Ysolde steps forward. "I was cold to you because it was easier than admitting I didn't know how to help my sister. You came with us anyway. You helped us find who did it. I'm sorry too."
Saskia sets the pastry box down on my counter hard enough to make the tarts jump.
"I told you that you were one of us," she says. "Then the first time it hurt, I treated you like you weren't. I'm sorry. And you're still one of us. That part wasn't mine to take back."
My throat closes, and then she hugs me, and my ribs file an objection.
"Ribs," I wheeze.
"Still negotiable."
I laugh into her shoulder, and the laugh turns into a sob halfway out. Ysolde touches my back. Brynna stands close enough that her sleeve presses against mine.
Nothing is fixed. Mirelle still has a month of stolen grief behind her, and Torgan and I still have more truth between us than either of us knows what to do with.
But the shop feels full again.
Torgan comeson Sunday at closing.
I hear the bell, and I know it's him before I turn around. The shop goes smaller when he walks into it. Or maybe he makes every room he enters smaller. He's the size of a wardrobe and twice as difficult to move.
I take the pins out of my mouth.
He stands in the doorway in his plain brown coat. No formal blacks. No papers. No leather folder tucked under one arm.
His hands are empty.
Torgan Oakenshade arrives at every negotiation carrying evidence. Today he's brought only himself.
"The Voss matter is finished," he says.
"All of it?"
"All the parts anyone can finish. Princeton is bound over for trial. The Duke bought his way clear of shackles, but the crown has his books, and he'll be paying restitution for years."
"And Caden?"
"Princeton has been stripped from the succession. The lawyers say Caden is the heir now."
I blink. "Does he know?"
"He threatened to hide in Kenna's cottage until they changed their minds."
"Reasonable."
"He wants Mirelle and a room where nobody stops him ruining wood. Apparently Valeforth comes with both whether he likes it or not."
"I don't think he's very good at wood."
"He's getting better."
We look at each other.
Where are we supposed to start? The vial? The lie? The curse sealed up in Noemi's back room? I have no idea, and I've had a month to think about it.
Torgan does what he always does when a problem is too large. He walks straight at it.
"You told me to come when the Vosses were finished," he says. "I've had three days of Harek asking whether they're finished enough."
