Khaivor sways slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "That's wise for a bell lady."
The movement is small enough that most people would miss it. His balance shifts as though the ground beneath him softenedwithout warning. His hand lifts without intention, fingers searching empty air before he seems to realize what he is doing.
The motion falters halfway.
I step closer without thinking. "Well, maybe I am more than just a bell lady."
Our hands brush and his reaction is immediate. The tension in his shoulders melts as if someone loosened invisible straps. His breath leaves him slowly, controlled, like the end of a long-held note resonating into silence.
We remain like that longer than necessary. Long enough for awareness to creep in. Long enough for warmth to replace surprise, and we both remain mute, trapped in the strange gravity of this moment.
The lake moves gently at our feet. Lantern light trembles across the water. His hand remains near mine even after the contact ends.
Suddenly the gravel crunches somewhere behind us.
Khaivor turns instinctively, the warmth that softened his posture only moments ago disappearing as his attention sharpens toward the trees lining the path. I follow his gaze, narrowing my eyes as moonlight slips between the branches.
For a brief moment, fabric catches the light before retreating into shadow. Someone stands there, watching from the edge of the lantern glow. The distance hides details, yet the stillness feels deliberate, as though the figure has been standing there long enough to become part of the night itself.
The shape withdraws a step later and disappears completely into the darkness.
The quiet around the lake feels different after that.
Khaivor exhales slowly. "We are not alone."
I do not need him to explain further.
Father Orrick never wastes opportunities to observe what he distrusts.
"He won't give it a rest," I say heavily, watching the empty shadows where the priest stood moments ago.
Khaivor's hand finds mine again in the darkness. This time he doesn't let go.
6
KHAIVOR
Festival preparation fills the square long before the sun begins to sink toward the lake.
Roseth moves through the chaos as though the entire square breathes in rhythm with her footsteps.
I attempt to focus on the work. My success lasts only moments at a time.
Forge smoke clings faintly to her clothes, softened by lake air and the faint sweetness of soap. The scent reaches me whenever she passes nearby, easing the constant pressure inside my skull before I consciously recognize the change.
"You promised to help tune the handbells," she says, placing a tray beside me.
"I remember." I heave.
"You looked like you needed something practical to do today."
Her smile appears quickly, bright enough to chase away the lingering unease from yesterday's conversation at the forge.
She hums while she works.
The sound slips into the space between each bell tone and settles there comfortably. My breathing matches the rhythm before I notice the change.
"You never stop humming," I say.
