Chapter 80: A Place to Return To
Chapter 79: A Place to Return To
Lyria’s POV
My vision blurred.
I blinked quickly, but it did very little to stop the sting gathering at the corners of my eyes.
Olly was the first to notice.
He turned in his seat, squinting at me before letting out a short huff of amusement.
"Well now," he said, nudging Jacob with his elbow, "look what you’ve done."
Jacob frowned. "What?"
"Ye goin’ to make the girl cry, that’s what."
"I am not—" Jacob stopped, properly looking at me this time, and then his expression shifted. "Ah."
Helen appeared at my side not a second later, as though she had been expecting it.
She let out a low chuckle, pressing a folded napkin into my hand.
"Here," she said. "Before ye make a mess o’ yourself."
I let out a small, breathless laugh, accepting it.
"I am not—" I began, only for my voice to falter slightly.
Jacob leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar.
"Now see here," he said, his tone softening. "Me angel shouldn’t be cryin’. If ye start, an old man like me might follow, and then where would we be, eh?"
That drew a louder laugh from the others.
"Imagine that," Olly said. "Jacob weepin’ into his ale."
"Mind your tongue," Jacob muttered, though there was no real bite to it.
I pressed the napkin lightly to my eyes, shaking my head.
"I am quite all right," I said, though my voice betrayed me with the slightest tremor.
"Aye, that’s what they all say," Olly replied.
I exhaled, steadying myself, then straightened.
"You should all sit," I said, gesturing lightly toward their places. "And lower your voices. Wolves can hear from quite a distance, and I would rather not be the cause of any of you finding yourselves in trouble."
There was a pause at that, and then laughter filled the tavern.
"Aye," one of the men further down the bar said loudly, lifting his glass. "That’s why she’s our princess."
More agreement followed, less explosive now, but no less certain.
Helen snorted. She folded her arms and surveyed the room with the expression of a woman taking stock.
"And what about me daughter?" she demanded.
Olly did not even hesitate.
"Your girl’s the queen, then," he said.
Jacob nodded. "Aye, that she is."
There were murmurs of agreement all around.
Helen laughed—a genuine, full sound that I did not hear from her often enough. She shook her head and moved back along the bar.
"Well then," she said, shaking her head, "long as someone in this place’s got sense."
After that, the night settled into its comfortable rhythm.
I moved along the bar, filling glasses and taking orders and exchanging the small words that the work required.
The men spoke as they always did—loudly, occasionally over one another, their words slurring further as the night stretched on. At some point, one of them began to sing, poorly and without any regard for pitch, and the others joined in soon after.
It was terrible, but it was also perfect.
I found myself smiling more than I should have.
Laughing, even, when Olly missed a note so badly that Jacob threatened to throw his drink at him.
Time slipped.
The hours folded into one another until the tavern felt like its own small world, separate from the one beyond its doors.
But then the clock chimed, once.
The sound carried through the walls, clear and unmistakable.
It was one a.m. already.
My smile faded, though only slightly.
Conversations paused. Glasses were drained. The singers reached the end of whatever verse they had arrived at and did not begin another.
The room began to empty in the gradual, good-natured way of people who had nowhere urgent to be but understood that the night had reached its natural conclusion. Men clapped each other on the shoulder. Jokes were made at departing backs.
Jacob put on his hat and gave me a bow that was somewhat more elaborate than his usual.
"Me angel," he said.
"Good night, Jacob," I said with a soft smile.
He smiled and made his way to the door. "Good night."
Olly followed, pausing at the bar long enough to point at me.
"Think about me son," he said.
"Good night, Olly."
He shook his head with the resignation of a man who had tried his best and would try again next time, and went.
The last few patrons filtered out until it was only me and Helen left.
"I... I must go," I told her quietly.
She looked at me for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Aye," she said. "I figured as much."
She stepped closer and, without warning, pulled me into a brief embrace.
It was firm and warm and, yes, unexpected too.
"The offer still stands," she muttered against my shoulder. "Any time. Ye know that."
I swallowed.
"I know," I said softly.
She pulled back, giving me a look that lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as though she were trying to see something I had not shown her.
Then she stepped away.
"Come on," she said. "Upstairs."
We went up together—the fourth step creaking as it always did—and into the office, where the candle on the desk had burned lower than when I had arrived. My cloak was where I had left it, draped over the back of the chair. The small clay pot sat on the corner of the desk.
I retrieved my cloak, slipping it over my shoulders, then reached for the small pot of ointment where I had set it aside.
I had just turned when Helen spoke up.
"Wait," she said.
I paused and turned to her.
She stepped forward and pressed something into my hands.
A pouch.
It was heavier than I expected.
My fingers tightened around it instinctively.
"Helen..." I began, frowning slightly. "This is—"
"Take it," she said.
"I cannot—"
It was significantly more payment than I was supposed to get.
"Ye can," she cut in. "And ye will."
I hesitated.
"It is too much," I said quietly.
She shook her head.
"Ain’t from me," she said. "Not all of it, anyway."
I looked at her.
"The patrons," she continued. "Put it together. Decided ye ought to have it."
My throat tightened.
"I... I cannot accept something like that," I said, though the words felt weaker than they should have.
"Aye, ye can," she replied. "And ye will. Don’t go insultin’ them by refusin’. They don’t have much, but what they’ve got, they gave. That means somethin’."
I stared down at the pouch.
Then slowly, I nodded.
"T-thank you," I said.
My face scrunched slightly as I tried to contain the emotion rising again—but one tear slipped free regardless.
Helen chuckled softly.
"Ah, there it is again," she said, stepping closer.
Before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me once more.
"Listen to me," she murmured. "Don’t ye ever go thinkin’ otherwise, d’ye hear?"
I stilled.
"Ye’re loved," she said simply.
The words settled over me.
I did not move.
For a moment, I did not know how to.
Then she pulled back, studying my face with something knowing in her eyes—but she said nothing more.
I swallowed.
Then nodded.
"I-I should g-go," I said quietly.
"Aye," she replied. "Go on."
I turned and made my way back down the stairs, through the narrow corridor, and out through the side door.
