Chapter 31 Lucy
Lucy
How to Survive Social Chaos: pretend you understand the plot while everyone else falls in love.
Rhea’s house sat tucked between a quiet bakery and a cobbler’s workshop, its chimney puffing out warm-smelling smoke carrying hints of bread and herbs.
A carved wooden sign was nailed above the door: The Sparrow’s Crumb.
Lucy wanted to kiss it.
Not because she loved bread, but because it represented the one thing she craved most in the world.
A separate room.
A room not shared with Basil’s dramatic sighing or the Baroness’s sleep-whimpering.
She could almost cry, but her tears were precious tactical tools and needed to be deployed sparingly.
Rhea opened the front door before they could knock. “Welcome. I set up rooms for all of you.”
“Bless the moon, the sun, the old gods, the new gods, the questionable ones in Basil’s herb drawers—I don’t care which one—thank someone.”
Rhea blinked. “That’s… a lot of deities.”
“Why do you know what is in my herb drawer?” Basil demanded.
“I’m leaving my gratitude options open,” Lucy said reverently, sweeping past him.
They stepped inside. The home was small and cozy in a way that felt earned, not curated. It smelled like warm dough, cracked pepper, and the citrus oil Rhea used to polish the counters. A little fireplace crackled quietly in the corner, and Lucy clocked the absence of wards immediately.
Not unprotected. Just… trusted.
Sylva relaxed the moment they stepped inside. Not visibly. Just… in the small ways Lucy was beginning to recognize. Like his body had decided this place didn’t require him to be on high alert.
Dinner consisted of hearty bread, a thin vegetable stew, and a single roasted chicken, clearly stretched to feed too many people.
Frugal. Careful. Kind.
Lucy devoured it like it was a royal feast.
“So,” she said, leaning forward over her bowl with predatory intent, “tell me more about Basil’s lore.”
Basil groaned on instinct. “No.”
Rhea chuckled into her cup. “He was always like this. Grumpy. Hardworking. Fussy about his boots.”
“I am not fussy.”
“He once returned an entire set of military boots because the stitching was wrong,” Asher added from the kitchen doorway.
“It was wrong,” Basil snapped.
Lucy slapped the table with delight. “This is gold.”
The Baroness cleared her throat delicately. “Rhea, dear, if you don’t mind me asking…” She folded her hands. “Why did you give up being a countess? And Basil? It seems… quite the sacrifice.”
Rhea’s smile softened. Not sad, but resolved.
“For love,” she said simply. “I wanted Asher. Basil made sure I could leave without harming my family’s reputation.”
Asher moved behind her, brushing a quick kiss to her temple as he set down more bread.
Lucy’s eyes sparkled. She clasped her cheeks. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed. Basil, you’re a tragic backstory.”
“I reject that title.”
Lucy wasn’t listening. She was too busy cataloguing everything for Esther later: the way Rhea leaned into Asher without thinking, the way Basil watched the door even while sitting, the way Sylva listened more than he spoke.
Then Rhea turned toward the Baroness with casual, lethal accuracy.
“And what about you and Basil?” she asked lightly. “I always felt bad when our marriage was arranged. You were absolutely head over heels for him during our girlhood days.”
The room froze.
The Baroness sputtered. Basil choked.
Lucy leaned forward like she was watching a puppet show.
“What—absolutely not—I never—why would—”
“She’s lying,” Sylva said calmly, sipping his drink.
The Baroness slapped a hand to her chest. “Sylva!”
Basil stared at her, color rising in his neck. “You—you? With me?”
“No!”
“Lie,” Sylva added again.
They both flushed scarlet.
Lucy clasped her hands under her chin.
Oh no.
They’re idiots. They’re in love, and they’re idiots.
Basil cleared his throat loudly. “We should rest.”
“Yes!” the Baroness squeaked. “Rest. Separate rooms. Far apart.”
They stood simultaneously, looked at each other, looked away, and promptly nearly walked into the same wall.
Lucy watched them go, deeply unsettled. Traveling had officially become an active threat to her will to live.
Lucy awoke to raised voices.
She rolled out of bed and followed the sound of the Baroness actively fighting with clothing.
“I cannot dress like a commoner!” the Baroness cried. “People will stare!”
“That’s the point,” Lucy said, tying her hair up. “They stare because you look like you’re about to attend a palace ball. We’re heading north. Mud exists. Dirt exists. People exist.”
“That is not a reassuring list!”
Lucy crossed her arms. “Drop the noble act. Drop the title. Don’t you want Basil to call you Irene?”
The Baroness froze.
“That is…” she whispered, face pink, “irrelevant.”
“It’s very relevant,” Sylva’s voice called from downstairs.
Lucy grinned. “Victory.”
Sylva’s quiet amusement brushed against her like a warm touch. Lucy pretended not to notice. It was becoming a full-time job.
Rhea entered with folded clothes. “These should fit you. They’re simple, but warm.”
The Baroness took them like sacred artifacts.
When she returned, Rhea clapped softly. “You look lovely.”
Basil paused mid-step. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You look… very pretty.”
Lucy gagged.
Before she could retort, Sylva entered the lounge, and Lucy’s soul aggressively evicted her body. Her body reacted before her pride could intervene. Heat rose to her face. Her pulse skipped. It was wildly inconvenient.
He wore a pale-blue warrior’s outfit adorned with silver accents, crossed belts, and layered armor plates. His tail flicked lazily, ears perked forward. Tan skin and sharp pale eyes contrasted beautifully with the cool tones of the outfit.
Lucy stared. Her mouth may have dropped open—just a little.
Sylva frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
His voice was neutral. His ears weren’t. They angled forward a fraction, attentive in a way that made Lucy feel seen without being cornered.
Lucy frantically fumbled in her satchel, ripped out a notebook, and scribbled at lightning speed: You look weird dressed like that.
Sylva snorted. Loudly.
“You wrote it down to avoid the lie detection?” he said. “That means you’re lying.”
Lucy slammed the notebook shut and slapped it to her chest.
Before she could recover, voices drifted in from outside—familiar ones.
“Rhea?” a man called. “You home?”
Rhea stiffened just a fraction. Lucy noticed.
The door opened, and a dark-haired man stepped inside. Something about him felt… off. Not dangerous. Not magical. Just wrong, like a painting with a skewed perspective.
“Brother,” Rhea said, smiling. “You’re early.”
Lucy blinked.
Brother?
“Do you have a second brother-in-law?” Lucy asked, practically drooling at the man who sauntered into the room.
The man smiled back — polite, pleasant, absurdly handsome—the exact opposite of Brom, who looked forgettable.
His gaze flicked over the room, cataloguing everyone in it in the space of a breath.
“Theo,” Rhea said warmly. “These are friends.”
Lucy stared harder now.
Theo was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Navy-blue waves caressed his slim, tan face. Dark blue eyes looked far too welcoming. A cream dress shirt and vest barely hid a toned body.
Lucy did not trust that.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Stop staring,” Sylva said, jabbing her side gently. It was a question disguised as contact. Lucy didn’t flinch. Sylva relaxed at her acceptance of his touch.
Theo’s gaze flicked to them for just a moment. Lucy sensed calculations happening at the speed of light before he settled on a casual smile.
Lucy’s stomach flipped.
Rhea chattered cheerfully, completely oblivious. “He helps with the Sparrow. Logistics, mostly.”
“Sparrow,” Lucy repeated slowly.
Theo smiled. “Among other things.”
Lucy’s brain screamed. Something about him felt familiar, but she would never forget a face like his. It could have been because he looked very similar to Rhea… but that didn’t seem right.
She watched Theo move as if he were playing a role that required him to take up as little space as possible. People like that were never small by accident.
“Well,” Lucy said brightly, “you’re quite attractive.”
Theo laughed easily. Too easily.
“I know. This face comes in handy from time to time.”
Sylva’s tail twitched.
Lucy grinned.
Oh.
Oh, she was going to enjoy this.
Traveling, it turned out, wasn’t just dangerous.
It was full of men wearing faces that weren’t theirs.
And Lucy had a very particular talent for noticing when the story didn’t add up.