Page 94 of Homeward for a Spell

For the ranger and her bard found new adventures

Round every bend.

Sage

Under an archway of vining wisteria nearly the same pale purple as the twilit sky, Margot and Yael are married at last.

What must be the entirety of Bloomfield has poured into the village square. Half are already flushed with Clementine’s finest wine, and all are dressed in their finest garb. Worn but polished boots, embroidered tunics, lush-smelling herbs and early-blooming flowers woven into crowns upon their heads. Araphi wears a simple but elegant silk gown nearly the same rich earth-dark shade as her hair, but she has every color of hellebore from Margot’s cottage garden braided into her locks: plum and apricot, frost pink and butter yellow, midnight black and cream.

For Sage’s part, she’s purchased a new shirt with no previous mending or bloodstains, and oiled the leather of her dagger belt till it gleams. And Araphi helped her tidy her hair in their room at the tavern just this morning, razoring the underside with more precision than she ever managed alone. Admittedly she took far longer than Sage did, stopping often to press a kiss to the top of Sage’s spine, or to graze her teeth along her earlobe, until Sage had to reprimand the bard. Otherwise they might have spent the day pleasuring each other in bed and missed the wedding altogether.

Of course, nobody in attendance holds a candle to Margot Greenwillow in her flowing, pearl-blue gown with a bodice and straps of living wisteria, the same blossoms pinned into her purple hair. Rather, Margot Greenfern, as Clementine announces her. And, all right, Yael looks quite handsome in their deep-blue suit, with a hyacinth crown nestled in their dark, jaw-length waves. But it’s the light in their eyes when they gaze up at Margot that plants them in the soft soil of Sage’s heart once and for all. Clearly, Yael worships the ground beneath the mud-caked soles of Margot’s garden boots.

Sage understands the feeling.

Araphi leans in to rest her chin on Sage’s shoulder as the pair exchange their promises beneath the arbor.

Margot ends her vows with, “I love you fiercely and entirely, Yael Greenfern.”

“I am yours, Margot Greenfern,” Yael ends their own, simply and sweetly.

The roar of the crowd when they kiss frightens the bats out of the trees.

Afterward, they mount their matching mechanical steeds to ride for the tavern with the rest of the townsfolk parading after them, even the overtired children who’ll surely fall fast asleep beneath the tables. As Araphi moves to join the crowd, Sage holds her back with a hand at her elbow. “Stay a moment? Everyone will be celebrating for hours yet—well into the morning, if I know Bloomfield—but there’s someplace I’d like to go first. There’s just…an awful lot of people here, and I’d like a moment to breathe and look at the stars.”

Araphi quirks an eyebrow. “By all means, then, lead us to the stars.”

It’s a brief walk back up the lane toward Margot and Yael’s forest cottage, and only a little farther to the grand estate that Margot also owns, but where her parents have been living since she was able to cure them of their years-long magical slumber. They’ll be busy at the tavern as well, giving Sage the chance to slip over the stone wall of the garden unseen. She perches at the top to reach a hand down for Araphi, then hops into the courtyard below, helping Araphi down with her hands around the bard’s waist. At last they’re alone together, and in the garden where they met nearly two years ago.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be trespassing,” Araphi admonishes while failing to keep a straight face. “Are there no stars elsewhere in Bloomfield?”

“None quite like these. Here, see?” She finds a soft patch of grass between two towering sweetbriar rosebushes and lies down, beckoning Araphi to join her.

Careless of her gown, Araphi lies beside her. “Yes, Ranger. I see.”

The cloudless sky above them is bejeweled with thousands of stars, like diamonds sewn into velvet. When Araphi slips her fingers between Sage’s and squeezes, Sage holds on even harder.

“Bard…”

“Mmm?”

Sage drums up the courage to voice the question she came here to ask. “What would it look like, do you think, if we ever did something like this? Not that we need a scrap of parchment or a god or a taverner to tell us we belong together.”

“I should say not,” Araphi agrees. “But I wouldn’t mind telling the gods. Or anyway, a few close friends.”

“I think you told the whole village.” Sage laughs, recalling the words of Araphi’s incredible ballad. “ ‘Long they rode together, their story didn’t end’?”

“Well, why should it? There’s so much to do in this world. Adventures to be had, wild places to protect, trolls to slay.”

Sage grins in the dark. “Then we’d better get started.”

“Yes. But…” Araphi rolls toward her suddenly, swinging a leg across Sage’s hips and rising to straddle her. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” She braces her hands on either side of Sage’s head to hover over her, blotting out the stars above.

Sage remembers being quite young, staring up through the clinging smog of the Rookery and wondering what it was like in the many strange and unexplored places those same stars shone down upon. What she might be like in those distant places. But there’s no corner of the kingdom or the world where Sage would rather be right now, and no other self than the one who belongs to and with her bard.

“Tomorrow,” Sage murmurs her agreement.

“Or the day after that, depending upon how long Clementine’s pours are tonight.” Araphi laughs, then leans in for a kiss that tastes of lemons.