Chapter 34
Lucy
How to Travel: don't. You will regret it immediately.
Lucy had thought that the Baroness joining their travels was the worst that could happen.
She was very, very wrong.
If Lucy didn’t need to remain visible enough to function as a decoy for Esther’s escape, she would have abandoned the group by day two and lived feral in the woods, possibly with squirrels. Maybe she’d score a cool wolf companion and become ruler of the woods.
They had barely left Rhea and Asher’s cozy little home when chaos began its morning calisthenics.
The road was narrow and rutted, framed by low hedges and skeletal trees stripped bare by early cold.
Fog clung low to the ground, the kind that promised unpleasant surprises and damp socks.
Lucy was still mid-complaint about breakfast portions when two men burst from the brush, shouting something vague and coin-related.
Lucy opened her mouth to scream—purely for dramatic effect—but Sylva was already moving.
One blink, he was beside her; the next, he was everywhere.
Blue fabric flashed, silver buckles caught the light, and his dagger moved like it had opinions about where it belonged.
The thieves went down fast, one tripping over his own ambition, the other groaning into the dirt like he’d reconsidered all his life choices at once.
Lucy stared.
Her pulse hadn’t slowed. That annoyed her more than the blood.
“What?” Sylva asked, flicking blood off his blade with practiced ease.
“I—I’m…” She snapped her mouth shut so she didn’t accidentally say deeply attracted.
“…observing.” It was the safest word she could grab in a moment where her brain offered far worse options.
He gave her a look. A very knowing look.
She threw a pebble at him.
He dodged.
Lucy had the irrational thought that he hadn’t been watching the pebble at all—that he’d been watching her.
Sylva fought three more thieves by midday, one of whom had been hiding behind Basil’s horse for a full minute before deciding that attempting robbery “right now” was a good idea.
It wasn’t.
Lucy found herself impressed. And then irritated at being impressed. And then impressed again.
Sylva walked ahead of her with the quiet confidence of someone who had never known fear in his life. He stayed just far enough ahead to clear danger without blocking her path. Lucy hated that she recognized the intention.
Meanwhile, Lucy tripped over a root.
Twice.
“I meant to do that,” she muttered.
Sylva glanced back. “Lie.”
Lucy scowled. “I hate your ears.”
“You love my ears.”
“Lie,” she shot back.
He smirked.
By the time the sun dipped low, they reached a roadside inn called The Roasted Trout, which smelled like burnt onions, damp straw, desperation, and something that might once have been meat.
The sign looked like someone had painted a fish while blindfolded and in emotional distress.
It was almost as bad as Esther’s dragon embroidery.
Inside, the air was smoky and stale. A bard played a single tune on repeat—three chords, none correct.
Sylva positioned himself without thinking—between her and the loudest pockets of movement. Lucy clocked it the way she clocked exits: subconsciously, gratefully, and without permission.
The Baroness took one step in, inhaled, and gagged.
“Oh heavens,” she croaked. “It smells like someone cooked misery.”
Lucy clapped her hands before wiggling her fingers dramatically like a magician. “Welcome to travel!”
Basil rubbed his eyes hard enough to erase his vision. “I’ll be in the tavern. Listening for rumors. Avoid trouble.”
He looked directly at Lucy when he said it.
Lucy saluted. “Trouble? I’ve never even met her.”
“You are trouble,” Basil muttered, walking away.
As soon as he disappeared, the Baroness whispered, “Is it truly safe? Will he be all right?”
Lucy shrugged. “He’s fine.” Then, because the universe rewarded chaos, she added, “He does look good from behind.”
The Baroness turned pink and stared very hard at the wall.
Later, Basil returned smelling like a tavern and poor decisions. Every time the Baroness looked at him, she made a small, distressed oh! sound and pretended to cough.
Then Basil dropped a spoon.
Both dove for it at the same time, smacked foreheads, and nearly fell over.
Lucy gagged loudly.
“Can you two not flirt in my line of sight? I’m eating.”
“We are not—” the Baroness sputtered.
“I am extremely uninterested in—” Basil began.
“Lie,” Sylva interjected helpfully, without looking up from sharpening his dagger.
They both froze.
Lucy nearly died of secondhand embarrassment.
Lucy escaped outside the inn for fresh air. The night was cool, the moon bright and round, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt quiet.
Which is precisely why the universe ruined it.
Two men stumbled from the shadows, ale on their breath. “Hey, sweetheart,” one slurred. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone.”
Lucy sighed. “Listen. I’ve had a long day. I really don’t—”
The second man grabbed her wrist. For half a heartbeat, Lucy went still—not weak, just calculating. That pause terrified her more than the grip.
“Oh,” Lucy said flatly. “Absolutely not.”
Before she could decide whether to kick, stab, or scream, a shriek pierced the night.
“Unhand her, you barbaric vermin!”
The Baroness descended like divine judgment, handbag raised above her head.
The first man blinked. “What—”
Whack!
Coins exploded from the bag like metallic fireworks. She continued her frantic assault until the two men dropped like sacks of wet flour.
Lucy stared.
The shaking didn’t start until it was over.
The Baroness stood panting, hair wild, eyes blazing with aristocratic wrath. “No one touches my—my—my Lucy.”
Lucy blinked. “Your… Lucy?”
“My responsibility,” the Baroness corrected, voice wobbling. “Obviously.”
Lucy’s lips curled into a slow grin. “Uh-huh.”
The Baroness quickly composed herself. “Are you harmed?”
“No.” Lucy swallowed, her chest unexpectedly warm. “Thank you.”
The Baroness lifted her chin with a huff. “Good. Handbags are expensive.”
The two walked back in, the Baroness looking like she’d survived a windstorm and Lucy smiling despite herself.
Sylva glanced up from the table. “What happened to you two?”
Lucy dropped into a chair. “The Baroness just wiped the forest floor with two men using a purse.”
Sylva’s eyes widened. “Respect.”
Basil rushed over. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Lucy said. “But my worldview has shifted.”
The Baroness folded her hands primly. “Nothing happened.”
“Lie,” Sylva said.
Lucy snorted so hard she choked.
Basil and the Baroness locked eyes for a second too long, both blushing, both instantly looking away.
Lucy groaned. “I swear, if you two fall in love in front of me, I will eat rocks.”
Basil: “We’re not—”
Baroness: “We would never—”
Sylva: “Both lies.”
Lucy slapped her forehead. “I hate traveling.”
Sylva smirked. “No, you don’t.”
Lucy glared at the table. Maybe she didn’t hate it entirely, but it was definitely trying to kill her.
The inn eventually settled into something resembling sleep.
The bard stopped playing. Someone extinguished a lantern. The smell of burned onions faded just enough to be replaced by wet wood and old smoke.
Lucy lay on her back atop a lumpy mattress, staring at the ceiling beams. One of them had a crack shaped vaguely like a bird. Or a sword. Or possibly a poorly drawn map. She decided not to think too hard about it.
Her wrist still ached faintly where the man had grabbed her. She flexed her fingers, grounding herself in the knowledge that she hadn’t been alone when it mattered.
She rolled onto her side and pressed it against the mattress, annoyed that the sensation hadn’t vanished with the danger and annoyed that she’d frozen for half a second before the Baroness appeared like a wrathful ghost armed with a purse.
Lucy wasn’t used to being rescued.
Footsteps creaked softly outside the door.
“Lucy?” the Baroness whispered, as if afraid of waking the entire building. “Are you awake?”
Lucy hesitated. Then, “Unfortunately.”
The door opened just enough for the Baroness to slip inside. She looked smaller without her posture sharpened for battle—hair loosened, sleeves rolled down. She held her handbag clutched to her chest like a shield.
“I wished to ensure you were truly unharmed,” she said stiffly.
Lucy propped herself up on one elbow. “You saved me with loose change.”
The Baroness winced. “I lost three buttons.”
“I will carve their names into history.”
That earned a small, shaky laugh.
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite knowing what to do with the silence.
“You did not scream,” the Baroness said quietly.
Lucy blinked. “I… what?”
“When the man grabbed you,” she continued. “You didn’t scream. You assessed. You prepared to act.”
Lucy hadn’t realized that was what she’d been doing.
“I don’t like feeling helpless,” she said finally. “I usually talk my way out of things. Or make myself a problem.”
The Baroness nodded slowly. “So do I.”
That surprised her.
“I am not brave,” the Baroness added. “But I am… tired of being afraid.”
Lucy swallowed, something warm and strange settling in her chest.
“Well,” she said lightly, “for what it’s worth, you were terrifying.”
The Baroness straightened a fraction. “Good.”
She hesitated at the door. “Sleep well, Lucy.”
Lucy watched her leave, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
She lay back down, hands folded on her stomach, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn.
Basil’s quiet footsteps pacing. Sylva’s steady breathing somewhere nearby. A world that did not pause just because she was overwhelmed.
For the first time since leaving the palace, Lucy felt something shift.
Not safety.
Not certainty.
But… being counted.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. More thieves. More arguments. More chaos.
But she knew this: she would not be invisible.
And somehow, she smiled at the thought.