Chapter 15
Pippa
The festival grounds were finally quiet.
I walked the empty pathways alone, frost crunching under my boots as I collected the last wish baskets from their scattered posts.
The stalls stood shuttered, their colorful banners hanging limp and lifeless.
Tomorrow night would be the Solstice—the culmination of everything I'd worked toward for weeks.
But tonight, everything felt suspended. Like the whole world was holding its breath.
This is better, I told myself, hefting another basket against my hip. The wicker bit into my side. Solitude. No complications. No wanting things that might disappear.
Except my chest felt tight anyway. The Hearth's glow beckoned from the center of the courtyard, its flames steady but somehow... waiting. Like it knew something I didn't.
I'd been avoiding my own wish all week. Every time I sat down with blank parchment, the words tangled in my throat. What did I want? What was I brave enough to ask for?
Nothing, whispered the careful part of me. Want nothing, lose nothing.
But that was a lie. My heart hummed with things I wouldn't name—heat and hope and the memory of steel-gray eyes, of amber-gold laughter, of moments when I'd felt seen instead of simply tolerated.
I rounded the corner toward the Hearth and stopped short.
They were already there. Both of them.
My breath caught as I took them in—Jarek's broad shoulders filling out his shirt, the strong line of his jaw as firelight played across his features.
He sat on the stone bench nearest the fire, russet hair catching the light like burnished copper, thick forearms braced on his knees in a way that made my pulse quicken.
Callen stood beside the Hearth itself, tall and lean but solid, one hand resting on the carved stone rim, dark hair mussed despite his usual composure. The firelight carved shadows along his throat, emphasized the elegant strength of his hands.
Something in my magic stirred, drawn to them both. The careful shields I kept around my power trembled, wanting to reach toward whatever it was about them that called to me so strongly.
Neither looked surprised to see me. Neither looked surprised to see each other.
Oh.
"We were going to write our wishes," Jarek said, lifting something in his hand—a wicker basket. "But we thought maybe you hadn't yet."
Callen's gaze found mine and held. "And maybe this time... it shouldn't be done alone."
I clutched my armful of baskets tighter, suddenly aware of how my pulse had kicked up. "I don't—I mean, I haven't—"
"Written yours?" Jarek's voice was gentler than his usual teasing tone. "Neither have we. Not really."
Callen stepped forward. In his other hand, he carried a small stack of blank parchment. "We waited."
They waited. The words hit me like a spell I wasn't prepared for. Heat bloomed in my chest, followed immediately by panic.
"You didn't have to do that," I said quickly. "I'm fine on my own. I've always been fine on my own."
The silence that followed was warm but charged, like the air before lightning. Jarek stood slowly, amber eyes never leaving mine. His usual swagger was nowhere to be found—instead, he looked... serious. Determined.
"I wrote this during my second winter at the Academy," he said, pulling a neatly folded piece of parchment from his jacket. His fingers tightened just slightly around the edges. "I wasn't ready to send it. I didn't think I was enough back then—not for someone like you."
My breath caught. "Jarek..."
"But every word still feels true," he continued, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "So... maybe it's time you read it."
He looked at Callen then—some silent communication passing between them that made my heart stutter.
There was something there, something new and electric, like they'd found an understanding I wasn't part of yet.
But instead of making me feel excluded, it made the air between all three of us feel charged with possibility.
Callen lifted his hand, and magic gathered in his fingers. Not the structured, precise runes I'd seen him cast before, but something wild and luminous, shaped by pure emotion. The parchment in Jarek's hand began to glow.
"What are you—" I started, but the words died as Jarek's letter unfolded.
Not physically. The words themselves lifted into the air, glowing lines of script rising like golden smoke to form constellations above the Hearth. Line by line, Jarek's handwriting appeared in starlight, suspended in the space between us.
Pippa,
I know you're probably rolling your eyes at this already, but hear me out.
I laughed—a small, breathless sound—and saw Jarek's mouth twitch into an almost-smile.
I miss your laugh. I miss the way you defend those ridiculous romance novels like they're ancient texts. I miss how you hum when you think no one's listening.
The words hung in the air like a confession, and I felt my careful walls starting to crack.
I know you need your freedom. I know you came here to find something bigger than our little corner of the Autumn Court. And I'd never ask you to be anything less than exactly who you are.
But I want you to know—I never stopped caring. I never stopped hoping that maybe, someday, you'd want someone to care about you the way you deserve.
Even if that someone is just a fox-shifter who's still figuring out how to be worthy of you.
The last line faded, and the silence stretched between us like a held breath. The Hearth crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across our faces.
Callen spoke then, voice clear and deliberate.
"You're worth any magic, Pippa. The kind that changes everything.
Even the kind that scares us." His throat worked, and when he continued, his voice carried a rawness I'd never heard before.
"I used to think surrender meant weakness—that letting someone in would make me less than what I was.
But you taught me there's joy in being vulnerable.
That opening yourself to someone doesn't diminish you—it makes you whole. "
He stepped closer, but didn't reach for me. Didn't push. Just gave me his truth with those steady gray eyes.
"We're not here to tame you, or take anything away. We're here because this—you—matters."
The careful composure I'd been clinging to shattered.
"I can't," I whispered, and my voice came out smaller than I'd intended. "I can't do this."
"Why?" Jarek's question was gentle, but it cut right through me.
"Because I watched my mother disappear." The words came out in a rush, like I'd been holding them back for years. Maybe I had. "She loved my father so completely that she just... faded. Became whatever he wanted her to be until there was nothing left of who she used to be."
My hands were shaking now, the baskets forgotten at my feet. "And when he left—when he got bored and moved on to someone new—she didn't even know how to exist without him. She'd given away every piece of herself."
The fire in the Hearth seemed to dim, as if even the dragonfire could feel the weight of my confession.
"That's what I've been afraid to write down," I whispered. "The thing I actually want. To love someone without disappearing. To be brave enough to let someone see me and not lose myself in the process." My voice cracked. "But what if I can't? What if I'm just like her?"
The silence stretched, heavy with understanding. Then Jarek moved—not toward me, but down to his knees beside where I stood, bringing himself to my eye level. His amber eyes were soft, serious in a way I'd rarely seen.
"Pippa." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Look at me."
I did, even though it hurt.
"You've never been anything but yourself, Pips. Not once in all the years I've known you. You're the brightest damn thing I've ever seen—and that light? It doesn't come from anyone else. It's yours."
Callen stepped closer, his presence steady and warm at my back. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.
"We don't want to take your fire, Pippa. We want to be warmed by it."
Something inside my chest loosened—just a fraction, but enough that I could breathe again. Really breathe, for the first time in days.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words barely audible.
"So are we," Callen said immediately, and there was something almost gentle in his tone.
Jarek's hand moved slowly, telegraphing his intent, until his fingers brushed mine. "Being scared means it matters."
I looked between them—these two impossible men who somehow saw me as more than just chaos and mischief. Who looked at my sharp edges and restless spirit and didn't want to sand them smooth.
My hands were still trembling when I reached for the blank pages Callen held. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
They each took a page as well, and we settled around the Hearth in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft scratch of quills on parchment and the gentle crackle of the flames.
I stared at my blank page for a long moment, then began to write:
To be brave enough to love without disappearing.
The words felt like a prayer and a promise all at once.
When we finished, we folded our wishes in silence. Mine felt heavier than it should have—weighted with years of fear and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.
Jarek placed his folded wish in the basket first, then Callen, then me. The moment my page settled against theirs, the Hearth erupted.
Not violently—but with a sudden, glorious surge of light and warmth that made me gasp. The flames leaped higher than they had all week, brilliant gold shot through with threads of silver and copper. The heat washed over us like a benediction, and I felt something deep in my chest unfurl.
Magic answering truth.
I lifted my face to the firelight, letting it warm my skin and chase away the last lingering shadows of fear. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn't feel like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.
I felt held.