Chapter 14
Pippa
The morning after kissing two men should have felt like chaos.
Instead, the festival hummed along like any other day—vendors hawking enchanted trinkets, children chasing will-o'-wisps through the stalls, couples stealing kisses under mistletoe that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.
Because to everyone else, nothing was wrong.
Supes flirting, pairing off, forming triads—it was all perfectly normal. Expected, even.
But I felt like I was walking on a tightrope made of spider silk, one wrong step away from plummeting into something I couldn't take back.
Focus, I told myself, clutching my clipboard like a lifeline. Keeper duties. Simple. Safe.
But my mind kept drifting back to last night. To Callen's mouth, warm and demanding against mine. To Jarek's kiss, playful and sweet and somehow achingly familiar. To the way my magic had responded to both of them, like they were tuning forks striking the same chord in my soul.
Stop it. I shook my head so hard my curls whipped across my face. It was just kissing. People kiss at festivals. It's practically mandatory.
Except it hadn't felt like just kissing. It had felt like something clicking into place, like puzzle pieces I hadn't even known I was missing.
The pull I felt toward both of them.
The thought slipped through my defenses like smoke through a keyhole, and suddenly I was back in that moment, standing between them, feeling like I belonged. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
My hands started to shake.
No. I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made it worse. Now I could smell Callen's cologne, feel the heat radiating from Jarek's skin. Could remember the way they'd both looked at me—not like I was just mischievous little Pippa, but like I was something precious. Something worth fighting for.
Something worth loving.
The basket slipped from my numb fingers, wishes scattering across the cobblestones like fallen leaves. I dropped to my knees, frantically gathering the delicate papers before the wind could steal them away.
Love. The word tasted like ashes in my mouth.
I'd seen what love did to people. How it hollowed them out from the inside, left them shells of who they used to be.
My mother had been vibrant once—a pixie who could light up a room just by walking into it.
Then she'd fallen for my father, given him everything she was, and when he'd grown bored and wandered off to chase his next adventure, she'd had nothing left.
"Love is just another word for losing yourself," she'd told me once, staring out the window at the empty road where he'd disappeared. "Promise me you'll never make that mistake, Pippa. Promise me you'll never let a man take away who you are."
I'd been eight years old, watching my mother fade a little more each day, and I'd promised. Sworn on my pixie magic that I'd never let anyone have that kind of power over me.
And I'd kept that promise. Through school, through my early years at the Library, through every casual flirtation and friendly kiss. I'd never let anyone get close enough to matter. Close enough to hurt me.
Until now.
And that terrified me more than any Harbinger ever could.
I ducked behind the ornament stall, pretending to reorganize the display of crystal snowflakes while my heart hammered against my ribs. The vendor, a cheerful gnome named Bramble, shot me a concerned look.
"You all right, dearie? You look a bit peaked."
"Fine!" I chirped, my voice pitched about three octaves too high. "Just making sure everything's perfect for tonight's ceremony."
Bramble's bushy eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline, but he wisely said nothing. Smart gnome.
I threw myself into the work with the kind of manic energy that would have impressed even the most caffeinated pixie.
Checked every stall twice. Refreshed the wish baskets until they practically sparkled.
Avoided eye contact with anyone who looked like they might want to chat about anything deeper than the weather or the quality of the dragonfire cider.
But every time I caught a glimpse of dark hair or russet curls in my peripheral vision, my pulse would spike and I'd find some urgent task that required my immediate attention in the opposite direction.
Coward, my inner voice whispered, sounding suspiciously like my mother during one of her bitter moods. Running away like always.
Every time I spotted Jarek's russet hair in the crowd, I found urgent business elsewhere. When Callen emerged from the Library with an armload of books, I suddenly remembered I needed to check the far end of the festival grounds.
But as the afternoon wore on, I started to notice something else. The other festival workers were whispering, shooting concerned glances toward the Hearth. When I finally worked up the courage to look, my stomach dropped.
The flame was dimmer than it should be—not dying, exactly, but muted.
Like someone had thrown a gray veil over the dragonfire, dulling its usual brilliant glow.
The fire that should have been blazing with warmth and promise barely flickered above its bed of enchanted logs, casting weak shadows that seemed to mirror the anxiety churning in my chest.
I was halfway across the festival square when Tess's voice cut through the evening air like a beacon.
"Keeper girl! Over here!"
I turned to see her waving both arms overhead from near the glowing cider stand, her usual bright smile faltering when she got a good look at my face.
Relief spilled through me like warm honey.
The stand was tucked beneath a charm-strung archway, close enough to the Hearth that the dim firelight barely reached the cobbled stone in weak, wavering patterns.
"Perfect timing," I called back, ducking under the arch. The enchanted lights overhead tinkled softly. "I am absolutely ready for a break. Let's get some of that life-altering cider." My voice came out too bright, too forced, but Tess didn't comment.
Tess was already holding two mugs, steam curling up from their rims. "Don't worry—I bribed the cider witch with candied pecans. This batch sings."
She wasn't kidding. The moment the mug touched my lips, warmth spread through me like liquid starlight, tinged with cinnamon and something that tasted like winter nights and promises.
We settled on a bench where we could still see festival-goers passing by the subdued Hearth.
The fire seemed strangely muted tonight, its flames barely reaching toward the star-scattered sky.
A group of fae children ran past, their laughter trailing silver sparks, while a pair of mages debated ward-weaving near the evergreen tree.
"So," Tess said, settling back with her mug cradled in both hands. "How are the Keeper duties treating you?" Her tone was carefully casual, but I caught the way her eyes searched my face.
I wrapped my fingers around my mug, grateful for something to hold onto. "Oh, you know. The usual. Enchanted wreaths trying to strangle me. A fae boy who proposed marriage in exchange for cider—apparently I have 'eyes like emeralds kissed by firelight.'"
Tess nearly spilled her cider laughing. "Please tell me you said yes."
"I told him to ask me again when he was sober and could remember my name." I took another sip, letting the warmth chase away the memory of frozen fingers. "He called me 'Keeper of my Heart' for the rest of the conversation."
"Poor boy. Crushed by your impossible standards."
"My standards are perfectly reasonable," I protested. "I require basic name recognition and the ability to stand upright without magical assistance."
Tess tilted her head, studying me with those golden-brown eyes that saw too much. "Is that all?"
The question was mild, but something in her tone made my stomach flutter.
My hands tightened around the mug until my knuckles went white.
I fumbled for a clever retort, but the words stuck.
Because we both knew she wasn't asking about drunken fae boys.
She was asking about the real reason I'd been avoiding everyone's eyes lately, the reason I kept finding excuses to work alone.
The reason I'd been carrying this tight knot of confusion in my chest like a secret I was afraid to name.
My mug suddenly felt too hot.
"I mean..." I started, then stopped. "It's been busy. Lots of wishes to collect—" The words came out strained, unconvincing even to my own ears.
"Pippa."
Just my name. That was all it took to make my carefully constructed deflection crumble.
I slumped forward with a groan, my shoulders shaking slightly. "Okay, fine. I may have—possibly—kissed both Jarek and Callen. Separately. Not accidentally, but not planned either, and now everything's weird and I don't know what I'm doing."
The words tumbled out like they might catch fire, my cheeks burning hot enough to melt snow. I kept my eyes fixed on my cider, watching the steam swirl in patterns that looked like tiny dancing figures.
"Wait." Tess leaned forward. "Who are Jarek and Callen?"
I winced, somehow sinking lower on the bench, my voice barely above a whisper. "Jarek's someone I knew growing up. He's a dragon rider now."
Tess's eyebrows shot up. "A dragon rider? How come I didn't know you had a thing for dragon riders?"
"Because I didn't know it was a thing until recently," I muttered, pressing my face into my hands.
"And Callen?"
"A scholar. And a mage." I peeked at her through my fingers, my voice muffled. "I only met him a few days ago in the Library. We got to talking, and—"
"Wait." Tess held up a hand, eyes wide with gleeful excitement. "You kissed your childhood friend who's now a dragon rider and a mysterious scholar-mage you just met? Pippa, what have you been doing while I've been cataloging dusty tomes?"
I waited for the lecture about poor decision-making. Instead, Tess set down her mug and fixed me with a look that was equal parts curious and calculating.
"So you like both of them?"
I blinked, my breath catching. "I—what?"
"Both of them. Jarek and Callen." She said it like she was asking about the weather. "Supes date poly all the time, Pips. The key's communication." She paused, taking a thoughtful sip. "Unless it's not serious—which is totally okay. Is it?"
My brain felt stuffed with cotton. This was not the reaction I'd expected. Where was the shock? The judgment?
"No," I blurted out, too fast and too loud. "I'm not into either of them. It was just—heat of the moment. Holiday chaos. Nothing real."
The words felt wrong the moment they left my mouth, like trying to wear someone else's clothes. And apparently, the Hearth agreed. From where we sat, I could see its flame dim further, the weak golden light taking on a grayish hue that seemed almost disappointed.
My eyes darted toward the fire, startled. The Hearth was supposed to burn steady until dawn. It wasn't supposed to react to—
"Pippa."
Tess's voice drew my attention back. She was watching me with those too-knowing eyes, and I had the uncomfortable feeling she'd seen right through my lie.
I tried to laugh it off, waving a hand that trembled slightly. "Really, it's nothing. Just holiday madness. Too much magic in the air—"
"Then why," Tess interrupted gently, "do you look like you're about to burst into tears or spontaneous combustion?"
I looked down at my hands wrapped around the warm mug, knuckles white with tension. She was right. I could feel magic churning restlessly beneath my skin, responding to the emotional chaos I was trying to suppress. Like electricity looking for somewhere to ground itself.
Traitor magic.
It was responding to thoughts of Jarek's amber eyes when he looked at me like I was something precious, and Callen's steel-gray gaze when he'd traced my cheek with careful fingers.
My magic recognizing what my mind was still too afraid to admit—that both of them had touched something in me I hadn't even known existed.
My shoulders sank as the fight went out of me. "Okay," I said quietly, staring at my trembling fingers. "Maybe it meant something. Maybe being with each of them felt... different. Real." I swallowed hard, my voice barely audible. "And terrifying."
The festival noise seemed to fade around us—laughter and music becoming a distant hum.
"So what are you going to do?" Tess asked eventually.
I expected advice, or suggestions, or a helpful list of pros and cons. Instead, she just waited.
"I don't know," I admitted. "What if I turn into my mother?
What if I give everything up for someone who doesn't even appreciate it?
" The words spilled out before I could stop them, raw and desperate.
"She lost herself completely when she fell in love with my father.
Gave up her dreams, her independence, everything that made her who she was.
And for what? So he could leave anyway?"
My voice cracked. "I'm terrified I'll do the same thing. That I'll lose myself trying to be what they want me to be."
Tess was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. "Pippa, you're not your mother."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because your mother gave up pieces of herself to fit into someone else's idea of who she should be. But you?" Tess leaned forward, her eyes intent. "You're considering adding to who you are, not subtracting from it. There's a difference between losing yourself and growing into more of yourself."
I felt something tight in my chest begin to loosen. "But what if—"
"What if they love you exactly as you are?" Tess interrupted softly. "What if they want you to stay yourself, not become someone else? What if the reason they're drawn to you is because of who you are, not despite it?"
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. When had anyone ever suggested that I might be worthy of love just as I was? My mother's bitter warnings had always been about changing yourself to keep someone, about making yourself smaller to avoid being left.
But Tess was offering something different. The possibility that love could make you more yourself, not less.
"Even if I have no idea what I'm doing?" I whispered.
"Especially then." Tess smiled, raising her mug in a small toast. "The best adventures start with no idea what you're doing."