Chapter 84
Two weeks later, summer settled gently over Ambervale.
June had a way of softening everything.
The air grew warmer, the days longer, the evenings slower. Lanterns were lit later. Windows stayed open. The scent of flowers carried farther on the breeze, drifting through streets that had, somewhat inconveniently, become cleaner, smoother, and far more pleasant than Dara had originally intended.
During the day, Dara still worked.
Of course she did.
Temporary Governess Lynara Voss remained very much in office.
The council chamber no longer felt like a battlefield, but it was not peaceful either. The investigations into the former council members were ongoing, now under the firm, meticulous control of Crown auditors who seemed to take personal offense to incomplete ledgers and suspicious financial delays.
Arkwright.
Greenmoor.
Halvern.
Rooke.
Dravik.
Their names came up often in reports.
Their absence was noticeable.
Councilwoman Tullis had stepped in where she could, steady and practical, helping maintain council function without drawing unnecessary attention to the gaps left behind.
It was working—not perfectly, but enough.
And in the middle of all of it, Dara worked.
She reviewed reports, signed orders, approved funding, coordinated district improvements, adjusted timelines, met with guild representatives, and planned entirely too many new projects.
And did not once, in the past two weeks, calculate how any of it would contribute to her exile.
The realization came quietly, without announcement or ceremony. Just—gone.
In its place, something else had taken root. Not comfort, not fully, but direction.
The hot springs were no longer just a ridiculous temptation. They were becoming a structured development plan, carefully separated from the mining zones, professionally surveyed, budgeted, and phased.
Grace was already making notes about tea service expectations. Bernard reviewed projected costs with the expression of a man who had accepted his fate, while Elowra documented everything with terrifying efficiency.
The mountain ores—
Dara still refused to think about those too directly.
But they existed.
And they required management.
Which meant infrastructure.
Which meant spending.
Which meant—acceptable.
The aquarium. The menagerie. The continued improvement of roads and rest stops. Even her growing, increasingly dangerous idea of developing advanced transportation, because she absolutely refused to spend the rest of her life enduring multi-week carriage rides if she had the means to improve them.
They were no longer tools.
Not steps in a plan to leave.
They were pieces.
Of something she was building.
Whether she intended to or not.
And, inconveniently, she did not hate that.
That evening, Dara walked through the estate garden.
The sky had shifted into soft shades of gold and lavender, the last sunlight catching along leaves and pale stone paths. Lanterns flickered to life along the walkways, casting a warm glow over flowerbeds that had grown fuller, brighter, and more alive with each passing week.
The garden was no longer just elegant.
It was lived in.
Dara walked slowly, hands lightly clasped behind her back. Grace and Elowra followed a few steps behind, giving her space without leaving her alone.
Around her, chaos moved in comfortable patterns.
Brutus bounded ahead, a large, enthusiastic presence of muscle and poorly contained joy, occasionally stopping to sniff something with great seriousness before immediately losing interest.
Pipette trotted nearby with far more dignity, her small form held high as though inspecting the garden on official business.
Salem moved like a shadow along the edge of the path, black fur blending with the deepening evening, green eyes catching lanternlight with quiet judgment.
And Puff—
Puff was currently nibbling on a carefully designated patch of clover under a maid’s watchful supervision, his small white body almost glowing in the soft light.
Adorable.
Dangerously adorable.
Dara slowed, watching them.
Brutus flopped dramatically onto the grass as if overcome by the sheer effort of existing. Pipette stopped, stared at him, and very clearly decided he was beneath her. Salem flicked her tail and walked past both of them. Puff continued nibbling, entirely unconcerned with hierarchy.
Dara exhaled softly.
Not tired.
Not empty.
Just present.
Grace stepped slightly closer. “You seem well this evening, my lady.”
Dara glanced at her. “I was unwell before?”
Grace smiled gently. “You were… processing.”
Elowra added, without looking up from the small notebook she always carried, “You have been significantly less inclined to stare at ceilings.”
Dara blinked. “I did not realize that was being monitored.”
“It was noted,” Elowra said calmly.
“Of course it was.”
Cai drifted lazily beside Dara, invisible as always. You are no longer grieving your financial trajectory.
I am still offended, Dara replied.
Less dramatically.
That is because I am conserving energy.
Cai snorted.
Dara ignored him and continued walking.
The garden path curved toward a small open area where a stone bench overlooked the lower grounds. Beyond the estate, the rest of Ambervale glowed faintly, lanterns lighting the streets as evening life moved softly through the city she had somehow helped reshape.
She paused and looked out. This time, she did not immediately think of leaving, calculate distance, or imagine escape routes. She simply looked.
Behind her, Brutus had rolled onto his back and was attempting to convince the grass to appreciate him.
Pipette had climbed onto a raised stone and was surveying her domain.
Salem had taken up a position beside Dara’s foot.
Puff had been gently relocated away from a potentially decorative plant and was now chewing something far less expensive.
Grace stood quietly.
Elowra adjusted her spectacles and made another note.
It was peaceful.
Strange.
Dara thought, distantly, of her old life.
Long work shifts. Exhaustion settled into her bones. Small apartments and smaller paychecks. Late nights and early mornings. Streaming shows she never had time to finish. Books she had meant to read. Graves she could no longer visit.
The ache was still there, quiet and real, but no longer consuming.
She let it sit, did not push it away, did not drown in it, only acknowledged it.
Then she thought of something else.
Dinner in the estate hall, the candlelight stretching long across the table while conversations drifted on far past the point where they should have ended, neither of them quite willing to be the one who called it a night.
Walks like this one, taken for no reason she could ever fully justify to herself.
Evenings spent stargazing in the gardens, the grass still warm from the day's heat, Valerius beside her with that particular stillness he had, listening with far too much seriousness while she explained hot spring resort logistics as though the matter deserved the same gravity as a treaty negotiation.
His hand finding hers in the dark, warm and unhurried, and the way she'd simply let it stay there, telling herself each time that she'd pull away in a moment, and then somehow never quite getting around to it.
His presence steady in a way she hadn't asked for and had long since stopped resisting, patient in a way that left her quietly, helplessly fond of him, entirely too persistent in the particular way of a man who'd already made himself impossible to live without.
Entirely too—
Dara exhaled.
“…inconvenient,” she murmured.
Cai’s ears twitched. That is not the word you mean anymore.
Dara narrowed her eyes slightly. I mean exactly what I say.
Of course.
She did not argue further.
Because, for once, she did not feel the need to.
She looked back toward the city.
Then toward her garden.
Then down at Salem, who blinked up at her with quiet indifference.
Dara reached down and absently stroked the cat’s head.
Salem accepted this.
Barely.
“I think,” Dara said slowly, more to herself than anyone else, “this will do.”
Grace’s expression softened.
Elowra paused her writing.
Cai went very still.
Brutus sneezed.
Pipette judged him.
Puff continued chewing.
The evening deepened around them.
Dara turned and resumed walking.
Not toward anything in particular.
Not away from anything either.
Just forward.
And for once, she allowed herself to stay.