Chapter 29 Lucy
Lucy
How to travel with a grumpy man: ignore all pleas for silence.
Lucy hurried to catch up to Basil, who walked like he was fleeing the big bad but couldn’t be bothered to actually break into a run.
“You can’t just drop your lore like you’re commenting on cloud patterns!”
“My lore?” Basil asked, speeding up.
Sadly for him, Lucy had spent years chasing a princess who speed-walked out of her problems. She was built for this.
“Yes, your lore! ‘My brother-in-law runs the most notorious guild.’ ‘My dead wife is not dead.’ ‘I have a beastkin step-son.’ What else are you hiding? Are you even human, or is that a secret too?”
“How do you talk so fast?” Basil groaned. “And he is not my step-son.”
“He kind of is. You never divorced her. Just faked a death.”
“She has a point,” Sylva said, tail flicking.
The agreement landed oddly. Sylva didn’t side with people casually. Lucy clocked it as a coincidence and moved on, even as something quiet in her chest stayed alert.
Basil slowed, defeated in the way only a man haunted by past decisions could be. “Why are you so interested in my past?”
“I’m not! I’m just… concerned. I need to know who I’m traveling with. I absolutely do not care about your incredibly suspicious and definitely uninteresting history.”
Sylva’s lips curled. “She’s interested.”
“That settles it then,” Basil muttered.
“How does that settle anything?” Lucy demanded.
“I can sense lies,” Sylva said. His voice stayed neutral, almost careful—like he was choosing each word with restraint instead of pride. Lucy had expected smugness. She got consideration instead, and it unsettled her. “More accurately—hear them.”
Lucy stopped short. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to stare at him.
“You mean to tell me,” she said carefully, “that I have been emotionally naked this entire time?”
Sylva tilted his head. “Yes.”
“How intriguing,” the Baroness said between gasps. “How does it work?”
“My ears can hear a distortion when someone lies,” Sylva explained. “It’s like a wrong note in a song. Beastkin often develop abilities tied to survival. Hearing lies keeps you alive.”
Lucy stared at his ears in horror. “Can we return him to sender?”
“No,” Basil said flatly.
Lucy crossed her arms dramatically. “Fine. Then I refuse to speak ever again.”
Sylva’s gaze flicked to her mouth and away again immediately.
“Blessed silence,” Basil grumbled.
She gasped. “I can still hear, you know!”
“I was counting on it.”
Before Lucy could deliver a monologue about betrayal and the fragile nature of trust, Sylva’s ears twitched.
“You already lied again.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You said you wouldn’t speak.” His tail swished smugly. “Lie.”
Lucy stomped the ground. “I hope a squirrel drops a pinecone on you.”
“That is oddly specific,” the Baroness whispered, still recovering from oxygen deprivation.
They continued down the merchant road, carts and caravans rumbling past. Sylva stayed close enough to notice changes in the crowd and far enough not to touch her. Lucy had spent her life learning the difference between hovering and guarding. This was neither.
Refugees, traders, wandering mercs—everyone seemed to be heading in or out of Stonehaven. It was bustling enough that Lucy could almost pretend Basil’s personal storyline wasn’t unraveling beside her in real time.
Stonehaven was busy—but not relaxed.
Lucy noticed the way people glanced at Basil and then quickly looked away. Not recognition exactly. More like instinct. The kind people developed when they lived under too many guild shadows.
“So,” Lucy said, hands clasped behind her back, trying to look casual despite radiating curiosity like a dying star, “if Sylva isn’t technically your step-son, what is he?”
Basil exhaled, as if this were the worst question she had ever asked. “A complication.”
“A complication with ears,” Sylva added.
“And sharp teeth,” Lucy said. “And the kind of overly dramatic eyeliner nature gives you.”
“Lucy,” Basil warned.
She blinked innocently. “What? I’m simply gathering facts.”
“You’re interrogating me.”
“I’m conversationally investigating,” she corrected.
The Baroness had recovered enough to chime in again. “I personally think this Sylva sounds quite charming. A tragic backstory? A hidden bloodline? A complicated family tree? Very romantic.”
“It is not romantic,” Basil snapped.
Lucy elbowed him lightly. “It’s a little romantic.”
Basil stopped walking and looked to the heavens, as if asking some higher power to take him now. “Can we please stay focused? We are going to see the information guild’s leader. The less said, the better.”
“Why?” Lucy asked, narrowing her eyes. “Is he scary? Dangerous? A criminal mastermind? Does he also have secret children?”
“No.”
“Sylva?” Lucy hissed. “Did he lie?”
Sylva paused, listening. “…No.”
“Ha!” Lucy pointed triumphantly at Basil. “Your son is on my side now.”
They turned down a narrower lane, merchant stalls thinning as stone buildings pressed closer together. The air smelled of smoke, old wood, and something bitter beneath it. Lucy recognized the scent of the wards as if it were home. They were littered around the palace—especially near Esther’s wing.
A wooden sign swung overhead.
Luna’s Tavern.
“We’re here,” Basil said.
“At a tavern?” the Baroness asked, affronted.
“Yes,” Basil said tightly. “Keep your voice down. And don’t mention my wife. Or Sylva. Or anything at all, really.”
“Yes, sir!” Lucy nodded enthusiastically. She had never been in a tavern before.
Sylva whispered, “She’s lying.”
Lucy inhaled sharply. “I am not—okay, fine, I am a little lying, but only because you’re impossible to resist messing with.”
“Lucy,” Basil said, pinching the bridge of his nose for the fifteenth time in the past hour, “I need you to behave.”
She saluted. “I will be the picture of maturity.”
“She’s lying again,” Sylva added.
Lucy turned and smacked his arm. “Stop listening to things!”
He startled—not from the hit, but from the contact. Then relaxed, as if filing it under allowed.
“That is my entire purpose,” Sylva said, unimpressed.
Basil groaned. “I regret everything.”
“Good!” Lucy chirped as they stepped toward the door of Luna’s Tavern. “Because I’m absolutely positive this will go perfectly fine and not at all explode in our faces.”
“She’s lying again.” Sylva’s ears flicked, sharper than before—then settled. He glanced at Lucy like he was measuring distance, timing, and patience all at once.
Lucy froze.
“…Okay, maybe a little explosion.”
Basil sighed. “Wonderful.”
He pushed open the door.
And all hell promptly began preparing itself.