Chapter 95: What Comes After

Chapter 95: What Comes After
Talon was already asleep by the time I laid him in his cot.

He hadn’t woken once since I’d taken him from Roran’s arms. Not through the walk home. Not through the quiet murmur of goodnights passed by neighbors in the square. Not through the unfastening of the sling or the shifting of my hands around his small body. His head lolled against my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck, a tiny sigh falling from his lips just before I placed him down.

I tucked the heavy fur around him, smoothing the edges until only his face showed. He looked peaceful. Soft in a way only babies can be, as if the firelight itself had carved him from warmth and sleep. His thumb was half-tucked between his lips, and his other hand rested on his chest like it had landed there by accident.

I stood over him for longer than I meant to.

The silence felt larger now. Not empty, but full of something I hadn’t named yet. The air in the room was still warm from the hearth. The scent of pine smoke still clung to my hair. My body still remembered the slow rhythm of the dance, the heat of Roran’s hand at my waist, the weight of his gaze lingering against mine.

I turned away.

Poked at the fire. Added a fresh log and waited for the flames to catch. I should have changed. Washed the scent of the celebration from my skin. But instead, I sat down in the old rocking chair and wrapped my arms around my knees.

I wasn’t tired.

The fire cracked. A slow, pulsing rhythm.

I watched the embers gather at the base of the wood, red and steady, glowing like coals held in the palm of something older than us all.

Then came the knock.

Soft. Intentional. The kind of knock that knew the difference between night and intrusion.

I didn’t move at first. I didn’t want to break the stillness. I didn’t want anything to change.

But it already had.

I stood and crossed the room, careful not to make noise near Talon’s cot. My fingers hesitated on the latch. Then I opened the door.

Roran stood there.

He had changed. His coat was gone, replaced with a simple wool tunic, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair had come loose in places. His eyes, always so sharp in daylight, looked quieter now. Not softer. Just less guarded.

He held something wrapped in cloth.

I raised a brow. “You came back.”

“I had something for him.”

I looked at the bundle.

“It’s sweetroot,” he said. “Someone brought a batch from the southern groves. Roasted with honey. He liked it earlier.”

“He didn’t eat any earlier.”

“He sucked the juice off my fingers and reached for more. That counts.”

A breath caught in my throat. I stepped back and opened the door wider.

He came in without a sound.

The fire welcomed him. He stood by it for a moment, then placed the wrapped sweetroot on the low table. He didn’t sit.

I glanced over at Talon’s cot. Still sleeping. Still unmoving.

“He won’t wake,” I said.

Roran nodded. “I didn’t think he would.”

We stood in the firelight, neither of us speaking. The silence was different now. Heavier. Not cold. Just full.

I sat first. Back in the rocking chair. I pulled my legs beneath me and leaned slightly toward the fire.

He lowered himself onto the bench across from me, arms resting on his thighs, hands loose between his knees.

I looked at him.

He looked back.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I don’t want to misstep,” he said. “And I don’t want to pretend.”

“You’re not pretending.”

“And you are?”

My chest tightened.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said, voice lower now. “I didn’t think I’d feel anything like that again. And then I did. And now I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m just lonely.”

“I’m not here because you’re lonely.”

“I know.”

“I’m not here to replace anyone.”

“I know that too.”

“But I care,” he said, slower now. “About you. About him. And I’m not going to lie about that.”

The fire popped.

Talon shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake.

I didn’t blink.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since Kael,” I said.

Roran’s expression didn’t change.

“Sometimes I still reach for him in dreams. Sometimes I wake up expecting him to be beside me. Sometimes I hear a laugh in a crowd and turn because I think it’s him.”

“You’re allowed to grieve.”

“I’m tired of grieving.”

“Then stop.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No,” he agreed. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated either.”

I looked at the floor.

His voice came quiet.

“You’re not broken, Lyra. You’re not something that needs mending. You loved someone. You lost him. That doesn’t mean there’s no room left.”

“I don’t know if I have anything to give.”

“You already give more than you realize.”

I felt the words settle inside me.

I rose.

Walked to the table. Picked up the cloth bundle. Unwrapped the sweetroot slowly, revealing golden slices caramelized with sugar and heat. I touched one with the tip of my finger, then brought it to my lips.

Warm. Spiced. Sweet in a way that filled the back of my throat.

I turned to him.

“I almost kissed you tonight,” I said.

He didn’t move.

“I thought about it the entire time we danced.”

Still, he remained silent.

“And when you handed him back to me, I wanted to touch your face. Just to see if it felt the way I thought it would.”

I stepped closer.

He stood.

Now we were only inches apart. The fire behind me. His presence in front of me. The weight of the space between us was unbearable.

“I’m still afraid,” I whispered.

“I know.”

I reached up.

My fingers hovered just shy of his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean in. Just waited.

I breathed once.

Then again.

Then dropped my hand.

“I can’t,” I said, the words thick.

His gaze didn’t falter.

“I didn’t come here to take,” he said. “I came to be near you.”

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

He stepped back.

Not far. Just enough.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“Don’t.”

He paused.

“I want to be ready,” I said, voice cracking. “But I’m not.”

“You will be.”

I nodded, but it felt hollow.

He picked up the cloth wrap from the table and folded it with care, even though it was empty now.

Then he turned.

He reached the door, paused, and looked back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I didn’t speak.

He left quietly.

I walked to the window.

Watched him disappear into the dark.

The snow had started again. Small flakes, drifting slow and soft through the night air.

Talon shifted in his sleep, making a sound like a sigh.

I sat on the floor beside his cot, rested my forehead on the edge of the furs, and closed my eyes.

I didn’t know what I was becoming.

But I knew what I had almost chosen.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I hadn’t already started choosing him.