Bethany walked beside Crispin, her steps matching his as they crossed the Arch of Sovereignty. She glanced back once, watching the stiff, retreating form of her father as he vanished into the upper-terrace crowd. A heavy sigh escaped her. She wondered what kind of missive would arrive the next morning; it would not be good. The Tamer's Guild notoriously reacted unforgivably when people ignored their protocols.
"How much do you think we'll get for our hydra loot?" Crispin asked, his voice breaking through her spiraling thoughts.
Bethany's mercantile instincts flickered to life. "With the possibilities for crafting reagents, collectors, and tanners?" She looked toward the sky. Her lips pursed, then budded into a genuine smile. "Honestly? The sky terraces are the limit."
They shared a soft laugh, the tension of the bridge encounter beginning to bleed away. As they walked, Bethany found herself watching him. She had always found Crispin attractive—the pale white hair and his strong build—but the warmth and acceptance he had shown her recently was something else entirely.
How did he not stress over the class difference? The divide between noble and commoner was a ghost that haunted her every waking moment, yet to him, it seemed irrelevant. He treated her like a capable woman and a fellow tamer. It was a new experience. Her shoulder lightly brushed his as they walked, and she felt a sudden flush of heat, quickly looking down at her feet to hide her grin.
They began the long descent from the high terraces. As they drew closer to the lower levels, the atmosphere shifted. The air became thick with the rich smells of open-air shops, sizzling street food, and sharp spices. The city was beautiful from this height, bathed in sunlight.
As they approached the outer village, the guards on patrol smiled at them; some even bowed softly. Bethany returned the smiles, wondering if they were bowing to her status as a noble or because word of their hydra hunt had already spread. It felt surprisingly nice to be judged for something other than her family name.
When the smithy finally came into view, Bethany felt a strange pull toward it. It was a structure of wood and stone that smelled of old coal and cooling metal, yet it possessed a quiet peacefulness that the high terraces lacked.
As they reached the entrance, Elara rushed out, pulling Crispin into a tight, fierce hug. "Crispin," she breathed. "We've been so excited! A hydra! Recording a deed of this caliber has not happened in decades." She leaned back, kissed his cheek, then brushed a smudge of soot away with maternal pride. "We are so proud."
Elara turned to Bethany next. She gave her a soft hug and air kisses on both cheeks. "I'm honored by your visit," Elara said.
Bethany beamed, her eyes darting to Crispin. "I'd love to stay if it's okay with Crispin."
"Absolutely," he replied.
"Okay, have a seat while I finish plating," Elara said, tapping the large, polished wooden table in the open entryway. Bethany set Ashara down, and the golden dragon whelp immediately ran off with Regulus to wrestle and play in the yard.
"Crispin, thank you—" Bethany started.
Crispin reached out and squeezed her hand. "Hey, no. My father is right. We are adults. This is our last year before our final test. How can we survive on our own if we can't even stand on our own inside our very city?"
Bethany smiled and patted his hand. She watched Thorne and Ash finishing the day's labor—the rhythmic ringing of the hammer and the roll of Thorne's muscles. He was so different from her own father; a commoner, yes, but a man who towered like a mountain yet held a softness as gentle as spring dew.
As they finished, the soot-covered slime, Ash, hopped down and merged back into Regulus. Thorne finished settling the cooling racks laden with horseshoes and nails, then washed up at a water trough before joining them.
Elara emerged with a large platter of steaming veal slices arranged with carrots, onions, and cave-tatoes in a rich gravy. She followed it with fresh bread and butter, then a tray of iced honey wine, tea, and cookies. The dinnerware was common wood, worn from use but polished to a high shine.
"Bethany," Thorne said, touching her forearm gently as he sat. "We feel honored by your presence." He bowed his head. "To the Smith, the Matron, and the Crone. Thank you for this day, our family, meal, and new friends."
Bethany watched them, surprised. A family that prayed before dinner? It felt unusual, but the simple deed was incredibly grounding.
"Any luck on your gem selling, son?" Thorne asked as they filled their plates.
"It did. We got twelve hundred and fifty gold each for it," Crispin said. "I deposited mine in the bank."
Elara beamed. "Good. As I said before, we want you to have your savings for when you need it."
Bethany took a bite of the outstanding veal. They talked so openly about money? They encouraged him to handle his own funds? It was a far cry from the stifling control of the Reni household. "This veal is wonderful, Elara. You'll give me the recipe?"
Elara's eyes sparkled. "Of course." She reached over and squeezed Bethany's hand.
"Dad, you should have seen Bethany today," Crispin said. "She was great. Ashara marked our target, I lured it out, and Bethany took point with direction, arrow volleys, and callouts! Regy and Dane were as fierce as I've seen them."
"Dane? Is that the new one?" Thorne asked.
Crispin nodded. "We lost Conor, though. Regulus is sad about it, but he accepts the loss since the takedown was successful."
"And Bethany, Dad—she got the final shot!" Crispin added, his face glowing. "I'm so proud that I got paired with her."
Thorne and Elara beamed, jostling and patting Crispin with affection. Bethany felt a pang of admiration for Crispin. He had taken the front line and been in the most danger, yet all he wanted to do was make her the center of the story.
Bethany looked at the warmth of the table and sighed quietly. "I don't want to go home."
Elara caught Thorne's eye. Her index finger tapped the table three times in a fluid, private motion. Thorne gave a slow, supportive nod.
"Bethany," Elara said, pouring her a mug of cold honey wine. "It would please me if you stayed with us this evening? It's been so long since I've had another woman visit. We could sit, talk, and maybe gossip a little?" Her smile turned into a playful grin. "It can get lonely for me sometimes, being so far from the city."
Bethany's heart leapt. "You'd like me to stay?"
"Yes," Elara said warmly. "A little mulled wine and conversation?"
Bethany beamed. "I'd love to."
Elara heard them before she saw them.
Bootsteps carried differently when they were angry. Darren's were sharp, too quick for the width of the Arch, as if the city itself had offended him. Mirelle followed a half-step behind, measured, already bracing for the collision.
Elara set the kettle down before it could sing. Steam curled upward, soft and domestic, at odds with the tension coiling in her chest. She wiped her hands once on her apron and turned.
Bethany stood near the doorway, shoulders drawn in despite the borrowed cloak around her. Crispin remained at her side, posture straight and jaw set. Regulus lay just beyond the threshold, massive head resting on his paws, eyes half-lidded but watchful.
Thorne emerged from the forge without being called. He did not hurry.
Darren opened his mouth before anyone else could speak. "How does this make us look?" He demanded. "A noble daughter spending the night under a commoner's roof. Do you have any idea—"
Thorne stepped in behind Elara. He said nothing. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and familiar, before he leaned down to press a brief kiss into her hair. The words died in Darren's throat.
Elara felt the shift the instant it happened—the moment a man who relied on volume realized it would not carry him any further.
Bethany flinched anyway. Without looking, Elara reached back and caught Thorne's wrist, a silent thanks, then lifted her chin.
"Bethany's presence honored this house," Elara said calmly. "I extended an invitation, and she stayed. Nothing improper occurred."
Darren scoffed, though the sound lacked conviction. His eyes flicked once toward Thorne and then away. "This is not your concern," he said, grasping for ground. "You are a smith's wife."
Thorne's hand left Elara's back and came to rest briefly on Bethany's shoulder. There was no pressure in it. No claim. Just acknowledgment. Bethany stilled, surprise flickering across her face before something steadier took its place.
Elara felt pride then—sharp, unexpected, and unashamed.
Mirelle stepped forward. "Darren," she whispered.
Elara raised a hand. "Thorne," she said without turning. "If you'd allow us a private moment."
His hand squeezed once at her waist. A small smile crossed his face before he nodded and turned back toward the forge. The room breathed again.
Darren tried to fill the space. "This is absurd. We will discuss this at home."
"No," Elara replied. The word was gentle. It landed anyway.
Mirelle exhaled slowly, as though relieved to let someone else finally take the lead. "Elara," she said, "we were… surprised."
"So was Bethany," Elara answered. She met Mirelle's eyes, not Darren's. "She did not expect to be spoken to like property. Women are equals in this home."
Darren bristled. "That is not—"
"Enough," Mirelle snapped. Silence followed.
Elara softened her tone. "Your daughter fought a legendary beast yesterday. She and Crispin handled their business with the guild, and I begged her to dine with us." She stroked Bethany's hair. "Afterwards, I asked her to stay for a night of conversation and safety. And safety we provided."
Bethany swallowed.
Mirelle nodded slowly. "I can definitely relate to the want for female companionship. Sometimes a little chat can do so much for the heart and soul."
Darren opened his mouth, then closed it. "I will discuss this," he said finally, his voice now weaker.
"Later," Mirelle replied. "At home." She turned to Bethany and reached out, touching her arm. "Maybe you and I should have chats more often, too, daughter?"
Bethany nodded. "I'd like that."
Darren said nothing. Elara stepped forward and drew Bethany into a brief embrace before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Thank you," Elara said softly. "For the conversation and the trust."
Bethany smiled. "Thank you for the tea."
Mirelle embraced Elara. "Thank you for being a woman of my spirit," she whispered into her ear. "And providing my daughter with safety."
Darren turned away first. Elara watched them go, then glanced toward the forge, where Thorne's hammer had already resumed its steady rhythm. She smiled to herself and returned to the kettle. Her life may be simple, but she had the partnership of a man who valued her heart and mind.