Page 26 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

She’d overreacted at the fountain—but he was a stranger with a sword, and everything lately was stretched thin enough to snap.

Curiosity tugged anyway. She moved to Pell’s window, watching as Orzen reached the street. He paused, half turned like he might come back—say something else—but thought better of it. He dragged both hands through his hair, the black tufts falling back in a mess of shaggy strands. Then he muttered something she couldn’t hear and curled his fists like he could beat the memory of his words out of existence. With a growl, he stalked away.

Wren blinked, torn between secondhand embarrassment and a reluctant flicker of amusement. For once, she hadn’t been the strange one. Underneath it all, he’d still been watching her. And being watched had never ended well.

Behind her, Pell said, “Careful with that one, Miss Wren.” One brow arched above his thick glasses. “Handsome men with swords don’t wander into town unless they’re running from trouble. Or dragging it behind them.” He sighed deeply. “Shame, really. Would be nice if one stayed put.”

Wren glanced out the window one last time. She hoped Pell was wrong. But with her luck lately, trouble was already on its way—and it likely carried a sword and a mug of coffee.

Wren left Pell’s neatly stacked rows behind, feeling oddly unmoored. She lingered on the porch, unsure where to go next. Probably home. She hadn’t planned to stop at the forge, but it was so close, and she needed a moment with someone who really knew her.

Strangely, no smoke curled from the chimney. Brunna rarely started late. Maybe Wren wasn’t the only one who’d slept poorly. She stepped lightly toward the open threshold but froze when Brunna’s voice rang out from inside.

“You’re serious?”

Not something said in anger. It sounded cautious.

Then Tavrin, quiet and low—like words meant for no one else. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

He was staying? She had so many questions. She shouldn’t be listening—the guilt prickled across her skin—but even the glow of the forge embers seemed to be waiting for his answer.

Through the crack in the doorway, she caught their outlines in the dim forge light. Still. Closer than they needed to be.

Brunna’s silhouette struck a firm pose against the faint glow of the banked forge. “And I’m supposed to believe you won’t run like a fox the second the wind changes?”

Her voice carried no venom—only the weight of someone who waited too long to be let down again. Brunna had a reason to be wary. Tavrin was harder to cage than a skittish hare. Wren hadn’t been sure he’d ever stop running long enough to give Brunna a chance to choose him.

Tavrin was silent. He didn’t look at her immediately, letting the pause stretch. Then, without a word, he reached out and touched her cheek. His gaze held the same weight Pa always had when he carefully watched her mother.

“I know I made you wait too long,” he said, voice low. “But if you’ll have me…I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Wren edged away from the doorway, careful not to make a sound. Before they slipped from view, Brunna closed the distance between them.

Yep. Time to go.

She meant to head home. Truly. But she remembered all the times Tavrin had teased her—lovingly but relentlessly—and there was no way she was missing her turn. So, she plopped down on one of the stubborn boulders that had never quite decided to join the forge’s construction and waited.

Several minutes passed before Tavrin emerged—cheeks redder than she’d ever seen, looking thoroughly dazed as he stepped out of the workshop. Behind him, the forge finally sparked to life.

He made it three steps before spotting her, perched on the stone. She sat like a fox on a henhouse roof: smug, shameless, and far too pleased with herself.

Tavrin froze. For a heartbeat, his soul left his body entirely—his eyes glazing like a man deciding he’d rather simply die than face the truth of what he was seeing. Then he straightened and nodded once. With immense dignity, he sat beside her.

“So,” he said, very casually. Too casually, for someone whose words usually danced with charm. “Good morning.”

“I think this means I win,” Wren replied, voice equal parts sunshine and menace. “Because she definitely kissed you first. Ma’s going to be devastated.”

Tavrin went scarlet. “You and Marrowen—bet on this?”

Wren’s grin stretched wider, wicked and unrepentant. “It’s been over a decade, Tav. We had to pass the time somehow.”

He stared at her, mouth ajar. Blinked once. Twice. His face cycled through disbelief, betrayal, and sheer defeat before landing on exasperated resignation.

“Mmm. Do I at least get to know what you win?” he muttered, trying to claw back some of his usual charm—but his gaze still strayed, like his thoughts were elsewhere. Probably somewhere heated, smelling of melted metal and fire.

Wren slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, it was going to be a week without deliveries, but honestly?” Her grin softened into something brighter. “We both win. Didn’t matter who acted first, as long as one of you did. I’m happy for you. Really. And I’m so glad you’re going to be around more.”

She leaned into him, and he smiled into her hair. For a moment, they sat in content silence, letting the joy settle.