The campfire blazed against the night sky, flames snapping and twisting high enough to throw shadows across the settlement. The air smelled of woodsmoke, charred meat, and spilled ale, comforting in its own messy way. The rescued townspeople had dragged out instruments, platters of bread, and, somehow, full kegs of ale.
Jace found himself swept into it the moment he neared the fire. Children darted between adults with shrieks of glee, their bare feet scuffing up dust. Parents clapped each other on the shoulders, mugs lifted in wild toasts that seemed to echo against the hills. The heroes were given the best logs to sit on, the thickest slices of meat, and cups that filled themselves the second they were half-empty.
"There he is!" The militia captain raised his mug as Jace settled onto a log. "The man who led the charge that saved our lives!"
The cheer that followed hit Jace like a wave. He felt his face heat up. A few townswomen offered approving nods.
"Don't let it go to your head," Elliot called from across the fire, dry amusement curling his words. "Or we'll have to carry you around in a sedan chair."
"A sedan chair?" Jace laughed, lifting his own mug. "I was hoping for a parade. Maybe some rose petals at my feet."
"Rose petals are seasonal," Kael said, completely straight-faced. "You'd get dandelions at best."
The absurd image and seriousness in his tone cracked the circle wide open. Even Dren smiled, though Jace noticed that his smiles never quite reached his eyes, like it had been polished in front of a mirror.
Someone produced a fiddle, and the firepit turned into a dance floor. Couples twirled, children wove between legs, and Kael was dragged into a surprisingly elegant waltz by the baker's wife. Elliot responded by demonstrating stiff, deliberate katas that the children instantly tried—and failed—to imitate.
Tor stayed by the fire with his silver flask, face already flushed. When he caught Jace's eye, he lifted it in salute.
"To young Wart!" He boomed in a voice that carried easily over the music and laughter. "Proof that heroes come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes the best leaders are the ones who never meant to lead!"
The cheer went up again, mugs clashing together. Even Dren lifted his cup with practiced ease. When Tor passed the flask straight into Jace's hand, his tone dropped low enough to cut under the noise.
"You did good today, boy. The kind of leading that keeps people alive."
The flask burned all the way down Jace's throat, but the warmth it left wasn't unpleasant. He swallowed, chest tight with more than just the drink.
"Thanks, Tor. That… means a lot."
Tor's grin widened. "Keep this up, and you'll have men marching under your banner before long."
The thought stirred a mix of excitement and dread in Jace's gut, but the music shifted before he could linger. The fiddle eased into a slower tune. Couples drew closer. Voices dropped into quieter laughter.
******
As the evening progressed and the celebration mellowed into comfortable conversation, Nia appeared at Jace's elbow with two cups of mulled wine and a smile that seemed slightly more mysterious than usual.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, settling beside him on the log without waiting for an answer. "The dancing was fun, but my feet are starting to remind me that I'm not as young as I used to be."
Jace took the cup, the heat seeping into his fingers. "You're not that old, barely older than me."
"Maybe. But you look older than my dad." Her grin made it hard to tell if she was joking.
They sat for a while, quiet, watching the others. Kael had gathered children around and was reading aloud, his voice turning simple fairy tales into sermons. Elliot lingered at the fire's edge, expression calm but eyes always tracking movement.
"Look at Tor," Nia murmured, nodding toward where Tor was arm-wrestling three townsmen simultaneously and winning. "I swear he gets stronger when there's an audience to impress."
"And Elliot looks like he's waiting for another ambush," Jace said. "I don't think he knows how to relax."
Nia tilted her chin toward Dren. The golden-haired champion held court among a small circle of young women, hands sketching broad gestures to match his increasingly dramatic tale. "What about him?"
"Still chasing the spotlight," Jace muttered. "Though he keeps sneaking glances at us when he thinks we are not looking."
Nia hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "He seems tense tonight. More than usual."
"His last little trick backfired. Not exactly good for his pride."
Nia studied his face in the firelight, and once again Jace caught her trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed about his appearance. Her scrutiny made him slightly uncomfortable, but he maintained a casual expression.
"You know," she said finally, "I keep thinking there's something different about you tonight. Not just the successful mission or the praise from everyone. Something more… fundamental."
"Not this again"Jace said laughing lightly.
"Want to take a walk?" he suggested, rising from the log and offering her his hand. "The celebration is wonderful, but it's a bit loud for conversation."
Nia's smile curved as she slipped her hand into his. Her fingers were warm, her touch lingering. "A walk sounds perfect. I could use air that doesn't smell like ale."
They moved through the quieter streets, the sounds of the fire fading behind them. The night air cooled Jace's flushed skin. Overhead, stars pricked the dark sky, sharper now without the flames. Nia's hand brushed his, not quite letting go.
Nothing about her was ever simple.