30. Lucy
Lucy
If a stray cat refuses to cross your threshold, do not coax it. It sees the lodger you have not yet noticed.
Maren’s bakery sat tucked between a shop that’d clearly closed and another that appeared to deal exclusively in clocks, some that even ran backward.
The sign above the door was hand-painted wood, weathered but well-maintained, with delicate script that read Maren’s in letters that shimmered faintly in the late afternoon light.
Inside, the warm air was thick with the smell of honey and butter.
Shelves lined the walls, displaying pastries arranged with care, nutmeg and firberry tarts dusted with powdered sugar, bread twisted into intricate braids and cookies smothered in frosting.
Every tray and plate had been positioned to look full despite the stretches of bare wood between them, handwritten notices tucked into the empty spaces where ingredients were out of stock.
Maren herself stood behind the counter, a scorched woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical bun, and flour dusting her yellow apron.
She smiled when she saw Emrys. “I love it when a good bit of trouble comes wandering into my shop.”
“I only heard that you love me, Mare,” Emrys said back, circling the counter to pull the plump woman into a friendly hug before he lifted and spun her.
She started squealing and shoving away from him until he finally put her down.
“You’ll put me in the Keep and then how will you get your cakes, you foolish dragon?”
He circled back around the counter only to lean over it and grin at her. “We could solve that problem today if you’d just give me the recipe.”
She drew back, hand to her chest as she gasped. “I would never. That recipe is my only guarantee to see that handsome face of yours.”
“Speaking of handsome faces,” Emrys said, still grinning. “Mare, this is Lucy.”
Maren’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across her features as she looked me over. Her smile stayed warm, but there was something cautious in her eyes now. “Lucy,” she repeated softly. “The dragon who fell from the sky.”
“I didn’t fall from anywhere,” I said automatically.
“Of course not, dear.” But she kept studying me, like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You’re a bit of a conundrum around here, you know.”
“We’re aware,” Emrys said, completely unbothered.
Maren straightened and her smile brightened again. “Well, any friend of Emrys’s is welcome in my shop. What brings you two in today?”
“I promised her the best honey cakes in Luneth Hollow,” Emrys said.
“Best is a strong word when there are three other bakeries in the city,” Maren said. “But I’d argue mine are the most memorable.”
“They’re the only ones worth remembering,” Emrys corrected.
“Flattery will get you an extra cake. Good boy. Only one,” she warned. “Sugar doesn’t magically appear because Noctiria is coming. You know as well as I do, resources are limited these days.”
The bell above the door chimed and to my surprise, Tavian walked in, brushing snow from his coat.
Emrys’s face lit up. “For a minute I didn’t think you’d come.”
“And miss Maren’s fresh honey cakes?” Tavian said, crossing to the counter. “I’m not that foolish.”
Maren’s expression softened when she saw him. “Tavian. It’s been too long.”
“Three days is hardly too long.”
“Three days without seeing your face feels like a month.” She was already reaching for a clean cloth to wipe her hands. “The usual?”
“An entire tray, actually,” Emrys said before Tavian could answer. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” Tavian asked.
“The Rangers took the Crestfallen in overtime last night. You should’ve seen it.”
“That does seem worth celebrating,” Maren said, already pulling out a tray and filling it with golden cakes. “And since it’s almost Noctiria, I made a larger batch than usual.”
“A dangerous amount of optimism,” Tavian said.
“A dangerous amount of flour,” Maren corrected.
We took a table near the window where afternoon sun streamed in, warming the red tone in Emrys’s hair. He immediately reached for one of the cakes and took a bite, closing his eyes like he’d been granted a gift from the Furies themselves.
“You’re going to choke if you keep eating like that,” Tavian said, with an exasperated sigh.
“Worth it,” he said over a mouthful. “Besides, you’d save me.”
Tavian’s laugh was warm. “I would, but I’d hold it against you forever.”
Emrys reached for a second cake, and I caught myself staring at the tattoo crawling up his forearms, the way it moved with the flex of his hands. I’d been trying to make sense of the patterns since the cave. Up close they were even more intricate, layered, each image bleeding into the next.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
He looked down at his own arms like he’d forgotten they were there. “Which one?”
“Any of them. All of them.”
He turned his forearm over, tracing a finger along a line that curved into something that might have been a wave or a wing depending on the angle.
“This one’s for the first dragon I ever saw die.
He was old. Older than anyone could properly account for.
Went quietly, which isn’t always the case.
” He moved his finger to another part of his arm, pointing at two hooks caught in each other.
“This one I got after my first Calix season. We lost every single match and I thought it was important to remember that specifically.”
I nearly snorted. “You commemorated losing?”
“Losing teaches you more than winning does.” He grinned. “Tavian disagrees.”
“I simply think there are more enjoyable ways to learn,” Tavian said without looking up from his cake.
Emrys pushed his sleeve higher, revealing more ink disappearing toward his shoulder. “There are over thirty of ‘em total. Each one marks something worth remembering.” He looked at me. “Do you have any?”
“No.”
“Want one?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” I admitted. “I just could never commit to a design. Everything I considered felt either too small for what it meant or too permanent for something I might feel differently about later.”
Emrys considered this seriously, which I appreciated. “That’s not a reason not to get one. That’s just not having found the right one yet.”
“Spoken like someone with thirty of them.”
“Thirty-two, actually.” He pulled his sleeve back down. “When you find the right one, you’ll know. It won’t feel like a commitment. It’ll feel like a reminder. Something you never want to forget. Even if it’s just a moment in time.”
I picked up one of the cakes and took a careful bite.
The honey was sweet but not overwhelming, cut with something slightly tart, lemon, maybe, and the moment it touched my tongue, I felt warmth spread through my chest like I’d swallowed sunlight.
The cake dissolved, leaving behind a faint hum of magic that lingered on my tongue.
I took another bite, lost in the sensation. No wonder everyone loved them. “This is incredible.”
“Wait until you try the ones she makes for Noctiria,” Emrys said. “Those actually glow.”
Tavian practically choked. “They do not glow.”
“They absolutely glow. I’ve seen it,” Emrys argued back.
“You were drunk.”
“I was slightly impaired, which is different, and they still glowed.”
I watched them banter, the easy warmth of people who’d known each other long enough that insults were just another form of affection.
Tavian reached for another cake and Emrys tried to swat his hand away, claiming he’d already had two.
Tavian pointed out that Emrys had eaten three while they’d been talking.
It felt normal. It felt like something I’d experienced only one other time in my life, with a group of Venatori chasing their own survival. I missed them more in this moment than I ever had. We could have been friends.
The bell chimed again.
An older man shuffled in, hunched over a cane that looked like it had seen better… decades. A young boy walked beside him, maybe six or seven, holding the man’s free hand.
They approached the counter slowly, the old man counting coins from a worn pouch.
“One honey cake, please,” he said to Maren, his voice rough but polite.
Maren wrapped one carefully and handed it over. The old man gave it to the boy, who took it with both hands like he’d been given something precious.
Tavian pushed back from our table and picked up one of the honey cakes from our tray. He crossed to where the old man was turning to leave and held it out. “I’m full. Hate to see it go to waste.”
The old man hesitated, pride warring with practicality on his weathered face.
“Please,” Tavian added gently.
The old man took it, nodding his thanks.
“Come see me about your back if it’s still giving you trouble, Char,” Tavian said, his tone shifting to something more professional. “You know I can help with that.”
“It’s not right if I have nothing to pay you with,” Char answered quietly.
I stood immediately and moved toward the boy, crouching down to his level to distract him from the other conversation. “What’s your name?”
The boy looked up at me with wide eyes, clutching his honey cake. “Caide.”
“That’s a good name. You know what I heard?” I leaned in conspiratorially. “Maren puts a little bit of magic in every cake. If you eat it fast enough, you can feel it in your ears.”
Caide’s eyes doubled in size. “Really?”
“Try it and see.”
Emrys appeared beside me, dropping into a crouch as well. “She’s right. I once ate three in under a minute and I swear I could fly better for a week.”
“You already fly well,” Caide said. “Grandpa took me to the Calix game a few weeks ago.”
“That was nothing! Imagine how good I was with the magic boost.”
While the boy giggled and took an enormous bite of his cake, I heard Tavian’s voice behind us, quiet but firm.
“You’ve known me long enough to know I don’t take payment for things like this, Char. Your back needs tending. That’s all that matters.”
“But—”
“No buts. Come by tomorrow morning. I’ll have everything ready.”
There was a long pause, then Char’s quiet voice. “You’re a good man, Tavian.”
“I guess that makes two of us.”