Page 76 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“So each year, we offer sacrifice in turn—burying bread in the soil, singing songs to the Cycle, praising Elaren not only for tradition, but for balance. To remind the land—and all of us—that life and death must remain entwined.”

Silence held the crowd for a breath before applause broke like rain. Jessa bowed, grinning widely, as Calen’s final note lingered in the air, fading into the hum of festival life around them. The crowd disbursed as Jessa greeted visitors, thanking each when they dropped coins into the pail at her feet.

When she spotted Wren, she spread her arms wide. “Welcome, travelers! Can I help you learn about anything specif—” She stopped mid-greeting, eyes going wide. “Wait—Wren? Oh my gods, you look gorgeous!”

She darted forward and crushed Wren in a hug. Then her gaze slid to Orzen, and her grin turned sly. “When Tallis told me to collect your things yesterday, I was sure you’d vanished.”

“Recognized me even with the gloamguise on?”

Jessa planted a hand on her hip, unimpressed. “Sir, I’d recognize that scowl anywhere.” She jerked her chin toward Wren. “She’s too good for you by the way, but fine. I’ll allow it.” She swept back to her booth, charms in her braids jingling triumphantly.

“We’re not—” he started, then glanced at Wren, who gave him a small smile. “And I don’t need your permission to—” He stopped when Jessa leveled a look that could unmake stone. “I, uh. I appreciate your approval,” he said quickly.

“Mhmm.” Jessa’s grin widened as she turned back to Wren. “So! What can I help you with? Or is this a social visit? I haven’t seen you at Hearthroot in ages.” She jabbed a thumb toward Orzen. “And this one probably has no idea what any of this is about. Lucky for him, I’ve got the lore. Full library up here.” She tapped her temple with a flourish.

Orzen muttered, “Seems silly to have lore about burying bread in the ground.”

“Excuse me?” Jessa’s tone sharpened instantly. “Did you say you wanted to learn something, or were you trying to embarrass yourself?”

He raised both hands in surrender. “You’re taking this very seriously. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He hesitated, then said quieter, “Caught most of your tale. I shouldn’t have made fun. You’ve got a gift.”

Jessa’s expression softened. “His playing helped,” she said, nodding to Calen. “You were brilliant.”

Calen flushed, ducking his head.

“I…missed a few notes. Hope no one noticed.”

“I certainly didn’t,” Orzen said.

Calen smiled shyly. “Thank you, sir.” He tucked the flute against his chest like a secret he wasn’t ready to share.

Wren’s gaze drifted back to the mural. Her mark hummed faintly, but the sting had faded. “Can I tell you both a secret?”

Jessa leaned in eagerly. “Always.”

“I’ve dreamed of that tree,” Wren said quietly. “Once clearly. The others were fragments. But, in them…” She paused, then described the wound—the sap bleeding across broken steps, the rot twisting through its roots.

“A Spirit Weaver’s dream,” Jessa murmured, her smile fading. “That’s not something to take lightly. It’s been standing for hundreds of cycles. Why would it fail now?” She turned back to Wren. “Unless something’s changed.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Wren said too quickly. “A dream of something far in the future—after we’re long gone.” Her voice trembled despite her best effort to steady it. “I wouldn’t worry.”

Jessa looked unconvinced. Calen’s quiet voice broke the silence. “You take on too much, Miss Wren. Don’t forget we’re here for you if you need us.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a small, grateful smile, then nodded toward the flute still in his hands. “Cerys would be proud. You should be, too. It was beautiful.”

Jessa slipped her hand over Calen’s arm, nodding to Wren. “Enjoy the rest of the festival, you two. There’s something in the air today. Feels special, doesn’t it?”

She turned to greet another visitor, the bright sound of her voice chasing away the heaviness that lingered after their quiet conversation. Calen was already re-packing his flute, careful and methodical, as if tucking the last notes away for safekeeping.

Wren exhaled slowly and turned to Orzen. “Come on,” she said, forcing a smile. “I think we need the pebblet races next.”

He blinked at her behind the mask. “The…what?”

“You’ll see.” She smirked, caught his callused fingers, and tugged him toward the Lower District.