Chapter 14 Ressa
RESSA
Iwake before dawn with nervous energy fizzing through my veins like I've swallowed lightning.
My legs ache—but now it's a dull soreness that reminds me I've been using the muscles I was letting atrophy in the cabin.
But the ache feels... good. Earned. Like my body remembering what it means to move and exist beyond the four walls I've been hiding in.
I think the movement has been healing the lingering pain.
I press carefully against my ribs through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. Nothing. No sharp pain, no grinding sensation that used to make my breath catch. The bones are almost healed and only hurt when I twist
My shoulder twinges when I rotate it experimentally, but even that feels manageable.
The salve Falla gave me weeks ago—the one I kept insisting I didn't need because accepting help felt like admitting defeat—actually works.
I've been using it every night since the festival started, and the constant ache that used to wake me has faded to occasional stiffness.
I feel... good.
The realization hits me with unexpected force. I actually feel good. Physically whole in ways I'd stopped believing possible.
And I kissed Falla yesterday.
Heat floods my cheeks despite being alone in the cabin. I press my hands against my face like that'll somehow contain the giddy warmth spreading through my chest.
I kissed him. And he kissed me back. And then I kissed him again and told him I wanted him.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Except I know exactly what I was thinking.
I was thinking about how safe I feel when he's near, how he's never once pushed me past my boundaries, how his dry humor makes me want to laugh even when anxiety claws at my throat.
I was thinking about the careful way he touches me—like I'm valuable but not fragile, like he trusts me to know my own limits.
I was thinking I wanted more of that.
My stomach does a complicated flip that has nothing to do with fear. This is different. Unfamiliar. Like standing on the edge of something vast and uncertain, but for once the uncertainty doesn't feel like impending disaster.
It feels like possibility.
I don't know what we are now. Friends? More than friends? The kiss was definitely more than friendly, but what comes after that? He said he'd stop being my healer if that's what worried me about crossing lines. Does that mean...?
My thoughts spiral in circles that feel strangely pleasant instead of anxious.
Like my brain wants to examine every detail of yesterday—the way his hands felt cupping my face, the rough edge to his voice when he said he wanted this more than he should, the careful restraint even while kissing me like I was precious.
I pull myself out of bed before the thoughts can consume the entire morning. There's work to do today. The Prosperity Exchange happens tonight during the clan feast, which means I need to finish the gift I've been working on.
The hand-knit wrap sits partially completed on the wobbly table, green and blue yarn woven in a pattern Saela helped me design.
The colors remind me of Falla—of his eyes when he concentrates on healing work.
The pattern represents strength and protection, though I'm not sure if Falla will recognize the symbolism or just see a practical way to keep warm.
Either way, I want him to have it.
I work on the knitting for an hour, my fingers moving through the familiar motions while my mind wanders back to kissing and possibility and the strange giddiness I can't quite shake. Eventually I give up pretending I can focus and start getting ready to meet Saela and Shae.
The idea of seeing Shae still carries traces of old anxiety—she's Bronn's mate, tied to clan leadership, and she's been trying to make me comfortable since I arrived. But every interaction feels weighted with her pity, her careful concern, the way she looks at me like I might shatter.
I'm tired of people looking at me like that.
But today's different. Today I feel almost normal, and maybe that'll be enough to get through a few hours of craft work without my skin trying to crawl off my bones.
Saela greets me outside Shae's dwelling with a fierce hug that makes my ribs protest slightly.
"Easy," I wheeze, but I'm smiling.
"Sorry!" She pulls back, her gray-green eyes scanning my face with the assessing look she's perfected over weeks of worry. "You look good. Better than good. You look happy."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised, I'm delighted." She links her arm through mine like we're girls again, running wild through the forest before everything went wrong. "Come on. Shae's got enough supplies to outfit an army of craftspeople."
She's not exaggerating. Shae's dwelling overflows with materials—leather scraps, colored yarn, carved wooden beads, metal wire, polished stones. The space smells like beeswax and herbs, warm and lived-in in ways my sparse cabin will never be.
Shae looks up from where she's sorting through a basket of brass findings, her green eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. "Ressa! I'm so glad you came."
The greeting still makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably, but the sensation feels less suffocating than usual. "Thank you for hosting."
"Of course." She gestures to the array of materials spread across a large work table. "I've got everything set up. What are you making?"
I pull the partially completed wrap from the bag I've been carrying. "Hand-knit. I just need to finish the last section and add the closure."
"That's beautiful work." Shae touches the yarn carefully, examining the pattern. "The colors are lovely together."
"Saela helped design it."
"Only a little," Saela protests, settling onto a cushion with her own project—what looks like a leather knife sheath with intricate tooling. "You're doing all the actual knitting."
We work in companionable silence for a while, our hands busy with creating while conversation flows naturally around craft techniques and material choices.
Shae's making a carved wooden box with metal inlay for Bronn, the design incorporating symbols that apparently represent their relationship journey.
I lose myself in the rhythm of knitting—yarn sliding through fingers, needles clicking together, the pattern emerging row by row. It's meditative in ways that quiet my mind without requiring the conscious effort breathing exercises demand.
"So," Saela says after we've been working for maybe half an hour, her tone deliberately casual. "How are things going with Falla?"
I focus intently on the stitch I'm completing. "Fine. Good. He's been helpful with the festival activities."
"Helpful." Saela's eyebrow arches in a way that suggests she knows I'm downplaying. "That's one way to describe it."
"What other way would you describe it?"
Shae makes a sound that might be a poorly suppressed laugh. I glance up to find her watching me with an expression I can't quite read—knowing and amused and maybe a little pleased.
"What?" I ask defensively.
"Nothing." She returns her attention to the wooden box, but her smile stays fixed in place. "Just noting that Falla's been very attentive during the festival."
"He's making sure I don't have a panic attack in front of the entire clan." The explanation comes automatic, defensive. "It's not—we're just—"
"You kissed him," Shae interrupts calmly, still focused on her carving work.
My hands freeze mid-stitch. Heat floods my face so fast I feel lightheaded. "You saw that?"
"Hard to miss when you were creating rainbows in the middle of the training grounds." She looks up now, her expression gentle. "It was sweet."
Sweet. My brain short-circuits trying to process that description. Nothing about my life has been sweet in months. The word doesn't fit the reality I've been living.
Except yesterday was sweet. Standing with Falla while rainbow light scattered through mist, his arms careful around me, the kiss tasting like morning and possibility.
Fuck.
"We're friends," I manage, the words coming uncertain even to my own ears. "I think. Maybe more than friends? I don't know what we are."
"You could ask him," Saela suggests, her tone carrying traces of amusement.
"That seems terrifying."
"More terrifying than everything else you've survived recently?
" She gives me a pointed look. "You faced down Stonevein orcs, got dragged to a clan gathering, and somehow got the grumpiest healer in Frostfang territory to be your festival partner.
I think you can handle one conversation about feelings. "
I don't tell her that I had no choice in any of those options. That this is the first thing I have the option to do or walk away from. My mind is screaming to be safe. But my heart… My heart agrees with Saela.
And she makes it sound so simple. Like asking Falla what we are won't potentially ruin whatever tentative thing we've built. Like I won't say the wrong thing and watch him retreat behind professional boundaries.
"He's worried that he's crossing lines as my healer," I hear myself admit.
Shae's hands still on her carving. "Do you feel like he is?"
I shake my head. "I don't think anything happened between us because he came to my house to heal. I think it was all separate." I swallow, tired of drowning in my thoughts alone. "I told him I wanted him."
The confession sits heavy in the air between us. I wait for judgment or concern or the careful pity I've come to expect. Instead, Saela grins like I've just told her the best news of her life.
"About damn time."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you deserve something good, Ressa." She sets down the knife sheath, her expression going soft. "You deserve to feel safe with someone. To be happy. Falla's a good male."