reached for the glitter.
The jar exploded.
Not metaphorically. Actually exploded, sending a shower of silver and gold sparks cascading over both of us. The enchanted glitter clung to everything—my hair, my clothes, Jarek's shocked face. Some of it was still sparkling in the air, drifting down like magical snow.
The entire stall went silent for a heartbeat. Then someone started laughing—a bright, delighted sound that spread through the crowd like wildfire. Soon half the festival seemed to be cheering at the chaos, and I couldn't stop the giggles that bubbled up from my chest.
"Only you," Jarek said, shaking glitter from his hair, "could turn making ornaments into a magical disaster."
"It's a gift," I managed between laughs, brushing sparkles from my cheeks. "A terrible, terrible gift."
He was laughing too, amber eyes bright with mirth, and suddenly the air between us felt charged with more than just magical glitter. Our eyes met across the worktable, and his laughter faded into something softer, more intent.
Despite the chaos, we managed to finish our ornaments—his a perfectly symmetrical star, mine a lopsided heart that somehow looked endearing covered in glitter.
As he carefully tied the string to his ornament, I couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders had broadened, how his hands moved with quiet confidence.
When had Jarek become so... solid? So grown up?
"Come on," he said, standing and offering me his hand. "Let's hang these before you destroy anything else."
I let him pull me to my feet, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped at his touch.
We made our way to the massive evergreen at the center of the courtyard, its branches already heavy with ornaments and wishes.
The tree seemed to glow from within, each decoration catching and reflecting the magical lights strung throughout its boughs.
Jarek hung his creation near a cluster of silver bells, then turned to help me find a spot for my wire sculpture. It had somehow survived the glitter explosion, the metal still gleaming with traces of paint.
"Here," he said, reaching up to tie the ribbon around a sturdy branch. "Perfect."
Our fingers brushed as I handed him the ornament, and the air between us suddenly felt thick, electric. The crowd's noise faded to a dull hum; we were half-hidden behind the massive trunk, surrounded by the soft glow of enchanted lights and the whisper of pine needles.
Jarek's smile softened, the cocky edges slipping away. His gaze tracked a slow line from my glitter-dusted cheek down to my mouth, and I felt my breath catch.
He reached up, thumb brushing a streak of gold from my skin—but his touch lingered too long, slow and deliberate. I could feel foxfire stirring under his skin, warm enough that it made my own magic respond, tiny sparks dancing along my fingertips.
"You always make a mess when you try too hard," he said, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that made my knees go weak.
I meant to snap back with something clever, something that would break this spell before it could take hold. But the words died in my throat when he stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes.
"Maybe," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, "you like the mess."
Jarek's grin returned—but it was different now. Hungry instead of teasing, predatory in a way that made my heart race. "You have no idea."
He cupped the back of my neck, his palm warm against my skin, and drew me in until the heat of him was all I could feel. The scent of leather and woodsmoke surrounded me, mixed with something wilder that was purely fox, purely him.
The kiss hit like heat meeting frost—slow at first, tentative, then deeper as I melted against him.
His mouth was warm and sure, tasting faintly of the spiced cider he must have stolen from one of the stalls.
I felt my wings flutter open, the gossamer membranes brushing against his chest and scattering faint sparks of light into the air around us.
For a heartbeat I forgot everything—the festival, my duties, the careful walls I'd built around my heart. There was only this: Jarek's hands in my hair, his mouth moving against mine with a hunger that matched my own, the way my magic sang in harmony with his foxfire.
He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against my lips, his voice hoarse and breathless: "I waited too damn long for this."
I stared up at him, pulse racing, lips tingling from the kiss. The lights from the tree caught in his eyes, turning them molten amber, and I could see my own reflection there—glitter-covered and wide-eyed and thoroughly kissed.
I laughed softly, but it came out shaky, breathless. "You cheat, Rider."
His smirk was pure fox, satisfied and unrepentant. "Not this time."
The weight of his words settled between us, heavy with implication. Not this time. As if all those years of teasing and banter had been leading to this moment, this choice.
I stepped back, suddenly needing space to think, to breathe. "I should... the wishes..."
"Will still be there in five minutes," he finished, but he let me go, his hands falling to his sides.
I walked away on unsteady legs, Jarek's taste still on my lips and his words echoing in my mind. I waited too damn long for this.
This wasn't supposed to feel like this, I thought, touching my fingers to my mouth. The glitter on my skin caught the light, sparkling like tiny stars, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had just shifted between us.
Something I wasn't sure I was ready for.