Chapter 16 Maren
MAREN
Freya caught them before they'd made it ten steps from the Council Hall.
"Maren, wait." The nature witch hurried through the snow, her copper-auburn waves escaping from beneath a knitted cap. "I need you to come to the apothecary. Someone's been asking for you."
Maren's shadows stirred warily. After the hostility in the meeting, the idea of anyone asking for her felt suspect. "Who?"
"Sage." Freya's green eyes softened. "She's been worried. Keeps asking when Pretty Maren is coming back."
Maren's chest loosened with fondness and gratitude. A three-year-old's concern felt more genuine than anything else she'd encountered today.
"I'll come with you," Tristan said before she could respond. "Council requirement after tonight's meeting."
"Of course." Maren hadn't expected anything else. Three days of investigation meant three days of constant supervision, whether she wanted it or not.
Whether she was starting to want it or not.
They walked through quiet streets, most of Hollow Oak having retreated indoors after the meeting. Snow fell steadily, muffling sound, turning the world soft and distant. Lamplight glowed in windows, warm against the cold, and somewhere a dog barked before being called inside.
Normal. Peaceful. As if the town hadn't just spent an hour debating whether to bind her magic or exile her entirely.
The apothecary appeared ahead, its green door cheerful against white-painted walls. Warmth spilled from the windows, and Maren could see Sage's small silhouette moving inside, probably rearranging her flower collection for the hundredth time.
Freya pushed open the door. "Look who I found."
Sage's head whipped around, her face lighting up with uncomplicated joy. "Maren!" She abandoned her flowers and ran across the shop, throwing small arms around Maren's legs with enough force to nearly knock her backward.
Maren caught herself against the doorframe, her shadows instinctively wrapping around the child in a protective embrace. Sage giggled, reaching up to touch the darkness that curled around her fingers like affectionate cats.
"Your shadows came to play," Sage announced seriously. "That means you're staying, right?"
"For a little while, sweetheart." Maren crouched down to Sage's level, aware of Tristan closing the door behind them and positioning himself near the window. Always watching. Always ready.
"Good. I made you something." Sage pulled away and ran to the counter, returning with a small bundle wrapped in dried grass and tied with twine. "Mama helped, but I picked the flowers."
Maren accepted the gift carefully, unwrapping it to reveal a collection of dried wildflowers arranged in a careful pattern. Lavender for calm. Chamomile for peace. Rosemary for protection.
"It's beautiful," Maren said, her throat tightening unexpectedly. "Thank you, Sage."
"They'll keep the bad dreams away. Mama said you probably have lots of bad dreams right now." Sage patted Maren's hand with the solemn confidence of someone who'd already solved the world's problems. "But flowers help. They always help."
"They do," Maren agreed, blinking against the sudden burn behind her eyes. "They really do."
Freya approached with two steaming mugs, handing one to Maren and offering the other to Tristan, who accepted with a nod of thanks.
"I wanted to give you some things before you go back to the safe house.
Protective herbs, teas for dreamless sleep, a few charms that might help if your magic gets pulled again. "
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to." Freya began gathering supplies from various shelves, her movements efficient and practiced. "But I want to. You're not what they're saying, Maren. I know that. Sage knows that. And anyone with half a brain should know it too."
Maren sank onto the stool near the counter, Sage immediately climbing up beside her to watch the shadows play across the floor. The little girl's magic responded to the darkness with green and gold sparks dancing where shadow met light.
"Your magic's getting stronger," Maren observed, watching the sparks multiply.
"Mama says I'm a late bloomer. Like flowers that wait for the right season." Sage held out her hand, letting Maren's shadows wind around her fingers. "But I think I'm growing just right."
"You are." Maren glanced at Freya, who was watching them with an expression that mixed pride and concern. "She's going to be powerful."
"Which terrifies me on a daily basis." Freya wrapped dried herbs in cloth bundles, tying them with quick, practiced knots. "But she's got a good heart. That counts for more than raw power."
"having a good heart doesn't seem to matter much if people have already decided you're dangerous." Maren let her disappointment leak out before she realized it enough to stop it.
Freya paused, her hands stilling on the herbs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude,” Maren said, watching her gesture.
"Tonight was awful. I won't pretend it wasn't. But you're still here. Still standing. That counts for something."
"I'm only standing because Tristan put himself between me and a room full of people ready to act." Maren's gaze drifted to where he stood near the window, silhouetted against falling snow. "Without him, I'd be bound or exiled or worse by now."
"Then thank the Veil he's here." Freya resumed her packing. "And thank the Veil he's got the spine to stand up to an angry mob when most people would've folded."
Maren wanted to argue and say she didn’t need someone defending her existence to people who'd supposedly accepted her. But the words wouldn't come because they weren't true.
She did need protecting by someone willing to step between her and violence. The realization pressed against her pride that had kept her isolated and independent for so long.
"He's watching you," Sage whispered, leaning close like she was sharing a secret.
"He's supposed to watch me. Council orders."
"No." Sage shook her head solemnly. "He's watching you the way Papa watches Mama. Like you're important."
Heat crept up Maren's neck.
"She's right though," Freya said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Kieran looks at me the same way. Like I'm the thing worth protecting even when the world's falling apart."
Maren risked a glance toward Tristan. He was scanning the street outside, vigilant as always, but something in the set of his shoulders suggested he'd heard every word. His jaw tightened fractionally, the only indication he was listening.
"That's different," Maren said quietly. "You and Kieran are mates. Tristan and I are just—"
She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. What were they? Guardian and charge? Investigator and suspect? Two people thrown together by circumstance who'd somehow become something more complicated than either of those labels allowed?
"Just two people who keep looking at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist," Freya finished, amusement coloring her tone. "Yeah. Real different."
"Freya."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just observing." Freya added the last bundle to a canvas bag and slid it across the counter. "But for what it's worth? I've seen the way he defends you. That's not duty, Maren. That's personal."
Maren accepted the bag, her fingers clutching the handles harder than necessary.
The town meeting kept replaying in her mind; Tristan's calm assertion that anyone who touched her would answer to him personally, the ice-blue steel in his eyes when he'd positioned himself between her and violence, the absolute certainty in his voice when he'd said he'd spent a decade dealing with worse threats than frightened shopkeepers.
He'd made himself a target to keep her safe.
The thought should've triggered her carefully maintained independence and refusal to be anyone's burden. Instead, it made her feel something warm and dangerous and entirely too tempting.
"Thank you," she said to Freya, meaning more than just the herbs.
"Anytime." Freya pulled her into a quick hug, warm and grounding. "You're not alone in this. Remember that."
Sage hugged her next, small arms squeezing tight before pulling back with a gap-toothed smile. "Come back soon. The shadows like it here."
"I will." Maren touched the little girl's cheek gently. "Take care of those flowers for me."
"I will. I'm very responsible."
Despite the accusations, the fear, and the very real possibility of exile, Maren found herself smiling. "I know you are, sweetheart."
Tristan opened the door, checking the street before nodding that it was clear. Maren gathered the bag and moved toward him, her shadows following behind like reluctant children being called home from play.
"Thank you," she said to Tristan as they stepped into the cold.
"For what?"
"For tonight." She pulled her cloak tighter against the wind. "You didn't have to defend me like that."
"Yes, I did." His voice stayed level, matter-of-fact. "It's my job."
Freya's observation echoed in her head. "You made yourself a target to protect me."
Tristan was quiet for several steps, boots crunching through snow. "Would you have preferred I stayed silent? Let them work themselves up into doing something we'd all regret?"
"No. I just…" Maren struggled to find words for what she was feeling. "I'm not used to people standing up for me. Not like that. It cost you credibility probably with half the town. They'll say you're compromised now, biased, too close to see clearly."
"Let them say it." Tristan's jaw set in a line she was beginning to recognize as stubborn determination. "I'm not interested in being liked. I'm interested in keeping you alive and proving you're innocent."
"Why?"
They'd reached the edge of town, where the truck was parked. Tristan stopped and turned to face her fully.
Snow caught in his dark hair, melting against skin still warm from the heated hall. His eyes reflected lamplight from distant windows, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable, almost unsure.
"Because you deserve better than being judged for things you didn't do," he said finally. "Because watching people suffer for crimes they didn't commit is how I lost—"
He stopped abruptly, jaw clenching.
"How you lost who?" Maren asked softly, thinking of the grief she'd glimpsed in him before, the carefully buried pain that surfaced sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking.
"Someone important. Someone I couldn't save." His voice went rough around the edges. "I won't make that mistake again."
Maren stepped closer, her shadows reaching toward him before she'd consciously commanded them. They wound around his wrists gently, offering comfort in the only language they knew.
"I'm sorry," she said. "For whoever you lost that made you carry that kind of guilt."
"Don't be sorry. Just let me do my job." Tristan's hand lifted, hovering near her face before dropping back to his side. "Three days to find proof. Then you're free of all this."
Free of the accusations, maybe. Free of him?
The thought made her cringe with distaste. Her reaction made it clear what she wanted.
"Three days," Maren agreed.
They rode to the safe house in silence, surrounded by falling snow and unspoken words that felt heavier than any accusation the town could level.