Chapter 025: The Heart Wants
[It seemed to me that we had an eternity ahead of us.]
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{TURDAS, SOLYRA 26, 999 – 10:40}
{LUCIAN GILFORD}
Rose watched me for a heartbeat, uncertain if I was bluffing. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice a little lower than usual, like she was trying not to let the workers hear, even though she knew it was hopeless.
I nodded, leaning in, just close enough for the rest of the crew to start elbowing each other. "Absolutely," I said, trying not to grin too much.
She shot a glare over her shoulder, her tail flicking with irritation. "Get back to work, all of you. Unless you're finished, in which case, go sweep the street."
They grumbled and snickered, but the hammers and saws started back up—maybe a little louder than before. I turned back to her, still close, and pressed a light kiss to her cheek, just above the line of her jaw.
I couldn't help it; I touched my lips in faint surprise. "Hmm… your skin is way too flawless, I thought you had makeup on."
Rose gave a short, sharp laugh. "I can't afford makeup," she said, shaking her head. "It's ridiculously expensive here, and it stinks anyway. I'd rather go without than smell like a dye vat."
I took her in—hair pinned up, cheeks a little pink, eyes clear as sunrise—and shrugged, deadpan. "Guess it's just natural, then. Must be a guild benefit. Or maybe it's all that fancy paperwork you do."
She tried to hide her smile behind the unopened bottle, but her ears gave her away.
She tucked the unopened bottle into her bag and shook her head, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. I let the laughter of Toma's crew fade behind us as we stepped out onto the lane, the morning already sliding toward noon. Sunlight spilled down Weavers' Lane, bright enough to make the dust glitter where it hung in the air.
The city felt different with her beside me—maybe it was just that I noticed the way people moved around her, how the crowd parted for the crimson-haired inspector and her unmistakable guild badge. Or maybe it was the way she walked, purpose in every stride, always a half-step ahead until she remembered to slow down for my longer legs.
We passed a pair of tailors hanging linens, the scent of starch and dye thick on the breeze. Rose nodded politely, and one of them bowed a little too quickly, eyes wide when he realized who she was with.
I caught her looking at me from the corner of her eye, as if searching for a hint of discomfort. "Doesn't bother you?" she asked quietly. "Being stared at. Most people don't like it."
"I've had worse," I said, offering a crooked smile. "Back home, if you walked anywhere with a pretty girl, people always stared. Sometimes they'd even take pictures. At least here, I don't have to worry about someone tagging me in the morning paper."
She snorted, the sound more genuine than anything I'd heard in days. "If you end up in the morning paper, it won't be for that."
We crossed into the bustle of the morning market, voices overlapping—vendors calling out prices, a young runner darting through with a stack of message slips, the far-off bell of a distant tower marking the hour. Rose paused at a stall selling honey cakes, fingers lingering on the edge of the counter.
I waited, letting her browse. This time, it felt less like a chaperone and more like… something else. Something new. Something old, too. The best things always were.
She didn't linger long, but I caught the way her eyes followed the honey cakes as the baker set them out—golden, sticky, dusted with just enough sugar to catch the light. I stopped for a second, handed over a few coins without bargaining, and took two, the warmth seeping through the waxed paper.
By the time I caught up, she'd already slipped ahead, weaving past a cart full of bolts of cloth, but she paused as I closed the gap, hand outstretched. "Here," I said, holding one of the honey cakes out.
She looked at it, then at me, her eyebrows drawn together just a little. "You didn't have to," she said. "I'm not your responsibility."
I shrugged, offering a smile that felt a little too open, even for me. "If I can't do small things like this for the girl I'm interested in," I said, "then what kind of man am I supposed to be?"
Her cheeks colored, and she took the cake, eyes on the sticky glaze as if it might explain something I couldn't. The market noise washed over us, but for a moment, it felt like we were the only ones moving.
She took a careful bite of the honey cake, the sugar sticking to her lips. "You know," she said between bites, "your language skills have come a long way. I barely have to translate for you anymore."
I laughed quietly, brushing a crumb off my sleeve. "That's all you. If I'd been left to my own devices, I'd still be asking for directions to the wrong side of the market."
She smiled, the expression small but warm. For a little while, we walked in companionable silence, weaving past stalls and sidestepping a pair of bickering apprentices carrying a wooden beam.
Rose broke the quiet first, voice almost hesitant. "You have that meeting with Royman in two days, right? Do you mind if I ask what it's about?"
I passed a basket of bright red fruit, considering how much to say. "I want to start selling cars," I said, keeping my voice low enough not to draw attention. "But that's… dangerous if people don't know what they're doing. No roads for them, nobody taught to drive, no rules at all. So I want the Guild to handle licensing and registration—make sure only people who are trained and tested can buy one. The Guild would get a cut from registration and licensing fees, which should make Royman happy."
She stopped walking, head tilted. "But… they can't tax you, Lucian. You know that. The "Custodial Mandate" or whatever won't allow it."
I grinned, keeping my eyes on the path ahead. "They wouldn't be taxing me. They'd be taxing the people who buy the cars. I'm just providing the wheels."
She snorted again, shaking her head as if she'd expected nothing less. "Leave it to you to find a loophole that makes Royman rich and doesn't cost you a single coin."
I shrugged, tucking my hands into my pockets as we walked. "It's not just cars. I want to talk to Royman about life insurance, too. I didn't even realize I could supply it until I checked the new catalog last night."
Rose blinked, then gave a slow, skeptical shake of her head. "Life insurance? That's… not a thing here. What does it even mean?"
"Basically," I said, "it's a way for people to make sure their families get taken care of if something happens to them—injury, death, whatever. They pay a little bit every month, and if the worst happens, the insurance pays out to whoever they chose as a beneficiary. I'm partnered with a company called the Custodial Life Insurance Company—CLIC for short. They handle all the paperwork and payments. I just set it up for people."
She snorted again, a soft exhale of disbelief. "There it is again, that word, 'Custodial.' It's all over your products. Custodial Mandate, Custodial shipping, now Custodial insurance. Is it a god in your world, or just a very patient bookkeeper?"
I grinned. "Honestly, I think it's just a very good brand name. But if there's a god of paperwork, I hope he's on my side."
I bit into my own honey cake, and the sugar hit me like a brick—more sweet than I expected, sticky enough to glue my teeth together. I pulled a face and handed the rest over. "Too sweet for me. You want it?"
Rose laughed and took it without hesitation, swapping the last bite of hers for mine. "You get used to it. The city's pastries are all made to last through a week of rain. Most of them could survive a siege."
I watched her polish off the remains of both cakes. "Remind me to stick with bread next time. Or at least order coffee to cut the sugar."
She made a noncommittal noise, lips twitching as she wiped her hands. "Or you could just let me handle the desserts from now on."
She paused, dusting crumbs from her fingers, and her eyes flicked to mine, searching for a hint of teasing that wasn't there. I grinned, a little crooked. "That sounds like a 'we' thing," I said. "Are we a 'we?' Like… do I get to steal you away for lunch? Do I get to say, 'this is Rose, my beautiful girlfriend?'"
She went still, for a heartbeat, sunlight glinting in her hair and the laughter of the market crowd swirling around us. A blush colored her cheeks, but she didn't look away—not this time.
"That depends," she said quietly. "Are you asking?"
I shifted closer, letting our arms brush, my heart beating a little too fast for how casual I was trying to play it. "Yeah. I'm asking."
Rose smiled—really smiled, bright and wide and unguarded. "Then yes. You get to say it."
"That's perfect," I said, unable to stop grinning. "Let me buy you lunch, then. It's official—I'm not letting my girlfriend go hungry."
She laughed, a little shy but mostly just happy, and let me take her hand as we wove through the market traffic. The city felt different with her beside me, brighter, easier, as if the whole world was a little less sharp-edged for an hour.
The Hostess of Fertility was busy even before noon, warm and loud, with the usual chorus of greetings from the staff. I spotted Syr weaving through the tables, her smile just a little too sharp for my taste.
As we settled at a corner table, Syr came over with menus, cheerful as ever. I barely glanced at her, smiling politely. "Could we get Lunoire or Chloe for our table, if they're working? I think we owe them a tip for last time."
Rose shot me a curious look, but Syr only nodded, still perfectly pleasant as she excused herself to fetch our order.
Once Syr was gone, Rose leaned in, lowering her voice. "Alright. What was that about?"
I waited a beat, watching Syr disappear behind the bar. "That's not just Syr," I said quietly. "That's Freya. The goddess herself. She's got a lot of faces in this city, and right now she's doing her best to make me her personal merchant. Or her pet. Not interested."
Rose's eyes widened, and she glanced over her shoulder, tail stiff with surprise. "You're sure?"
"As sure as I've ever been. Trust me—I've seen the way she looks at me. I'd rather keep things simple, and far away from the gods' games."
Before Rose could say more, Lunoire breezed up to the table with her usual confident stride, a sly grin already in place. Her dark hair was pulled back today, a few loose strands escaping as she flicked her notepad open.
"Well, if it isn't our favorite merchant and Orario's hardest-working inspector." She winked at Rose. "Syr said you asked for me—should I be flattered, or worried you're about to order something I can't pronounce?"
I smiled, feeling Rose relax beside me. "Just grateful you could take care of us, Lunoire. I figured you could use a break from the midday crowd."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes but obviously pleased. "Anything to keep Syr from collecting more tips. What'll it be? Same as usual, or are you here to impress her, Lucian?"
Rose nudged me under the table, and I tried not to laugh. "Let's just say today's a special occasion. Two specials, and—" I glanced at Rose, letting her pick her drink.
Rose ordered tea, and I went with a black coffee, still feeling the sugar from earlier. Lunoire jotted it down and leaned in, voice low. "Anything else? Or is this one of those 'official Guild business' lunches?"
I glanced at Rose, letting her decide if she wanted to say more, but she just shook her head, eyes shining. "Just lunch. Thank you, Lunoire."
"Alright, then," Lunoire said, flashing another grin. "I'll make sure you two get the good stuff. And don't worry, I'll keep Syr busy at the bar." She disappeared, leaving us in a warm bubble of privacy, the rest of the Hostess fading away for a few stolen minutes.
The lunch crowd had started to gather, voices tumbling together in a low, comfortable roar. I leaned back, fingers drumming against the polished wood of the table, letting the air fill with the smells of baking bread, seared meat, and something floral from the kitchen. Across from me, Rose looked impossibly calm, but there was a tiny crinkle at the edge of her eyes—a tell I was just now learning to spot, the one that said she was trying not to smile too hard.
Lunoire wound her way through the maze of tables with a practiced ease, pausing here and there to check on regulars or slap a hand away from the bread basket at a rowdy table in the back. She returned with our drinks balanced in one hand, set them down gently, and then shot me a knowing look.
"Coffee for the merchant, tea for the lady. Anything else before your food comes out? We've got fresh strawberry tarts—Mia made them herself this morning, said to let you know." She waggled her eyebrows at Rose. "You look like you could use something sweet."
Rose laughed, shaking her head. "Maybe after lunch. Lucian already tried to rot my teeth out with honey cakes in the market."
I shrugged, feigning innocence. "You said you liked them. Besides, I needed an excuse to buy one for myself, too."
Lunoire made a note and promised to set a tart aside, then slid away, her steps blending into the larger choreography of the Hostess at midday. For a moment, I just watched the sunlight play across the table, swirling through the steam from my coffee, the clatter of plates and laughter at other tables softening into background music.
Rose sipped her tea and set it down, glancing at me over the rim. "So, are you always this generous, or is it just when you're in a good mood?"
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice pitched for her ears alone. "Only when I'm in good company. I was kind of hoping you'd notice."
She reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of my hand—casual, but deliberate. Her tail flicked once, a silent giveaway that she was less composed than she let on. "I noticed."
There was a pause, not awkward but dense, full of the things neither of us wanted to spell out in front of a restaurant full of eavesdroppers. I let it sit, sipping my coffee, the sharpness grounding me.
The food arrived—thick slices of roast, perfectly fluffy bread, a gravy boat big enough to swim in. Lunoire set the plates down with a flourish and a low "Enjoy," then vanished again, never lingering where she wasn't wanted.
We dug in, hunger cutting through the last of the morning's awkwardness. Conversation found a lazy rhythm: a joke about Mia's bread being hard enough to stop a blade, a quiet story from Rose about the time Royman mistook an illusion spell for a real fire and flooded the Guild's breakroom. I listened, letting her words wash over me, memorizing the cadence of her voice and the way she laughed with her whole body when she was truly amused.
By the time the plates were clean, the tension had bled out of my shoulders, replaced by something softer—contentment, maybe, or just the feeling that this city, for all its strangeness, was starting to fit around me like a well-worn coat. The sunlight had shifted, casting longer shadows across the Hostess, but neither of us seemed in any hurry to move.
I reached for her hand, grateful for the silence and the noise alike, and for once, I didn't feel like an outsider watching the world from a distance. I was here, with her, and it was enough.