Chapter 16

Freya 

   The first time I heard about Ember Night, it sounded like a story people told themselves to make winter feel shorter, but by the third day of preparation, I understood it wasn’t a story, it was a declaration.

The entire settlement shifted around it, not frantically, not chaotically, but deliberately, like everyone had agreed, without saying it out loud, that this night mattered and would be done properly.

Helga had taken over the food stores like a general preparing for war.

“If you over-salt that, I will know,” she snapped at someone across the long table, not even looking up as she worked.

“It’s one pinch…”

“It is never one pinch,” she cut in sharply. “It is always three, and then everyone pretends it was one.”

I bit back a laugh and kept slicing vegetables.

“You,” she said suddenly, pointing at me with the handle of a knife. “Not like that.”

I froze. “Not like…?”

“You’re hesitating,” she said, already stepping closer. “Food can tell when you’re unsure. It turns out worse.”

“That doesn’t sound real.” I scrunched up my nose. “it doesn't even make any sense.” 

“It is real to me,” she replied flatly. “Do it again.”

I did, and this time faster. It didn't take too long for a ghost of a smile to make its way to her lips. 

“Better.” She nodded once, then moved on like the moment had never happened. I shook my head slightly, smiling despite myself.

By the time the sun started to lower, the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, wood smoke, and something sweet I couldn’t quite place.

“What is that?” I asked, glancing toward Mira as she poured something golden into clay cups.

She didn’t even look at me. “You don’t need to know.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“It’s intentional.”

“Is it strong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes.”

“How strong?”

“Well.” She finally glanced up, one eyebrow lifting. “You might want to drink it slowly.”

That was not reassuring. Mira must have noted my hesitation, but she only gave me a sink before walking away. 

I hadn’t planned to be in the middle of any of it, those were the words echoing at the back of my mind as the day went by. 

I had told myself I would stay at the edges, watch and leave early. Instead, I found myself sitting on a low stool while Petra stood behind me, fingers quick and careful as she wove ribbons into my hair.

“Hold still,” she murmured.

“I am holding still.”

“You’re thinking too much.” she threaded her fingers through my hair. “Your head keeps moving.”

“I don’t…” I stopped when she gently tugged a section of hair. “Fine. I’ll think less.”

“That would be new,” she said lightly and I huffed a quiet laugh.

When she finished, she stepped back. “There.”

“Oh.” I reached up, fingers brushing the ribbons. “It’s… nice.”

“It’s more than nice,” she corrected. “It’s festival-worthy.”

“That sounds like pressure.”

“It is pressure,” she said cheerfully. “Now you have to stay.”

I opened my mouth to argue,but I didn’t, because I already knew I wasn’t leaving. By the time the fire was lit, it was taller than any of us.

The flames climbed fast, hungry and bright, throwing heat into the cool air and turning everything gold.

People gathered around it in a loose circle. Someone started the drums, slow at first, then building. A stringed instrument joined in, sharp and lively, and the rhythm settled into something that felt older than the settlement itself.

I stayed seated, that had been the plan, at least.

I watched them move, some graceful, some not even pretending to be. Laughter broke through the music, uneven and real and there best part? No one was performing, no one was being measured and something in my chest loosened.

I hadn’t realized how tight it had been.

“Why are you sitting?” Mira’s voice cut in beside me.

“Because I want to,” I replied.

“That’s not a real answer.”

“It is tonight.”

“No,” she said simply.

“Hey.” Before I could respond, she grabbed my hand and pulled. “Mira…”

“Get up.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You have legs.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It’s close enough.”

“I’m serious…”

“I am too,” she said, already dragging me toward the circle.

“I don’t know how!”

“Neither do half of them,” she shot back. “They’re just louder about it.”

I stumbled once as she pulled me into the movement, then caught myself. The rhythm hit differently inside the circle. It was louder and warmer, and it wrapped around you whether you wanted it to or not.

“I look ridiculous,” I muttered.

“You look alive,” Mira corrected, releasing my hand. “Try to keep up.”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the movement like she had always been part of it.

I stood there for half a second, completely out of place, then someone bumped into me, laughing.

“Move!” they said, their laughter spilling into the night. “You're as stiff as a board.” 

Their words washed over me and eventually, I did. At first, it was awkward and careful in a way that didn’t fit anything around me.

Then I stopped trying to do it right, that was the shift.

I moved because the rhythm told me to, not because I was supposed to. I missed some step, I stepped on someone’s foot, but they laughed and pulled me back into the circle anyway.

At some point, I realized I was laughing and it startled me enough that I almost stopped. For a few minutes, maybe longer, I forgot everything else.

The fire burned lower as the night stretched on.

People drifted away in small groups, voices softer now, their movements slower. The drums faded, the music thinning until it was just background noise.

“I am not cleaning tomorrow,” Helga announced loudly as she passed by.

“Then stop dancing,” someone called.

“I already have,” she snapped. “Which is why I will not be cleaning.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is how it works tonight.” She disappeared inside without waiting for a response.

Mira paused beside me as I stepped out of the circle, breath uneven, hair half undone.

“That was acceptable,” she said.

“Acceptable?” I echoed.

“For a first attempt.”

“I’m never doing that again.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

She smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

Then she gave me a look I chose not to interpret and followed Helga inside.

I exhaled slowly and turned toward the fire.

Caden was already there.

He was sitting on one of the log benches, leaning forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees. The firelight caught along the edge of his jaw, turning everything sharper and softer at the same time.

“You survived,” he said as I approached.

“Barely.”

“I saw.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

I sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“Did you dance?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I prefer watching.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“It is,” he said easily and I huffed a quiet laugh. No one spoke up after that, and we sat there for a while, the silence not empty, but just there. 

The fire cracked softly, embers shifting and settling. The air had cooled, but the heat from the fire lingered.

“You look different,” he said after a moment.

“From the dancing?”

“From before.”

“That's something.” I glanced at him. “Good different or concerning different?”

“Good,” he said. “I think.”

“I’ll take that.”

We fell into conversation the way we always did, without effort. We spoke about small unimportant things that somehow weren’t unimportant at all.

The kind of bread I used to eat when I was younger, the way the crust would crack if you pressed it too hard, and he told me about a river so cold it made your bones ache within seconds.

“Why would anyone swim in that?” I asked.

“Because it was there,” he said.

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is when you’re young.”

I smiled faintly. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“It was,” he agreed. “We did it anyway.”

The fire burned lower and at some point, the conversation slowed, not because we ran out of things to say, but because we didn’t need to fill every space.

My breath hitched slightly when he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against my hair, and tucked a loose strand behind my ear.

The touch was gentle, careful and when his hand lingered, I turned my head.

He was already looking at me and there was no hesitation in his expression, no assumption either, just clarity, like I could read his mind clearly. 

“Is this something you want?” he asked quietly.

Not can I? Not should I? But Do you want this.

I didn’t answer immediately. I let myself think. Eliza stirred, awake and aware, her presence steady as she waited for my response. 

The answer wasn’t complicated, it wasn’t tangled up in fear or expectation or obligation, it was simple, so before I could second guess myself, I said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Yes,”