Chapter 47

We made our way downstairs for breakfast much later than usual. The morning had slipped by in a haze of realizations about the night before - stolen kisses, quiet time spent together, and the unfamiliar comfort of waking with someone in your arms for the first time.

The inn’s dining room sat in that strange lull between the early risers and the coming lunch rush. A few scattered tables were occupied, voices kept low, the air still heavy with the smell of bread and grease. We ordered eggs, sausage, sweet potatoes, and onions. The serving girl blushed as she took our order, her eyes flicking between us with an awkward mix of awe, curiosity, and shame. I had a sinking suspicion she’d heard us the night before. We hadn’t exactly been discreet. Thankfully, Ashlara didn’t seem to notice.

After breakfast, we headed for the castle and the Office of Public Contracts and Civic Commissions. The commissioner sat at his desk as he always did, shoulders square, attention fixed on the papers before him. Jess leaned against the wall and straightened when we entered, offering us a friendly wave and a smile. Morg stood apart, arms crossed, her expression carved into a permanent scowl. Her wounds looked better - pity her attitude hadn’t followed suit.

We stepped forward and waited in silence while the commissioner finished his work.

He set his quill down and finally looked up. “Goodman Grimm,” he said flatly. “Goodwife Cromwell.” His gaze flicked to Jess, then to Morg. “Goodwife Loxley.” At last, his eyes settled on Ashlara. “My apologies. There was no family name on your application.”

“Ashlara’s fine,” she said.

“Very well,” he replied. “Ashlara.”

He carried himself with a rigid, military posture, shoulders pulled back as if by habit. His short gray hair was neatly kept, practical rather than fashionable, and his face bore the quiet lines of age and long service. “We have word regarding the evidence returned from the bandits you apprehended. Captain Hannity of the City Guard would like to speak with you. His office is at the barracks on the east side of the city.” He slid a neatly written address across the desk toward me.

“Thank you, Commissioner,” I said, giving a respectful nod. We took our leave.

Jess and I chatted about nothing in particular as we walked, filling the space with easy conversation. Ashlara moved beside us, alert as ever, eyes sweeping the street. Morg trailed behind, clearly unhappy with the entire affair.

The City Guard barracks stood near the eastern gate, a part of the city I hadn’t had much reason to visit since arriving. Guards were everywhere - some lingering, others clearly on their way elsewhere. A few cast wary glances at Ashlara. Most didn’t bother looking at us at all. That gave me a flicker of hope that the rot beneath Northgate’s civility hadn’t reached everyone.

The barracks itself was a squat, utilitarian structure of gray stone, built for function rather than beauty. To one side lay a training yard where guards sparred and drilled, the clang of steel ringing through the air. Any greenery present looked like an afterthought, chosen less for aesthetics and more for how little care it required.

Inside, we asked for the captain and were directed to an office on the ground floor. Captain Hannity was a broad, fit man in his late fifties, hair cropped short and white, posture as unyielding as the commissioner’s. His uniform was immaculate. He sat behind a wide desk cluttered with papers, making notes without acknowledging us for several long seconds.

At last, he looked up. “We appreciate you fulfilling this commission,” he said, his voice deep and steady with authority. “Those bandits have been a problem since last winter. While the contract was to apprehend rather than kill, we understand these situations don’t always go as planned. You brought in the majority alive to stand trial.”

His gaze moved between us, passing over Ashlara without a hint of suspicion or hostility. “I’m also glad you were able to rescue the Pembertons. They were fortunate you came upon them when you did. We’ve had very few survivors from those attacks. They’ve provided funds for a reward, which will be disbursed to you.”

He looked back down, pulling a paper to the top of the stack. “We also appreciate the return of the stolen goods. That’s not something most would bother with.” He skimmed the page. “The bulk of the recovered items belonged to the Pembertons. Several others were returned to their rightful owners. By law, anything we couldn’t trace belongs to you. There are a number of such items, which will also be disbursed for you to distribute as you see fit.”

He stood, smoothing his uniform. “On behalf of Northgate and Arvellia, thank you for your service.” He shook my hand, then extended the same courtesy to each of the women. “Please see the bursar on your way out.”

He sat back down, dismissal clear.

We collected our reward from the bursar. The Pembertons had put up ten gold. The bandits’ coin added another twenty-six. The remainder consisted of assorted household and trade goods I had no idea how to move. Thankfully, the bursar offered to buy the lot for another eight gold. We split the forty-four evenly.

Morg left without a word.

I lingered with Jess a bit longer, told her we wouldn’t be in Northgate over the winter, but that she’d be welcome in Reedwatch anytime. I reminded her the offer to work together again stood if she wanted it.

Eventually, we parted ways.

Ashlara was ready to leave, but I needed to make one last stop. We cut through the streets to the main market, where I set about buying clothes for the children. Unlike home, nothing was marked by size. I did my best anyway, holding garments up in my hands, squinting, trying to imagine each of the kids back at the house and how big they were.

To hedge my bets, I bought several bolts of cloth in different colors, along with needles and thread. With any luck, someone back home knew how to sew.

After that, we found a quiet alley far from prying eyes and stepped home.

* * *

We appeared in the kitchen with our arms full of our purchases. Mirri stood at the sink washing dishes. Behind her, Torvek was on his knees scrubbing the stone floor with grim determination. He looked… deeply unhappy.

Mirri glanced up and smiled, and I leaned down to kiss her, our tongues meeting. “Everything’s settled,” I said.

“And you went shopping,” she noted, her eyes flicking to the bundles. She batted her lashes at me, playfully. “Did you get anything pretty for me?”

“Of course,” I said. “I brought you Ashlara.”

The orc blushed so hard I thought she might actually pass out.

Mirri’s eyes went wide, then her face split into a maniacal grin. “You fuckin’ did it!” she yelled at Ashlara. The warrior looked away, mortified, her cheeks darkening as if she might rupture something. “You did!” Mirri squealed. She grabbed Ashlara’s hand and hauled her toward the door. “Girl meeting! Serah, get your beautiful ass over here!”

She popped her head back in a heartbeat later. “Make sure he finishes cleaning the floor or he spends another hour with his feet stuck in the floor.” She bounded over, kissed me hard, and vanished again.

I couldn’t help smiling at her joy.

I set the clothes on the counter and turned my attention to the teenager on the floor. “So,” I said gently, trying to keep my voice friendly, “what did you do to earn this punishment?”

He still didn’t trust me. That much was obvious.

Torvek was skinny in the way only someone who’d spent time on the streets could be. His clothes were threadbare, his shoes torn through at the toes. His skin was a darker green than Ashlara’s, unmarked by ritual scars or tattoos - but not smooth. There were other scars. Old ones. The kind a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have.

His dark brown hair was greasy and limp when I first met him. Now it had life to it, bouncing as he pushed the brush back and forth over the stone. He looked up at me, mustard-yellow eyes sharp with resentment.

“That bitch is crazy,” he said.

“Two things,” I replied calmly. “First, if you call her a bitch again, I’ll punt you off this mountain myself.” I let the seriousness sit for a beat. “Second,” my voice softened, “that doesn’t answer my question.”

He grumbled. “She wanted me to cook. Cut vegetables.” He spat the words. “That’s women’s work.”

I winced. “You didn’t say that to her, did you?”

“I’m an orc! A man!” he shouted.

I shook my head in disbelief. “You did say it.”

He scowled. “She yelled at me. Said if I didn’t give, I wouldn’t get. Or some bullshit.”

I nodded. That tracked. Very goblin.

“And your feet in the floor?” I asked. “That seems… excessive for an argument.”

He stared at the floor for several moments. “I might’ve threatened her. With the knife,” he said

“You did what?” I yelled. “Are you stupid?”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he said quickly in defense.

“Jesus Christ, Torvek. You’re lucky she didn’t plant you neck-deep and use your head as a kickball.”

He flinched. I closed my eyes, took a slow breath, **** myself to cool down.

“Look,” I said. “This is a big change for everyone. We’re all basically strangers. You’ll get to know Mirri, and she’ll get to know you. But you need to understand something - this is her house. She has rules. We all live by them. She’s smart, kind, funny, and she’s trying her damnedest to do right by you and the others. Cut her some slack.”

“She doesn’t boss you around,” he shot back.

I laughed. “Is that what you think? She’s always telling me what to do. What not to do. She yells at me all the time.”

The door swung open. Mirri strode in. “Yeah, I do,” she said, and smacked my ass. “Now go put those clothes in our room. I’ll see what I can do with them later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said cheerfully. I scooped up the bundles, kissed her, and gave Torvek a look that said “I told you so”.

She smacked my ass again. “Get outta here!”

I fled the kitchen laughing.

* * *

After I dropped the clothes off, I went to check on the others.

Serah sat outside with a book in her hands, reading aloud. Tib was pressed against her side, head back, hanging on every word. Elarion lay sprawled on the ground nearby, his attention on Serah for reasons that had nothing to do with the story. He was eleven, and while I didn’t know much about elven development, I knew the look of a boy smitten when I saw it. Mak sat cross-legged across from Serah, listening intently, her black hair pulled into neat milkmaid braids. Lilae sat beside her, her own dark hair braided just as carefully. Behind them, Brinja worked methodically with Issa’s blue-green hair, fingers moving with practiced ease.

Serah looked up when she sensed me and paused mid-sentence, our eyes meeting. I stepped closer and leaned down to kiss her deeply. “How’s my favorite dragon?” I asked. “Looks like you’ve got a captive audience.”

Tib’s gaze snapped from her to me and back again. “Are you really a dragon?” he asked, his voice small and earnest.

“She is,” I said. “You remember the dragon in the sewers - the one who saved you? That was Serah.”

His face twisted, fear and awe colliding as memory tried to reconcile the towering, fire-wreathed beast with the crimson-haired beauty beside him.

“Really?” Elarion sat up so fast he nearly fell over.

Serah glanced at me, then offered him a gentle smile and nodded.

“How big are you?” Mak blurted. “How do you change? Can you teach me?”

Serah sighed theatrically, turning her bright smile back to me as she closed the book and set it aside. “Now you’ve done it. We’ll never finish this story.”

I grinned. “Sorry. I do need to talk to you later tonight. About the scars.”

Her expression sobered, concern softening her features. “Very well, Ithrael.”

“Ithrael,” I repeated. “That’s a new one.”

She blushed and looked away. “We will speak of it later.”

I excused myself as the children swarmed her with questions, their voices running over one another.