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SOPHIE felt like crying the moment she saw her.
“Oh, Ms. Florence. How have you been?”
That calm, dignified woman had once been her magic tutor—her guiding light through a dark and uncertain time. Firm, but never harsh. Steady, but never cold. Sophie owed more than she could say.
Kurt noticed her at nearly the same moment.
“Madam Florence…” he breathed and stiffened almost instinctively. He drew himself upright, as high and tight as he would go, then bowed low. It was precise, respectable, and the exact sort of thing the infirmary director would’ve killed to witness.
So you can do it, you just don’t bother, Sophie thought, fighting a wry smile.
“Kurt Ozhorn, rank three healer of the Royal Fifth Healers, at your service, ma’am,” he said.
“Sir Ozhorn,” Ms. Florence replied, “it’s good to see you again. Already forgotten we’ve crossed paths once, have you?”
“No, I remember,” he said. “I just didn’t think you would, ma’am.”
She gave a warm, quiet chuckle. “Of course I would. As if I could forget that little bronzeling of just sixteen, striding into a case even a handful of rank fives couldn’t sort out and making fools of them all.”
Kurt said nothing. For a moment, Ms. Florence seemed content to fix him with her kind, attentive gaze, but then…
“Those who walk ahead of others are, by nature, often fated to solitude,” she said quite suddenly. “From the day we met, Sir Ozhorn, a quiet fear took root in my heart. You were too young, too brilliant. I feared that the great gift the heavens had placed in your hands, already streaked by the deepening hues of twilight, might one day turn dark with loneliness and, in time, lead you astray.”
She held Kurt’s gaze for a moment, slowly shook her head, then turned to Sophie.
“You were a joy to teach, Ms. Sophie Olzon. Studious, courteous, steadfast—you possessed a spirit that would not yield, even when your efforts seemed to go unrewarded. In your words, there was always a hidden warmth, a quiet light born of compassion, and I feared, too, that this kind girl might live her entire life behind closed doors, the world never knowing the gift she carried within.”
She reached out, took Kurt’s hand in one of hers, Sophie’s in the other, and gently brought them together. As if dazzled by the sight of them, she narrowed her eyes slightly, blinking back the emotion rising within.
“The pointless frettings of the old are, as it so often proves, exactly that. Fate has a way of coming to those who need it at the hour it is needed, in the form it should. Take pride, in the miracle that brought you together in this vast world. You feel that hand? Do not let go of it. When your sight clouds, when doubt creeps in, close your eyes and trust in the hand you hold. If you do, you’ll find your way. Always forward, always toward the light, bringing life and happiness to many along the path.
“Sophie. Kurt. My heartfelt congratulations on your marriage. May your days together be long and filled with joy.”
Sophie felt Kurt’s hand tighten on her own. She looked up, smiled at him, and squeezed in return. Harder and harder until it should’ve hurt, but he didn’t flinch. Just smiled back faintly, his expression calm and unbothered.
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“THANK you all so much for the other day. We couldn’t have found him without your help,” Sophie said, dipping her head gently.
At once, every member of Yaora’s family leapt to their feet, waving their hands in flustered dismissal. “No, no, not at all!”
Sophie’s gaze shifted to Yaora’s grandson’s wife, who wore a familiar light-blue dress. “Oh—that’s…”
“My grandmother’s, yes,” she replied a little bashfully. “Truly, I’m sorry for dragging down the dress code just by being here, but it was all I had…”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Sophie said quickly. “I was just glad to see it. It’s like…Ms. Yaora’s here, celebrating with us.”
Her eyes lingered on the white, patterned flowers stitched into the fabric. For a moment, the air seemed to drift with the scent of summer. She swore she heard the chirping laughter of two girls, their voices lifting in a cheerful, uneven harmony.
“This potato is delicious!” Yaora’s great-grandson suddenly exclaimed, frowning in disbelief as he chewed.
Sophie smiled. “It’s a cultivar called Yvonne. See that couple over there? They developed it. I’m sure they’re talking shop right now—if you join them, I bet they’d be glad to have you.”
The rest of the family recoiled in horror. “Commoners? Us, strike up a conversation with nobles? We couldn’t possibly!”
All except the great-grandson—still full of piss and vinegar. “I’ll be right back!”
He sprang up and marched over to the table, sunlight glancing off his back, casting him in a soft, bright glow as he went. It felt fitting. It was on that back that the story of Yaora, the greengrocer, would carry on, ready to touch even more lives along the way.
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“MS. BIANCA, thank you so much for coming.”
“Thank you for the invite, Sophie. And congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
As beautiful as ever, the barkeep flashed Sophie one of her bewitching smiles.
Seated beside her was a rather skinny, sincere-looking man dabbing anxiously at the sweat on his brow. Thinking this must be the “bread and soup” man Bianca had mentioned, Sophie glanced at her, and the two shared a quiet, knowing look.
Then, Bianca’s sultry gaze flitted between Sophie and Kurt. “You look stunning, Sophie. And this must be the young man who vanquished the goddess of mischief?”
“Oh, no,” Sophie said, glancing up at Kurt, his deep, obsidian eyes holding steady on hers. “He simply didn’t realize there was any mischief to begin with.”
“I can see that,” Bianca said, laughing warmly. Her heavy-lidded eyes softened as they came to rest on the solemn man standing at Sophie’s side. “Congratulations, Mr. Kurt Ozhorn. Those lucid eyes of yours have shown you the truth.”
“I’m honored,” Kurt said quietly.
“You’ve uncovered the hidden treasure and taken it for yourself flawlessly. I hope you treasure her, always.”
“I shall, for as long as I live.”
“Wonderful.”