Where a makeshift firing range has been set up, adventurers test a variety of weapons against the targets. One curly-haired halfling ducks behind a box of supplies, firing her crossbow from cover. A redheaded half-elf with a green bandanna knotted around his forehead competes with a noble human man to his left, both of them taking turns aiming at the bullseye; the half-elf slings axes while the human fires glowing magic-tipped arrows. Inbetween turns, an excited wolf pup and a dog with shadow-dark fur bound out to fetch all of the expended arrows, bolts, and axes.
At the sound of music, Jaylie turns—and immediately laughs. Loren looks to be conducting what can only be described as a rehearsal, and by the sounds of it, it’s not going well. He’s surrounded by a semicircle of bards: a purple-haired tiefling with a harp, a human woman with pigtails and a trumpet, and two cheerful halflings. As soon as the music starts, the bards compete to play louder than their companions, none of them used to sharing the spotlight. It doesn’t matter, of course. As long as they continue to share the scathing song Loren wrote about Donati and the quest they’re on to defeat him, well—they’ll have done their part.
Hilariously, many of the other spellcasters play together just about as well as the bards do. They don’t group as one in the makeshift camp like the others, preferring instead to ready for battle alone. Jaylie spots two sorcerers sulking in the shadow of the tower, one with a scowl carved deep into his haggard features and the other with a pleasant, forgettable face, both of them weaving dark magic away from the sun. An elf with olive-brown skin adjusts his glasses as he flips idly through his spellbook, while a tiefling with arcane symbols tattooed in spirals up her arms feeds roaring flames into her personal campfire. Near the edges of camp, a woman with blue skin and seashells woven into her dress trades sparring spells with an elven sorceress whose dark curls are threaded with brilliant gold chains.
Jaylie returns to the tower to find Shira leaning heavily into the doorframe, her expression thoughtful. She casts her gaze across the dozens of adventuring parties surrounding her home and sighs wistfully. As she turns to Jaylie, her eyes sharpen, and her lips curl up into a small, determined smile.
“I think we may stand a fighting chance.”
Chapter
Thirty-One
It’s supposed to be finished.
I sit shoulder to shoulder with Noah on the bench, and together we stare at the mural. For the last couple of days, I’d single-mindedly thrown myself into painting the final touches. I’d avoided speaking to anyone about my pending offer from Paragon—Addison included, though I knew she was waiting on me—and instead allowed myself to be absorbed in my mission. It looks exactly as I imagined it would, with purple-and-green trees encroaching from all sides. The ethereal gold-and-white stag, perfectly posed atop a hill in the background, the night sky rich and dark behind him save for the pinpricks of stars and fireflies. The traveler, weary from his journey but enjoying his evening drink at his campsite. And finally, the fire, warm and welcoming and bright with every shade of red, orange, and yellow.
But something’s missing.
I turn to gauge Noah’s reaction.
The energy between us is different today. Hishello, good morning!kiss lasted a touch longer than usual. My fingers lingered on his as I passed him his favorite latte. When I had to reach the top of the mural and needed the ladder again, his hand curled possessively around the back of my ankle.
Now he stares open-mouthed at the mural, fingers laced under his chin. His features have gone soft and sweet, and his eyes are full of stars. But then he pauses to tap his thumbnail against his lower lip and looks sidelong to me. “Is it finished?”
The fact that he has to ask at all tells me that my instinct is right. “No.” I adjust my glasses and rock forward.
And that’s when I see it. What it still needs.
Biting my bottom lip, I glance at my watch. Already noon. I usually don’t work past noon.
“Think I could steal a couple more hours today?” I ask.
“Sure, so long as you’re done by the time we open at four.”
Filled with renewed purpose, I pluck the paintbrush from behind my ear. “Okay.”
“I’ll be in the office with Dan if you need me.”
With my final vision for the piece consuming me so that it’s the only thing I see when I close my eyes, it takes me only a few more hours to complete it. I barely register the hushed, tense voices muffled by the thin walls of the office, or the sound of Dan’s car as he pulls out of the parking lot. I hardly feel the way the muscles in my neck and upper back start to lock up as I stretch to make final adjustments and additions. I am in another world entirely.
Usually when I finish a piece, I toy with it for a while. I’ll put it under different lighting, add in some extra lines. Or I’ll be hit with inspiration days after I thought it was done and rush back to include new details. But for this mural, I know exactly which paint stroke is my last. It’s an arc of brilliant gold—the same shade as Jaylie’s holy symbol—that contrasts beautifully with the field of purple behind it.
Footsteps echo quietly behind me.
“Sadie, it’s perfect. It’s beautiful.” Noah wraps his arms around my middle, chin propped on the top of my head.
“I love it.” I’m surprised to hear the words come out of my ownmouth. I’m often the type to constantly fish for feedback and reassurance, but in this moment, I don’t need it.
“I can’t believe you added so much.”
“I knew what it needed. It felt unfinished without it.”
“Are you going to sign it?”
I hesitate. But as pride surges through my chest, I kneel at the corner of the wall and sign my name along the curve of a dark green leaf.
Sadie Brooks.
