Yuletide.
Yuletide had once been my favorite festival.
In Green Vale, the entire village gathered to celebrate winter solstice.
Families would bring food to the square, sharing their fare as a bonfire blazed at the heart of the celebration—its comforting flames drawing everyone close to tell fables from times long ago.
I’d sit eagerly among them, drinking ale and eating barley bread with butter as storytellers spun their tales of triumph and misfortune.
Before the festivities ended, flowers were laid to honor the dead, and villagers raised a toast in memory of those we’d lost.
But since last Yuletide, so many men from Green Vale had perished that I was grateful not to be celebrating the longest night of the year in the Wetlands. I imagined grief would overpower any moment of revelry.
It had been a few days since my face had met the anvil, and my black eye had darkened into a deep purple.
I confined myself to the smithy, avoiding questions about my swollen face.
The men I worked with had already given me enough banter about my bruise, and I didn’t want to endure more gibes around the bonfire.
Since it was Yuletide, Fitzroy had granted the soldiers a rare day off, leaving me with an afternoon alone in the smithy.
I sat at the anvil, finishing the final touches to the gift I’d crafted for Bash.
Normally, forging was a distraction, but my feelings for him consumed me, making it impossible to focus.
Consequently, I’d fallen behind on the tasks piling up from both Red and Fitzroy.
I’d sworn never to let a man come between me and my trade—but Bash, I thought, might be the exception.
Light flooded the dark tent as someone stepped inside. Glancing over my shoulder, I hoped to see Bash; instead, I found my smiling brother.
Finn flinched at the sight of my injured eye. “Ouch,” he said. “That looks painful.”
I could’ve healed my injury with a simple spell, but I kept it as a reminder—a physical manifestation of the cruel words he’d once spoken.
“Happy Yuletide,” Finn said sheepishly.
I said nothing in return. Instead, I wrapped Bash’s gift in parchment, pretending Finn existed in another realm I couldn’t see or hear.
“I’ve got you a present,” Finn announced, placing something on a workbench.
Ignoring him, I rolled down my linen sleeves, plucked my long coat from the sooty floor, and shrugged it on.
Just before making my dramatic exit, I remembered my gloves.
My palms were stained a deep purple from the countless spells I’d cast, creeping toward my fingertips.
Sliding the gloves on, I concealed my magic.
As I headed for the exit, gift in hand, Finn stepped into my path. We narrowly avoided clashing heads, forcing me to acknowledge his presence.
“Move,” I ordered.
Finn shook his head. “Not until you listen to my apology.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
“I never meant to upset you. That wasn’t my intention when I confronted you about your relationship with the carpenter,” Finn explained, his frown deepening.
“You’re right—you shouldn’t tell him you’re a woman.
If you do, you’ll be sent back to the Wetlands, with the Lord’s knights waiting.
” His expression grew pained, as if imagining the torture I’d endure until confessing the events of that wretched night.
“We both know you need to end what’s been happening between you two. It’s the safest option.”
I waited for more, but when Finn offered a hesitant smile, I realized that was all he had.
“That wasn’t an apology. You didn’t say sorry once,” I snapped.
Finn stepped to the side as I charged out of the tent. My fists clenched around the gift, the edge of the blade biting into my glove. I refused to let Finn dampen my excitement—after all, I’d labored too hard on Bash’s present to let my brother ruin this moment.
Though it was early afternoon, the sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the encampment.
I scanned the faces around the bonfire, but Bash was nowhere to be found.
I even peeked inside the tent, thinking he might be napping during his day off, but his straw sack was unoccupied.
There was a chance he’d gone to the Anchor for ale or a chat with the witches, but I decided to check the sands first, knowing how the sea reminded him of home.
The shore was lacquered in a purple glaze as light drained quickly from the sky. I spotted two familiar figures watching sundown on the horizon, beyond the shimmering sea. One man’s hair was whiter than the petals of sneezewort, while the other wore a dark felt cap.
Bash and Fletcher sat just beyond the tide line, where the black sands still sparkled with flecks of gold.
My boots squeaked against the crumbling sand, alerting them to my approach. Both glanced over their shoulders—Bash greeted me with a warm smile, while Fletcher tipped the brim of his cap.
“Happy Yuletide,” I said, taking a seat beside Bash.
“What happened to your face?” Fletcher asked.
Bash looked horrified. “Did Finn do that to you?”
“Indirectly. We had an argument. I threw a blade, and when I went to retrieve it, I hit my face on the anvil,” I admitted, ashamed of how pathetic it sounded.
“You threw a blade at your brother?” Fletcher cackled.
I shook my head. “Only to frighten him.”
“You should try to reconcile,” Bash said. “You’ve both suffered so much with your missing sister. When my father disappeared, me and my siblings relied on one another. Talking to people who understand can help.”
Bash rested a comforting hand on my thigh, and I swallowed down the sting of guilt. I wasn’t sure what would betray him more—the lie that I was a man or the false claim that I understood the pain of a missing relative. Both were unforgivable, yet I was in too deep to swim back to shore.
From beneath the brim of his cap, Fletcher glanced at Bash’s hand resting on my leg, then met my gaze. “I’m going for a piss,” he said and promptly strode toward the woodland, leaving us alone.
Once Fletcher was out of earshot, I presented my gift. “Happy Yuletide,” I murmured, offering the parcel.
“For me?” Bash asked, his smile warm.
I nodded eagerly.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the gift.
“Open it,” I urged impatiently.
Bash tore through the parchment and gasped at the sight of the silver blade. As he twirled it in the twilight, the metal gleamed as though dipped in stardust.
“Smith, your talent is unmatched,” Bash said, grinning from ear to ear.
I blushed from his praise as he traced his thumb over the engraving I’d carefully etched into the handle—a floral design encircling the letter S.
“Is the S for Smith?” he asked.
I shook my head quickly. “Sebastian—it’s for Sebastian.”
My cheeks burned at his assumption that I’d carve my own initial into a keepsake for him, as though I thought I was his.
“Thank you,” Bash murmured, the affection in his voice sending a tingle through me. “I’ll cherish it for a lifetime.”
He gently squeezed my thigh before reaching into his pocket. “I’ve brought you a gift—though not nearly as impressive.”
I was pleasantly surprised.
Bash held out a closed fist and placed something golden into my cupped hands. I glanced down to see the locket Fletcher had stolen from Jane.
“Thank you.” My overly grateful tone teetered on sarcasm—why had he given me this?
Bash nudged me with his elbow. “Open it.”
I flicked the locket open, expecting to see the daisy engraving, but instead found two pressed forget-me-nots tucked inside—my favorite flower.
“Bash!” I gasped. “You listened.”
“Not often,” he chuckled.
As I admired the delicate periwinkle petals, I realized this was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given me.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting Bash’s gaze. “Will you put it on me?”
Bash nodded, taking the chain from my hands. I turned, brushing my hair aside. His fingertips grazed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Secured,” he murmured, his touch lingering only briefly.
I tucked the locket safely inside my tunic and turned back to face him.
For a moment, our eyes locked, unspoken desires circling around us.
I knew we both longed to hold or kiss the other—but we couldn’t.
I hated to admit it, but Finn was right.
Until I could reveal my true self, it was safer to shut out my feelings for Bash.
“I should get back to the smithy,” I said as I rose. “Those swords aren’t going to enchant themselves.”
Bash gave me an understanding nod. “Thank you again,” he said softly, his focus returning to the gift.
Leaving him on the sands, I stole a glance over my shoulder and found him studying the details I’d crafted to impress him. The sight made me long to stay, but I forced myself onward toward the tree line.
The shadows deepened as I reached the woodland’s edge. Gradually, as my eyes adjusted to the lowering light, Fletcher emerged from the branches, startling me as he made his way back toward his cousin.
“Bash is very fond of you,” he said with a peculiar grin.
“Jealous that he has another friend he trusts?” I retorted, mirroring his condescending smile.
Fletcher shook his head. “I’ve never seen him so thoughtful. Well, I have,” he added, his voice trailing off as he passed me. “But only with female acquaintances.”
I looked behind, watching Fletcher slightly shake as if he was chuckling to himself.
Back at the smithy, I couldn’t shake the lingering questions. Had Bash confided in Fletcher about our secret moments of intimacy? Or was it obvious we cared for each other more than friends should? Perhaps Fletcher had guessed my secret—his remark might have been a gibe about my hidden identity.
I quickly tidied the workspace, eager to calm my racing thoughts. The sooner I cleaned up, the sooner I could spend the evening drinking ale by the bonfire, forgetting my worries, and mindlessly staring into its flames.