Chapter 3
Pippa
Ten minutes later, I was beginning to understand why everyone had looked so amused when they'd announced my appointment.
The festival grounds were absolute chaos.
Workers swarmed the courtyard like industrious ants, hauling beams and crates, stringing garlands between the ancient stone pillars, arguing over stall placement with the kind of passionate intensity usually reserved for matters of life and death.
And me? I was supposed to be in charge of all of it.
Except no one actually needed me to tell them what to do.
"Excuse me," I called to a group wrestling with an enormous evergreen that would serve as the festival tree. "Should we move that a little more to the—"
"Already measured, Keeper," one of them called back cheerfully. "Same spot every year."
Right. Of course.
Before I could even process my next move, a vendor's stall toppled sideways nearby, spilling what looked like bottled starlight across the cobblestones. I started toward the mess, but a familiar voice beat me there.
"Got it handled," came the warm, amused tone from behind me.
I spun around to find Jarek crouched beside the chaos, already gathering the glowing bottles with quick, careful hands. His Rider leathers were scuffed from work, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that definitely hadn't looked like that three years ago. The vendor was practically beaming at him.
"Thank you, young Rider. So kind of you to—"
"No trouble at all." Jarek's grin was pure fox-shifter charm as he set the last bottle upright. "These festivals can get a bit wild. Lucky thing our Keeper's here to keep us all in line."
The way he said Keeper—like it was both a title of respect and a private joke between us—made something flutter in my chest. Annoying.
"Careful, Keeper," he added, straightening to his full height and fixing me with those amber-gold eyes. "You'll sprain something pointing that finger around."
I opened my mouth to retort, but he was already moving on to the next problem—a tangle of enchanted garlands that had somehow knotted themselves into what looked like a very festive noose.
By the time I reached them, he'd already coaxed the magic back into submission, the garlands flowing obediently into place along the courtyard walls.
Show off.
But gods, he was effective. And infuriatingly attractive while doing it.
The afternoon wore on in much the same pattern.
I'd spot a problem, start toward it, and find that Jarek had already swooped in to fix it.
A toppled display of enchanted ornaments?
Jarek was there, steadying the vendor and helping to arrange everything back in place.
A confused visitor looking for the registration table?
Jarek appeared at their elbow with directions and a smile that could have powered half the festival's spell-lights.
While Jarek made everything look effortless, I caught glimpses of the others working around the courtyard—Mason hauling massive beams with gargoyle strength, Tess laughing as he steadied her with a quick kiss, Theron's spell-lights dancing as his gaze drifted toward wherever she worked.
All of them so perfectly paired, so effortlessly connected, while I stood here feeling like an outsider to my own festival.
I forced myself to focus on something I could actually control—the wish baskets. I started at the Library's main entrance, placing wicker baskets lined with fresh parchment and setting out quills that would never run dry.
"You know, most people would have finished setting up and left by now."
I jumped, spinning to find Jarek watching me from a few feet away. There was something softer in his expression now, less teasing and more... thoughtful. Like he was seeing something in me he hadn't expected.
"I'm not most people," I said, lifting my chin.
"No." His gaze lingered on my face. "You're really not."
The way he said it—quiet, almost wondering—made my magic stir restlessly beneath my skin. I cleared my throat and busied myself adjusting the quills, even though they were already perfectly arranged.
"Shouldn't you be off lifting heavy things and impressing people with your newfound Rider muscles?"
"Already done." The grin was back, sharp and knowing. "Mason's got the heavy lifting covered, and Theron's handling the magical stuff. Leaves me free to follow you around and make sure you don't get into trouble."
"I don't get into trouble," I protested.
"Pippa. That's your plotting face. I remember it from when we were kids and you were about to convince me to help you sneak into the Autumn Court's sacred grove."
"That was educational exploration!"
"That was trespassing, and you know it." His grin was wicked. "Good thing I was there to get us out when the Court Guards showed up."
The memory hit me with unexpected force—the two of us, barely teenagers, running through the forest with our hearts pounding and laughter bubbling up between gasps for breath.
Jarek had grabbed my hand when I'd stumbled, pulling me along until we'd found a hiding spot in the hollow of an ancient oak.
We'd pressed together in the cramped space, trying to muffle our breathing while the Guards searched for us.
I'd been so aware of him that day—the way his fox-shifter heritage showed in the quickness of his movements, the sharp intelligence in his amber eyes, the way he'd looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Even then, there had been something between us, some spark that I'd been too young and too restless to understand.
"You saved my ass that day," I admitted quietly.
And looking at him now—broader shoulders, calloused hands, that same spark blazing brighter in eyes that had seen more of the world—I realized that whatever I'd felt then had only grown stronger. More dangerous.
"Wouldn't be the last time." His voice had gone softer too, less teasing and more... something else. Something that made my pulse quicken.
We were standing too close. I could see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, could smell the leather and woodsmoke scent that clung to his skin. If I leaned forward just a little...
A crash from across the courtyard shattered the moment. One of the enchanted garlands had apparently decided to rebel again, wrapping itself around a hapless worker's ankles and sending him tumbling into a display of bottled moonbeams.
"Duty calls," I said, grateful for the distraction.
But when I started toward the chaos, Jarek caught my wrist. His touch was warm, calloused from years of Rider training, and it sent a jolt of something electric straight up my arm.
"Already handled," he said, nodding toward the scene.
Sure enough, two other workers were already helping the tangled man to his feet while a third coaxed the rebellious garland back into submission. The crisis was over before I'd taken three steps.
"You don't need to fix everything yourself, Keeper. Sometimes it's enough just to be here."
The words hit deeper than they should have. I'd spent so much of my life convinced that I had to earn my place, had to prove my worth through constant motion and endless schemes. The idea that I could just... exist, and that would be enough...
It was terrifying.
I pulled my wrist free, trying to ignore the way my skin tingled where he'd touched it. "I should check on the Hearth preparations."
Jarek nodded, but his eyes stayed on my face like he was memorizing it. "Lead the way."
The Hearth stood at the heart of the festival grounds, a circle of ancient stones that had been here long before the Library was built.
Workers had spent the afternoon clearing away debris and arranging kindling in the center, but the firepit itself remained empty.
Tonight, at midnight, a dragon would breathe life into it, and for seven days and nights, it would burn with flame that was part magic, part tradition, and part something deeper that I didn't entirely understand.
I stood at the edge of the stone circle, thinking about what I'd witnessed today as I'd placed the wish baskets.
Young apprentices bent over their pages with intense concentration, lovers giggling as they tried to peek at each other's secrets, an older woman from Drakehaven whose weathered hands shook as she tied her page with a small red ribbon, tears in her eyes.
These weren't just silly wishes or sappy romantic nonsense.
They were pieces of people's hearts, offered up to the night sky in hope that someone—something—might be listening.
Every year, I'd gather them all and bind them into The Stories of Solstice, then feed the book to the Hearth so the wishes could rise as sparks into the winter sky.
It sounded ridiculous when I thought about it like that. But what I'd witnessed today—the reverence, the hope—made my pixie heart sing with the kind of magic that had nothing to do with spells or power. And now, staring at the empty firepit, the weight of all those hopes felt enormous.
"Nervous?" Jarek asked, moving to stand beside me.
"Terrified," I admitted before I could stop myself. "What if I mess it up? What if the flame goes out, or I bind the book wrong, or—"
"Hey." His hand found my shoulder, warm and steady. "You're not going to mess it up."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." His voice was quiet, certain. "I've known you since we were kids getting into trouble in the Autumn Court. You've never backed down from a challenge in your life, and you're not going to start now."
The faith in his voice made my chest tight. "I'm not the same person I was then."