Page 49 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

Scare her off?

The question lingered and stung more than he liked. Wren was cautious—she had every reason to be—but he couldn’t imagine her running from much of anything. And if she ever did, it wouldn’t be because of him. Not when she had so many others ready to stand between them first.

He groaned, thinking of Brunna’s fierce eyes and sharper tongue. Nothing would get to Wren while that hammer-wielding guardian was nearby.

With a sigh, he pushed through the tavern door. Late afternoon meant the Turning Root was alive. Heat, laughter, and the scent of hops rolled together, thick as smoke curling near the rafters. Jessa flitted between tables, balancing plates and mugs with practiced grace, her laugh cutting bright through the noise.

Near the bar, Tavrin’s short horns were barely visible above the crowd. He spotted Orzen and raised his tankard, grinning wide enough to span the room itself.

“Glad to see you showed up!” Tavrin called, voice carrying over the chatter. “Tallis! Another for the mysterious swordsman who survived my woman’s wrath!”

Tallis gave Orzen a long, unimpressed look but poured the ale anyway, sliding it across the counter without ceremony. Orzen caught it and collapsed into the chair across from Tavrin.

“I need this after today.”

“I don’t blame you. Not everyone survives two bad run-ins with Brunna. That’s practically a local miracle.” Tavrin’s laugh came easily. “She doesn’t usually let people walk away from the first if she doesn’t like them.”

Orzen smirked faintly, swirling the ale in his mug. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

“Lucky, stubborn, or too dumb to take a hint.” Tavrin leaned back, grin widening. “Not sure which yet.”

“Let’s call it stubborn foolishness.”

“I know the feeling.” Tavrin took another pull from his drink, then nodded toward him. “You don’t look like most who drift through Thistlehold. What brings a man like you here—work, festival, or fate?”

Orzen hesitated long enough that Tavrin noticed. “Uh, work…for now.”

Tavrin chuckled. “A man of few words. You’ll fit right in with Brunna. She loves a good brooder.”

“Didn’t look like she loved me much,” Orzen said.

“She didn’t,” Tavrin agreed cheerfully. “But she didn’t throw you through the wall either, so you must be growing on her.”

“Too much faith in me by far. You hardly know me.” Orzen took another sip, lifting a hand in greeting when Jessa passed by with a tray of mugs.

“You seem to be settling in,” Tavrin said, his tone softening. “I’ve seen it before. Wren’s got the same effect on people. They start cautious, ready for a fight—and then she wins them over. You seem the same sort.”

Orzen gave a quiet laugh. “Shows how little you know me.”

“I’m not so sure.” Tavrin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve met all kinds—good sorts and bad, and the ones who think they’re beyond saving.” He studied Orzen for a moment. “You strike me as someone still deciding which one he is.”

Orzen frowned, watching the foam fizz in his mug. “Maybe fate’s already decided for me.”

“Not sure that’s how it works.” Tavrin’s smile was more thoughtful now. He held up a hand when Orzen started to protest. “I’ve been there too. Running’s easier than facing what you’re scared of. Took me years to figure that out. Realized I simply needed a reason to stop.”

Orzen tilted his head, considering the weight behind Tavrin’s words. Not many things made a man stop running, though he’d heard the love of a woman could be one of them. Not that he’d know much about that. The sort of affection he’d known before could be bought, if a man had enough coin and carelessly chose to spend it that way. This was different.

“Brunna?”

Tavrin’s grin returned—unashamed, almost boyish in his joy. “Yeah. Well, mostly her. Spent too long convincing myself she was better off without me. Turns out she disagreed.” He pointed his tankard toward Orzen. “You need to figure out what’s worth stopping for.”

Orzen blew out a long breath. His smirk returned, dry as ash. “You make it sound simple.” He drained his mug and held it up. Tallis slid another down the bar.

“Doesn’t have to be for Wren.” Tavrin caught the ale and passed it over. “Or for anyone in this town. Doesn’t even have to be Thistlehold,” Tavrin said with a laugh. “Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you moved on. But someday you’ll be too tired to keep running, and you’ll realize you have nowhere to go.”

The words sank like stones in Orzen’s chest. The Brand was never far, always racing to catch up. No matter how long he ran, he’d never manage to shake the shadow of them. And he’d rather give up than drag anyone else into their grasp with him.

Tavrin studied him for a beat and sighed. “I can see I’ve struck too deep. Let me make you infinitely more uncomfortable by asking this—” His grin hid a glint of steel underneath. “Should I be worried for her?”